Finding a voice

Acute awareness generates response

Otis, my five-month-old Shih-Tzu/Maltese puppy is finding his voice. For the first several weeks he was a reserved little cuddler who loved nothing more than lying resolutely in my lap, or atop my shoulders or attempting to lick my face. While he still likes to be on my lap, he is no longer the non-anxious presence he once was. His hearing is crystal-clear, his sight perception is vivid and his sensory awareness results in immediate response. Sometimes his response is simply peaked ears as he further investigates an anomaly, and at other times it’s a low growl followed by his version of threatening barking. Fortunately his bark is pitched in the a lower register (versus the high register of many small, yappy dogs). I’m not a big fan of his vocal outbursts, but at least they remind me that he is ultra-aware of what is happening around him. He is my First Alert alarm system.

Yesterday I was reading in the sun room, and I absentmindedly saw him trot to the living room, where he placed his little paws on the bottom window sill and began furiously barking. I attempted to calm him to no avail; his little body shuddered with excitement at something amiss in the neighborhood. I disgorged myself from my comfortable chair, walked into the living room and found the culprit: the trash and recycling containers I had placed at the end of my driveway for pickup. He knows what it is supposed to look like outside, and when it does not, he signals an alarm for all to know something is not quite right.

This morning in the early darkness I lighted a candle as I began my morning prayer time. It is a quiet, cold, overcast start to the day, with yet another Winter Storm Alert for my part of Minnesota. It feels bleak and menacing, and somehow what I see outside my windows fits remarkably well with Good Friday, a somber day of reflection for Christians around the word.

The skies are subtle shades of near-monochromatic grey, the air is crisp, the breeze is tinkling my memorial chimes and it feels like a morning to stay inside.

So, had lighted my candle, glanced outside, opened the website for my daily morning prayer, and clicked one of the musical selections for the day, this recording of Leadbelly’s (a folk/gospel singer of years past) He Didn’t Say a Mumblin’ Word.

https://www.missionstclare.com/music/easter-music/mumbling/mumbling.html

The raspy tones caught Otis’s attention, and for the duration of the recording he was frantically barking, protesting what he heard as an intrusion in his otherwise ordinary day. Our schedule is very routine and blandly predictable, but Leadbelly jolted Otis (and by association) me out of our ordinary habits.

At first I was annoyed, attempting to soothe his growling presence, but after a few failed attempts, I simply let him bark until the music came to an end. I scooped him up in my arms, my right arm supporting his weight and my right band a vessel for him to relax his head. I could feel his rapidly beating heartbeat, even after his barking episode ended. In a few minutes time his breathing returned to normal, he relaxed his furry little body and found security in my lap. He remained there quietly for the remainder of my prayer time, a living reminder to me that on Good Friday, I do need to be jolted from my ordinary morning to recognize the gravity of this day in the life of Jesus and for the course of salvation history.

Once again the gritty news of today’s Gospel finds its voice in my time-wearied soul. Like the incessant barking of my ultra-aware puppy, I am reminded that today needs to be jarring to my quiet morning ritual. On this most sacred of Christian days, my fluttering heart needs the reassurance of Love’s arms, tucking me in, hearing me out, calming me into trustful peace. In the midst of today’s riotous cacophony, I need to hear Love’s voice all over again.