I’m supposed to love the idiots?

In a very light and slightly judgy situation, I was reminded of my favorite chapter in the entire Bible. I’ll leave it to you to look it up, but I’ll point you in the right direction at least… it’s between Psalm 140 and 146. There, that’ll give ya somethin’ to do after this!

The particular verse that came to my mind was one about God having compassion and mercy for everything He’s made. To confess honestly, I don’t have compassion and mercy for everything He’s made. This revelation came to light today at the dog park…

The story starts with me and my rule-following personality, which can definitely be a nuisance for me and anyone I annoy with my tattletaling. So I drive up to the dog park and within a stretch of about 60 or 70 feet of roadside grass, there are 2 signs which couldn’t say more clearly not to park on the grass. It’s not for me to understand why the city or county has made this a rule, but nonetheless the rule exists. So of course, there are going to be people that think rules don’t apply to them. The rebels.

Exhibit 1:

I happened to be parking (not on grass) as the black car pulled up to park. I immediately started making a mental list of burns I’d use about his idiotic disregard for the rules. Sidenote: I love making lists. I had time to cool off, though, while I was at the park with the dogs and that’s when I was reminded about God being patient and loving towards most things He made. Wait, I’m kidding, the Bible says┬áall things. So if I’m striving to live a life pleasing to Him, I should be loving towards all things He’s made… but man some people make it a real chore! Like the owners of these two cars, who’s combined IQ, if converted to Fahrenheit, wouldn’t melt an ice cube.

And that red car is a Prius. Psssshhh, they don’t care about the earth at all, parking right on top of the lovely grass. #PriusFail

Later, I thought a better idea than using a snide remark would be to say something like, “Hey, not sure if you knew this but we’re not supposed to be parking on the grass.” Simple enough right? The tattooed Californian would then get all huffy and puffy (wouldn’t he?) and I’d explain by saying that “if we don’t abide by the rules set before us, that’s when privileges get taken away. You’ve been a 3-year-old before, right? It’s the same thing.” He’d be offended and for the rest of his days he’d think about how right he is for doing his own thing, for blazing his own path, for being a hero… or whatever.

But to circle back to the point of all this, I learned that even people that really annoy me are loved by God, and I should love them, too. Even if they’re idiots who drive a Prius or come from California.

-Out of the Wilderness

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Fall, almost my favorite time of the year

The leaves here in Nashville are turning to bright yellows and vibrant reds as the temperature drops, signaling a season so many people love, fall.

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I love this part of year for the cool nights, the leaves changing, and knowing that Christmas is right around the corner.

What do I not love? The cold days, September allergies, and knowing that as far as temperature goes it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

I already can’t wait for summer ­čÖé

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-Out of the Wilderness

An open letter to the Nashville family who recently lost their home

In my neighborhood a few days ago I came across a relatively new home that had the roof torn off, and everything inside was scattered about. Utterly destroyed, it was. I could tell a lot of effort went in to building this little home. I know what you’re thinking: it was a tornado, right? No, that’s wrong. It wasn’t a tornado. Nashville’s been having pretty great weather.

The victims weren’t anywhere in sight, although just a few minutes before I came across the destruction a female flew by me as if she were being chased by a monster. As it turns out, she was being chased by two monsters! I was right on two assumptions: 1. She was the homeowner as I’d suspected, and 2. Those monsters were my two sweet docile loving cuddly dogs!

OK, they were ┬ánot being cuddly at this particular moment. They were being savages, as wild as wolves, howling like sirens. They were in hot pursuit of the female… rabbit! Yes, a rabbit. Despite their best effort, though, they didn’t catch her and once they realized she was out of reach they snooped around and found her home. A rabbit hole. They began to sniff and dig. Dig and sniff. Rabbits make their homes by piling up sticks and leaves and their own fur, and usually do it in plain sight as a way to trick any wild animals that might prey on them.

I entered the story (besides the bunny fly-by) when I caught up to my dogs doing the sniffing and the digging. I saw a bunch of fur an thought, “Did they catch the rabbit??” Then as I got closer, I realized they didn’t, but that they’d found the rabbit’s home.

Fur, debris, and an empty hole.┬áThat’s all I saw. I’m going to assume (for my own peace of mind) that the baby bunnies, if any were tucked in there, scurried away safely before the monsters arrived.

Next time, I hope mama bunny doesn’t make her home in the middle of a dog park!

-BW

Hurt Like Hell

The inch-and-a-half cut on my finger was from a punch I landed on a jerk at the grocery store. When he hit the ground, I bent down and said to him, “Ring that up with a coupon, Sally.” The cut was deep and I knew it would bleed. But the pain, it was instant and an immediate signal things weren’t going the way they were supposed to.

That’s a cool way to tell you about the cut on my finger. However, I’m not a vigilante. I’m a dog owner. Here’s the real story.

It all started on a beautiful Saturday morning. Rare in this bitter cold winter Nashville’s having. Taking advantage of every ray of warm sunlight, I ventured off to the dog park with Piper and Asia. It’s been awhile since we were in the habit of afternoon park visits. It was a great day, the dogs seemed friendlier than usual and there were multitudes of dogs and owners at the park that afternoon. Piper, the less social one, was more social. And I was, too. After chatting with a few folks, I rounded the girls up and we headed for the exit. That’s when it happened.

I was exiting and there was another group entering. When Asia saw the dogs waiting for us to pass through the gated entry, in her excitement she hurdled towards the dogs. Holding on to the leash with a death grip, my hand slammed into the gate latch and like I said, the pain was immediate. The cut on my finger reminded me of babies when they fall down and hit their head. They get up. It looks like they’re crying but you don’t hear anything. That’s when you know it’s going to be a doozy. The hysterics begin with a loud scream and it goes on from there. Likewise, my finger was cut, but there wasn’t any blood… yet. I knew it was coming so I did the best I could to be curb the flow. Instead of getting in the car, I let my finger soak up the sunlight, raising it as high as I could without looking like a weirdo, and blew on it occasionally.

So if we ever cross paths and you ask about my wound, I might say, “Hey, you should see the other guy!” but you’ll know the truth. I cut my finger protecting a young goat from a puma.

-Out of the Wilderness