Sideline Society

OK, so I'm hearing and seeing all this news about a family in collapse and I'm wondering what makes it so different from any other family that melts down. I mean, I understand that they have 8 kids. But, some High School friends of mine were from a family of 10 and their parents seemed to do OK. I get the fact that they've had cameras shoved in their faces for the past several years. But whose fault is that? I understand that trying to raise that large of a family, especially when they are all mostly the same age (and young) has got to be a strain. But what merits the media coverage Jon and Kate are getting today?

Especially when there is flaring unrest in Iran. Not to mention a fatal train crash in DC. I guess I just don't get it. Why do we, as a country, seem to be so fixated on watching other people experience life while we sit insulated and isolated in our sealed-up homes? I'll admit that there are several shows that we have our DVR programmed to record. I don't miss them. I'll stay up late to make sure I see how one episode ends so that I won't be confused next week. So, I guess I'm as guilty as everyone else.

But, the question still stands. Why do we do it? Wouldn't life be more interesting if we'd just get off our backsides and live it? What could I do if instead of watching Alaskan crab fishing for an hour, I went out for a run with my dog? What could I accomplish if, instead of watching one of umpteen different shows about Crime Scene Investigation or Naval Criminal... I was working on one of the book ideas that is crowding my head, or simply sitting down and playing a game with my kids?

What makes us so voyeuristic?

I wish I had an answer. But I think it's the same thing that causes us to go to church and learn about God when we could be out experiencing God in the world. Don't get me wrong, I'm all in favor of going to church. Heck, my livelihood depends on it remaining an important part of many people's lives. But, all-to-often, it stops at church. Our impact never reaches beyond our own front doors. Our faith doesn't seep into the majority of our lives, but rather sits in it's isolated Sunday and Wednesday pockets, which are hermetically sealed against contaminating the rest of the world.

We hold God, like reality TV stars, at arms length. We enjoy watching what's going on, but are afraid of what the bright lights of attention might expose in our lives. It happened to one TV family. Why couldn't, why wouldn't it happen to us?

I pray that something good will come out of the tragedy that has gripped the headlines today. Maybe someone will realize that kids don't fix the holes in our lives, nor do our spouses. The only way to fill those holes, that emptiness, is to confront the brokenness in each of us. I believe that there exists in each of us a "true self" (if you will.) A true self that is the image of God. An image in which each one of us comes into being. Only when we begin to understand that we don't find some magical Garden of Eden that exists outside of ourselves, but rather a mystical, still, small voice that calls to us to encounter God in all our nakedness and brokenness.

My wife does not complete me, nor do my children, nor do my athletic endeavours, nor my job. I am only complete when I find myself, broken, incomplete and vulnerable: and yet loved by God. In the mean time, I believe I'll chose to live my life: not as a voyeur but as an active participant. I probably won't ever make the national headlines. Frankly, I'm OK with that...

Losing a friend.

I know for some people it may be hard to understand why I'm having so much trouble saying goodbye to a dog. After all that's all Dakota is, right?

Maybe, but I don't think so.

Jennie and I found Dakota at the Humane Society in Lebanon, Missouri in the late fall of 1998, right after we bought our first house. I vividly remember seeing him in a pen with a bunch of other young puppies. They were all yapping and clamoring at the door, but not 'Kota. He simply sat quietly in the midst of all the commotion and waited. I knew he was the one right away.

Several months later, I remember helping the lady who lived across from the radio station where I worked (KJEL) load her injured malamute into the back of her SUV after he had been hit by a car. I sped home after work that night and went straight to the back yard to hug my puppy.

Since Dakota we've rescued 2 more dogs, Patch and Evie. And one cat, Chalice. They are all part of the family, but none to the extent (at least for me) as Dakota. In many ways he is my oldest child and dearest companion. Though he would never hurt a flea (especially if it was on a hardwood floor, more to that story in a moment) his dark fur and Rottweiler-escue markings, coupled with his deep throaty "woof" helped me feel comfortable to leave my family at home when I had to leave early in the morning to go to seminary, or to a retreat or seminar. I knew with Dakota around, everyone would be safe.

When he was a young and precosious puppy Dakota decided that I wasn't paying enough attention to him. So, he decided to exploit a small tear in the vinyl flooring in our kitchen/dining area. After a chastizement, and with the help of a dear friend (of the human variety) I replaced the torn flooring with laminate. Whether it was either that he knew the change was as a result of something he did, or because he didn't like the sound of his toenails on the floor, we'll never know; but Dakota never wanted to cross a hardwood floor again. With his hips going recently he wouldn't even cross the couple of feet of vinyl it would take to get from the front room to our bedroom. Rather he prefered to keep watch outside the kid's rooms. I like to think he was just tyring to keep them safe.

Now, almost 11 years after that first day we met in the Humane Society, almost all of the spark has drained from his eyes. He can't hardly get up the stairs into the house anymore, and in the morning he essentially falls down those same steps to get back into the yard. It's hard to watch someone (yes, I said someone) you love get older and less able to do the things they once did. And, I know that it is my responsibility as a pet owner to put his health and wellness before my own needs, wants and desires. But, that doesn't make it any easier.

You might think that having been with families as they have grieved the death, sometimes sudden and tragic, of their loved ones would make it easier to deal with the death of a "mere" dog. Well, at least in my case you'd be wrong. Sure, I've had grandparents, friends and classmates die. But never anyone to whom I have been as close as I am to Dakota. I'm not sure what that says about me, or my ability to form lasting friendships. And, right now, I'm not sure I care. I know it's time. I can't make him suffer anymore for my own selfish needs. But it still hurts like hell. (And, yes, I said it.)

So, if you see me blubbering uncontrollably over the next few days, or weeks, you know why. It's because I miss my buddy.

So long, my friend. You've been wonderful to me, and I can only pray that I have learned from you some of the important lessons about loyalty, love, and life that you've tried to teach me over the years.