One of Those Days

It’s been one of Those Days.  Most of us have “Those Days,” I suppose.  And Those Days are probably different for everyone.  But for all of us, they’re those days when someone asks you how you’re doing and you can’t think of anything to say but, “It’s been one of Those Days!”

For some people, Those Days are the days when the button comes off your shirt, the car won’t start, the traffic is terrible (Traffic is always the other people in the other cars), and your boss wants the report that wasn’t supposed to be due until Thursday by noon on Monday.

It’s one of Those Days when the alarm doesn’t go off (or you hit the snooze button one time too many), the kids are grumpy and can’t find two socks that match, the toast gets burned, the orange juice spills, the car keys get lost, and you’re all fifteen minutes late getting out the door.

For me, One of Those Days is a Monday like this one, following a weekend when I’ve spoken four times at church – once Saturday night and three times Sunday morning.

It’s a day when I think too much and accomplish too little.  It’s a day I spend mostly thinking about what I shouldn’t have said, what I should have said instead, and how I could have communicated so much more effectively if I was someone else!  And it’s a day when I repeatedly ask myself what ever made me think I should stand up on a stage and try to say something significant to a room full of people.

Buddy the Dog doesn’t like Those Days much either.  He keeps coming over and pushing me with his nose and saying, “Let’s go for a ride in the car!  Let’s go for a walk!  Let’s go chase cats!  Come on, boss, let’s do something!”

Well, you know what they say, “Tomorrow’s another day!”  And by God’s grace it won’t be one of “Those Days!”

Old Dog

I was standing on the porch of Philip and Stephanie’s house in Tacoma late one afternoon and I saw an old dog walking along the sidewalk in front of the house, from my right to left. He was black and white, long haired, some kind of shepherd breed, with a grey muzzle. He walked slowly with a little limp in his left hind leg. I felt bad for him as he was obviously out of bounds and maybe lost.

As he went along the sidewalk, two or three houses down, he approached a house where lives a very aggressive dog, part pit bull, which came barking and lunging at the fence as the old dog approached. The old dog just stopped, turned around, and started slowly back along the sidewalk toward me. I just went inside. I keep wondering if he found his way home. I can’t shake the feeling of sadness.

Wonder how many people I encounter are going through life walking slowly along with a little limp? Wonder how many times the pit bull of opposition or hard circumstance stops them in their tracks and they just turn around and slowly walk back the way they came? I wonder if they find their way home…

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. Plato