A dog's snores
So, what does he NOT know that I know? He snores while I wonder about my lesson plans for next week. He snores while I wait for headache meds to kick in so I can be headache-free for my day off. He snores while I pray for two dear friends who have cancer as a companion in their lives. He snores while I reflect on the very good teaching moments I had this past week for sophomores and creative writers, making me feel momentarily like Teacher of the Year in all classes. He snores while I contemplate just how I'll ever match up to my own distorted expectations that are just so much higher than those I set for others...which are actually realistic. He snores while I push aside my frustration that a friend thought I'd be on book tours and in six digit figures from book sales of a great book that yields me very little profit and only the promotion and speaking opportunities that I fall into by God's hand, not through a small publisher that offers not a single cent toward any support of the project now that it is out, making me wonder if others have the same distorted view of my role in what I consider a service project and a service for God rather than a way to climb some unknown and unrealistic ladder toward a spotlight I don't crave at all. He snores while I fall short too of my own full and trusting commitment to God and let worry and sadness in far too often.
So, what does he know or NOT know that I don't or do? I would ask him, but he is still sleeping. I would ask him, but when he is awake, he is too busy living in a relaxed state of just being. I would ask him, but even when he is tense, he is too busy looking and sniffing around with the wonder of being alive, even when things aren't ideal. I would ask him, but I think I already know.