January 1

Let Sleeping Dogs ... DREAM!

Awake, awake, arm of the Lord, clothe yourself with strength! Awake, as in days gone by, as in generations of old. —Isaiah 51:9

Some days, Daisy, our three-legged Dalmatian, is curled in sound sleep, when Henry, the miniature schnauzer, comes along to torment her with a curious sniff. Henry's curiosity and agitation can rouse Daisy from a dead sleep to a ferocious attack in zero to six seconds.

As humans, we have a metaphoric sleep as well, spending a lot of time in a comfortable "coast" in life's holding pattern. We fail to live up to our potential and forget to heed our calling. We need to be awakened to a fresh new life, without taking the heads off those around us, being jolted, as it were, out of our day-to-day rut. How to respond? How do we change and come fully aware and awake? We have to let go of the old habits and let ourselves forge a new path in obedience. When we empty ourselves of the world, we can be filled with God's light. We must let go of comfort—something that can be truly terrifying.

When you see a sleeping dog lash out, it's not usually out of a mean spirit. It's out of fear. We react just as ferociously as a sleeping dog sometimes because we are afraid to become new—afraid to become God's full potential for us.

On this first day of the year, let us wake up into a new day, where we have love all around us to encourage us. Let last night's nightmare fall away and become today's glorious dream. Be courageous in God's new world for you!—d.o.

January 2

Pink Slips and Chew Bones

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. —Philemon 1:3

I watched the golden retriever I had fostered for six months ride away with her new "mommy" as she stared at me through the back windshield of that little red Honda. She had come such a long way from the frightened abuse victim placed in my care. Her eyes never left me as the car left for the horizon. There was a chew bone in her mouth. Her tail was wagging. This dog knew she was going to a new home. Yet, somehow, she wanted to let me know she was grateful. She knew the dark place she'd come from and where she was now going, and I was just the spot in between.

Some things are not meant to be forever. They are just meant to get us there. Every friendship, every job, every place we live, is just a bridge to learning something we need in order to become who we are to be. People leave us because their part in our journey is finished. We never complete anything without having a lesson to be learned. Good-byes always leave us with a piece missing, don't they? Change is always difficult.

If you are saying good-bye to someone, something, or some place, reflect on what you have gained from the time you have spent. Let it be woven into the fabric of who you are becoming. Just remember, nothing is taken without being replaced by more of what you need. Just as I had been a temporary caregiver for that beautiful golden retriever, she now has a permanent place to curl up and call home. Say good-bye with grace and hello with hope, and leave with a lesson. Nothing leaves until it is time to let go. Accepting loss only comes with God's help and the wisdom of time.—d.o.

January 3

Shane

I will repay you for the years that the swarming locust has eaten. —Joel 2:25

When I was ten years old, my parents decided that I should have a collie. My dad negotiated with the breeder, who apologized for the one imperfect one left. My parents paid thirty-five dollars for her. I named her Shane. She was my princess, and to me, she was worth a million dollars.

I think of Shane and remember a lifetime. She represents my whole childhood. She was always by my side, a loyal companion, but I let her down when the pressures of growing up pulled me away. I moved away for school, and she died while I was gone. My parents were in a painful divorce, and I was gone—Shane must have wondered where I was. I carried the broken heart of never having said a final good-bye, and I was filled with the regret of knowing that she must have been terribly lonely when I was suddenly not there.

When we are hurting or struggling or striving to get ahead, we tend to let down the ones we love. Someone once said that hurting people hurt people. Sometimes hurting people hurt their furry friends too. The pain of that regret was a secret hurt in my heart for a long time, until one day my daughter and best friend gave me a collie. I named her Veronique. In Shane's honor, I would take care of another. I would give now what I didn't know how to give then. Regret cannot heal. Love can. Love does.

We can break the sad cycle that compels us to create hurt from hurt, and instead we can let the broken places in our hearts become places where there is more room for love.—k.m.

January 4

Dog-Eared Promises

Then Job replied: "How long will you torment me and crush me with words?" —Job 19:1-2

I remember reading about a man who cut the ears off his dog, so that "when he was fighting other dogs, they couldn't pull him down by his ears." The dog almost bled to death. Even as they removed the dog from the home and took the man into custody on animal cruelty charges, the dog fought to get back to his master.

People who are cruel are often blessed with undeserved loyalty from an animal. The look from the eyes of an abused animal at its master is often sad, pleading—yet never angry. The eyes of an abused person are much the same toward a perpetrator.

In today's scripture, we meet Job, who was hurt by a friend's rudeness and constant badgering of "you deserve what you're getting." So-called friends and family can be more hurtful than the evil we meet in the world. We take this abuse hoping the repetition might lead to a different outcome. This is an unrewarding way to live.

Or maybe we expect God to effect a change in the people who hurt us. Perhaps, though, the change is supposed to be in us. Are we to remain loyal to the world that hurts us, expecting a miracle of change? Or are we to ask God to deliver us, fully ready to make a change if he asks?

God wants us to live in light, love, and joy. He will offer a way out, in peace and compassion, allowing the person inflicting pain on us a chance to change—because this person is hurting too. Maybe God has a plan for this person to learn tolerance, patience, and love through the loss of companionship. What if loneliness helps this person become who God wants him or her to be? Ask God to guide you to a compassionate solution.—d.o.

January 5

The Songbird

"But get me a musician." And then, while the musician was playing, the power of the Lord came on him. —2 Kings 3:15

In the daily reading from 2 Kings, we meet Elisha, who was in need of an answer. But first, he asked for a song.

A Chinese proverb says a...