God’s Dog, God’s Child

Ever have the feeling you’re like a dog sitting by God’s fireside, licking up crumbs as they fall from his hand?

This is precisely how I feel after completing the apologetics course here in Oxford. With the prime of life slipping behind me and no great degrees to my name, I really shouldn’t be here. I observe the sub fusc parade, the bustle of confident professionals, the anxious or carelessly privileged, and underneath it all the vast labyrinth of service workers who keep the lights on, the rubbish carried off, and the floors clean. The city of dreaming spires is for the young and energetic not the contemplative mature grandmother. I have somehow snuck into a party unnoticed.

Here I am nonetheless, sipping a flat white with a view of Magdalen and Broad as the sun rises on the time worn stones. I am steps away from iconic places of learning the likes of which I can only imagine. Behind my view of St. John’s church—its graveyard yard ironically filling up with weeds—the Martyr’s Memorial stands black with time’s dust, but no less meaningful for all that. To my right down the street the stone cross in the city centre marks the burnings at the stake. I am stunned and quieted by their presence.

I make my humble offering: asking my sweet young waiter about himself, if he’s finished school. He offers quite a bit of information on that score. Yes, he has just finished. He is eager to move away, he says. The city is not for him. Too many parties keep him awake at midnight when he is trying to sleep in order to wake at 6 for his summer job here at the hotel. I’ve been given a glimpse of a frustrated young man in his bed at midnight. Once again I’ve slipped in where I don’t belong.

Beneath my ready smile is a world of bewilderment. I’m waiting, wondering what will be next for me. I’m not really God’s dog, he reminds me. I’m his beloved child. I still have much to learn. We’re just getting started. As this ancient city reminds, time marches on, but learning never ends.

I shall, I hope, incorporate what I’ve learned into my fiction. For stories teach the author as well as the reader.

You, dear faithful reader, are the oil for the gears in my machine. I’m eager to resume the Saturday Post. This dog’s had enough holiday.