I began this week talking about what I call mad dogs. Mad dogs are the parts of ourselves that need to be tamed, refined, repurposed or transformed.
I suggested that in the face of Orlando our response could be to tame our mad dogs, that living a noble spiritual life is a worthy response, a solid beginning.
My friend Joy understands her mad dogs and she’s always been quite the dog trainer:
“I ventured out this morning to run some errands before work. I was in a bit of a rush, thinking of all I had to get done. As I pulled up to the grocery store, I saw a man sitting in the shade under the overhang. He looked a little worse for wear, but his eyes were bright and he was taking in the scene around him. I slowed for a moment and went up to say hello. His name is Jim. He’s living in the woods nearby in a tent. He lost his job because of a back injury and he’s waiting for a Social Security disability check to arrive at a friend’s home. I asked if he was hungry, and he happily showed me all the provisions he had in his backpack – nuts, ramen noodles, a container of rice. He said “I’ve got plenty to eat.” We talked for a while, and I asked if there was anything I could do to give him a hand. He replied, “No thank you. I’m blessed.” He didn’t need my food. Or my money. The only thing left to share was love and attention.”