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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required With John Wayne snarling at me from the television screen, I quickly glance at my watch; five minutes to the end of a year’s journey through what the Psalmist would describe as the Valley of Death, and what Dante would describe as a descent through hell. The little small ball of white fur whines at my feet, his almond dark eyes begging for the last bit of cheese I have in my hand. Take him out now for his nocturnal constitutional, Or wait until three in the morning? It is not a difficult choice. The puppy and I head for the door. The puppy runs hither and yon around the yard, sniffing and searching the frozen ground for the perfect spot to make his nocturnal emissions. I reflect upon the arrival of another year In Anno Domini, with dread, or is it anticipation? Another year of grace is what they always say about the turning of a new year. Like the puppy running from one frozen turd to another in the yard, I, sniff and search among the heap of promised “grace-filled moments?” from my past year. The church bells begin to peal out the old year as the puppy stops and stands poised upon a strategically chosen location to unleash the grace contained within himself upon the frozen ground. I appreciate my puppy’s brilliant metaphor of crapping out the old year to make room for the new year. There are some years indeed, in which grace is bestowed in abundant quantity. And, there are some years indeed, in which one must sniff and scratch to find the grace hidden within the dung heap. The church bells cease their tolling, as the puppy, in a triumphal display Of accomplishment, kicks with his hind feet, bits of ice, snow, and fecal matter high into the air. The puppy, head held high, small tail wagging, and I, retreat from the frozen yard toward our house. Warmth and a hope for new grace greet us as we enter the house. And, as I close the door, I glance once more at the frozen yard. I leave the old year and its promise of grace, lying in a heap upon the frozen ground.
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