Dogs, Death and AND...

And...

A lot can be said in such a small word. And. What follows this little word could make all the difference. It's the great unknown. The deep beyond the deep. The light at the far edge of the darkness.

Brandy was MY dog. You know...MINE. He came to me when I called. We ran together in fields...and in the pines. We laid down together in the grass and rolled around. We were friends, as much as a boy and a dog could be. When Brandy died I shuddered with great, long, body-shaking sobs. Brandy was gone, and I felt a deep loss, the kind that only death can bring. Even a young boy knows that death holds some sort of mastery over life.

Cody died today...and though my own body did not shudder, I'm pretty sure that someone else's did. Because Cody was someone's dog. Someone ran in the fields...and in the pines. Someone laid down in the grass and rolled around. Some else was Cody's friend, and now he is gone.

I tried to tell Ezra that Cody was dead. That he would not see Cody when he went to Grandma and Grandpa's house. I tried to tell Ezra that Cody's body was buried in the ground. But he wouldn't listen to me. He wasn't sad. He didn't feel any sort of loss. He just told me something that made me pause.

"My gonna push back the grass daddy." I'm going to push back the grass AND...see Cody.

Ezra is implying that contrary all the laws of physics, death does NOT hold final mastery, because he will simply push back the grass and dirt to get to Cody's body AND...there he will be...alive.

Ezra is right. Death does not have mastery over all things. Theologians like to use the word "resurrection"...but I actually like the word "AND" just fine.

One of my favorite artists says it better than I ever could.

And...is the juice of the joints of the motion of life
And...rose three days after he was crucified

"My gonna push back the grass daddy."

Ezra, thanks for reminding me that it's possible.