The Blessing of Inconvenience

One less thing on my to-do list, and I wish I could add it back:  Kimo's leash and poop baggies hanging by the front door ready for her twice daily walk.  We've yet to get around to putting it away.

 In the weeks since Kimo's death I've been surprised by what I miss.  I miss having to watch my plate if I have to step away from the table during mealtime.  I miss having to empty the trash regularly to keep her from getting into it and making a mess while we are out. But I especially miss having to take her out, rain or shine, snow or sleet for her bathroom breaks and exercise walks.  I remember in the days before she died, when we knew we were running out of time and her walks had been truncated to a few feet, I longed for just one more long walk. I longed for her to yank on the leash when she caught the scent of something interesting.  I longed for her to have the energy to lunge hard at a passing dog forcing me to offer a sheepish apology to the startled owner.  Those walks took up my precious time. Particularly at the end of a long day, exhausted and eager to collapse on the couch, I dreaded those walks.  Walking Kimo was a pain in the neck much of the time; a major inconvenience.  And I've missed those walks so much.

Everywhere I look I'm reminded of the things I no longer have to do, the time I don't have put in, the money I don't have to spend.  And it saddens me.  As I've meditated on how much easier my life is without Kimo, I've come to the realization that inconvenience is actually a blessing. Think about it for a moment, think of all the things that inconvenience you and think about how many of them are tied to the people you love most.  After all, a life totally organized around my ease and desires, a life completely devoid of inconvenience is a life that must necessarily be lonely.  People (and pets) disrupt the flow.  They place demands on us. They ruin the schedule, mess up the house, drain the budget.  But the alternative is pretty bleak, isn't it?

So when Ezra starts fussing just as I'm about to sit down to work on my blog; when Elijah keeps pestering me to play right when I'm trying to finish those grades or calls out "Daaaaaaaaaddy" early in the morning when I'd rather sleep in; when Babs wants to talk when I want to surf the internet; when my student wants help with his math during my precious lunch hour when I'm trying to "get some work done" my goal is to rejoice .  I'm not there yet, but I want to get to the place that I rejoice in  interruptions, am grateful to have my hands full,  and give thanks for the blessing of inconvenience.

The last thing I felt like doing was going out on bitterly cold Sunday afternoon last weekend so that Elijah could run around and get his energy out.  But if I hadn't been so inconvenienced I wouldn't have captured these special memories:

Lying on the grass.  . .

.  . . looking up at the blue, blue sky

This little guy. . .always worth the "inconvenience." Always.