|Winston Churchill. He thinks
best when eating socks.
Which is good, since Winston understands the Bible book Ecclesiastes better than I do. All is vanity. Winston gets it. All is but a breath. A pant. What can we do against the will of God? ‘The beauty is in the work’ says Solomon. The sniffing. The burying of the bone. The curling on a lap to help a master feel better. Winston wrote this blog specifically for me.
Will you welcome Winston Churchill with me? He’s a scholar and a gentleman.
I know you crave permanence, Master, but you’ll find none. Master, what you write today will be misunderstood or forgotten by the next generation. All your loves and hard work and hopes and dreams die with you.
All is vanity.
|Winston writing this blog.|
I watch you carve time from your life to mold words into stories. Time that hurts to give. Time that will never return.
But I read that there is a time for everything. A time to be born. A time to die. A time to dance. A time to mourn. A time to write. A time for silence. A time to bury a bone. A time to find it.
Master, the beauty is in the work.
The sleep of a dog that has labored is sweet. We take our portion—our sales, the contracts, a treat. But that is not the gift that God has given us. No. The gift is the joy of our labor. The gift isn’t the writing. The gift is the joy when we write. When I sniff a new smell, it’s the joy of sniffing. The joy of burying. The joy is all we have. Joy in our work and in Him. His gift to us.
Don’t forget, Master, it is comely to eat and drink and enjoy the fruit of your labors. But more so—enjoy the labor.
Enjoy your writing. Enjoy what little fruits there are to your labor. And enjoy the time you get to spend with me. Cause I love you! And bones. And that ball you put a treat in. Oh, I love that. Now, get over here. This belly isn’t going to rub itself.