For as far back as I can recall, I've been fond of family traditions ... Christmas Eve at Mom and Dad's, coloring Easter eggs with my children, watching Christmas Vacation while we decorated the tree, gazing into the sky at 4th of July fireworks displays, trekking through the pumpkin patch in October, roasting marshmallows atop the first fire of the season, playing games at the kitchen table on family game nights, annual road trips to Tennessee ... you get the picture. There's something about traditions that are shared with the ones you love, something that fills your heart and makes you feel like you are creating memories and making history with your family and friends.
A little over three years ago, a tradition began among a couple of guys whom I worked with at the time. It wasn't long after J.R. waddled his way into my world and we began our nightly walking routine that it started ... a tradition that has since been passed on to another young man in the office. Each evening when I would pack up my things and get ready to head home, I would say to the two young men who sat near me, "What time is it, guys?" And they would respond, often in unison, "It's time to walk the wiener!" And each time they said it, I would smile and say, "It is indeed time to walk the wiener!" They both knew that J.R. and I had to walk each evening, for his back and for my diabetes. What they didn't know was how many nights when I didn't want to walk, their words got me up off my couch and out the door with my little hound in tow. Both of those young men have moved on to other jobs, but as I said, another young man stepped up to the plate and took on the mantle of reminding me what time it is at the end of the workday ... it's time to walk the wiener.
I took Oliver for a chilly early morning walk today, and as we walked through the crunchy leaves to reach the trail, my mind instantly flooded with an event that took place with J.R. about a month or so before he died. J.R. was terrified of loud noises, and he never liked the crunch of the leaves beneath his paws ... until one day when we were walking and he ran over into a big pile of leaves beside the trail. He ran back and forth, crunching and wagging and letting me know that he wasn't afraid anymore. My eyes filled with tears as I recalled that day ... J.R. crunching and running and wagging, and me eventually stretching out in the leaves and him climbing onto my chest and licking my face. That was a big day for J.R. ... a big, big day ... the day that he overcame his fear and enjoyed the simple pleasure of the crunchy leaves beneath his little paws.
Ollie is the complete opposite of J.R. ... the more noise, the better, and he's not afraid of anything or anyone. As he raced through the leaves on the bridge this morning barking his silly little wiener dog head off, I stopped and scooped him into my arms and buried my face in his neck. "I love you, Ollie ... I do love you. You have a way of always making me smile, wiener ... that you do." When I placed him back on the bridge and he took off ahead of me, a thought crashed through my brain and settled into my heart. There's a lot of fear and trepidation in the steps I'm taking through life right now, and sometimes I find myself shaking in my boots at the noise around me. That day in the leaves with J.R. was for this time in my life, wasn't it, God? I thought. The lesson You had for me in him overcoming his fear wasn't for then ... it ... was ... for ... now.
Tears filled my eyes again as I trotted to keep up with Ollie (he walks much faster when it's cold outside), until I finally had to stop because I couldn't see the trail in front of me. And as Ollie ran back toward me to urge me to start walking again, I pulled him to the side of the trail and dropped to my knees. "Oh, Father," I said, as the tears poured from my eyes, "please help me not to be afraid ... help me to put my hand in Yours and crunch through the leaves and not be afraid. Take my fear and turn it into freedom ... freedom in You and Your love. Help me not to be frightened by the noise and to hear only You. Help me, God ... help me not to be afraid."
"Come on, Ollie boy," I said as I rose to my feet. "It's time, buddy ... it's time to walk the wiener."
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