This morning I had to go get some hay. The past couple of days i have had my camper shell off of my truck for cleaning and so i can open the back window and get goo wind on these amazing spring days. I got my keys and Vern (my dog) waited in eager anticipation for me to open the tailgate. As I did and he jumped in, he was faced with a his car with no walls. It is the first that Vern has ridden in a truck without a camper shell.
We pulled away down Mountain View Ave. and onto Arrowhead St., Vern was elated. The wind was everywhere, the smells flooded him, the sights we no longer thwarted by stupid walls and he was still safely in the truck (not running loose). He was a dog.
Vern has had a life of identity crisis. Lived like a coyote on the reservation, raised by a Calvinist feline, tries to be human whenever possible. Yet he realized in this moment what he was created for. He was created to be a dog in the back of an open truck driving through Sunnyside . suddenly all the details and minutia fit into a bigger picture that was complete. He is a dog.
This is not an argument for existentialism. But there are moments in life where we see who we are more clearly than ever before. In that moment we must not think that it is the experience or the environment that has shown us our identity. It is grace poured on us in a flood that we suddenly see what we are created for. Even when we learn these lessons while watching a dog learn his lessons.