Saturday, June 23, 2018

Amazing!

If you've been drawn here by the photo, or fallen down some internet rabbit hole -- whatever reason you are here -- please read to the end. Not because I have anything worthwhile to say, but my God is so amazing, and you need to know it!

I recently posted the news about our dear Bishop: we were forced to euthanize him this week. I have cried more in the past couple of days than I have in years. But -- and you're gonna wanna pay attention, 'cause this is God -- as many tears of sorrow as I have shed, many, if not more, tears of immeasurable gratitude have fallen. My God has been preparing me for this for months -- and that's not to say it is easy or will be easy, but He is with me; He is working for my good; He is tempering this terrible moment with grace and mercy.

The past year was rough on Bishop. It seemed one illness or injury after another plagued his body and sidelined our walks. With every passing month, with every white hair that appeared along his jowl, with every day our walk was shortened or made impossible, I was being prepared. God's Spirit whispered, "Time is passing, but I will be with you forever."

When hosting guests in our home, Bishop was always relegated to the basement. Being separated from me left him upset and anxious to get upstairs; but his fear aggression would not allow us to release him among strangers en masse. Finding someone to come sit with Mom occasionally was out as well; he was simply too unpredictable. The desire God placed in me to open our home to guests -- without having to stress anyone out -- and the frustration I felt at not being able to go out with Scott once in awhile was growing.

And my issues with anger? Who knew the responsibility I had with Bishop was so great? God did. I never realized until I was praying this morning. Bishop had been entrusted to us by someone who knew we'd give him a good home. It's crazy, but I never realized how seriously I'd taken that commission. God is showing me my irritation sometimes stemmed from the pressure I'd put on myself to care for the sweet but needy dog who depended on me

Staffordshires are a great breed, and I was all about being a "Staffy Mom." I shared photos and exchanged advice in a Facebook group. Until one day, I didn't. I don't know whether I was blocked or the group taken down, but that was it. In retrospect, I know they would have been supportive, but photo after photo of beautiful Staffies? As Olivia said, "Yeah, that was God saying, 'Ima do somethin' for ya.'"

God even made sure I had time to grieve. I had scheduled a vacation day this week. At the last minute, and for what can only be described as "miraculous" reasons, I requested the better part of the week. Little did I know I was going to need those days to spend Bishop's last day snuggling with him, and the day after, to develop new patterns with Tinkerball. God is in the details.

When I began to know Bishop's overall health was in decline, I asked God to heal him. But I also asked that if He was going to release me from this ministry (as I felt He was doing), that He would make sure Bishop did not linger and did not suffer. We were scheduled to see the veterinarian at 2:30 Wednesday afternoon; by 5:30 that evening, Scott and I were bent over him sobbing and saying "goodbye." That, my friends, is Providence. That, is grace. And as if that wasn't enough, I returned the following day to pick up Bishop's collar, forgotten in the blur that was the last few hours of his life. As I walked in the door, the doctor approached the front desk, collar in hand. As I reached for it, Dr. Kwon held my hands and thanked me. Thanked me? "I would have done the surgery -- that's my job, but it would have been very hard on him. Thank you for not making me do that to him." What better confirmation that God not only looks out for the well-being of one big-hearted little dog, but cares deeply for those who cared for him?

I told you my God was amazing!

Friday, June 22, 2018

Bishop

My husband is avoiding a phone call. One, I myself do not have the emotional fortitude to make. "I'll tell her in person," he said. "Her" is Olivia; the big secret is that Bishop, our goofy, sweet, smelly-jowled "housedog" and faithful companion is gone. Shortly after 5:30 this evening (Wednesday) we had to euthanize him. For weeks he'd been lethargic, not acting himself for days; suddenly, he'd bounce back to his former lively demeanor, only to return to lethargy. We tweaked food and medication; we searched for foreign bodies in the yard (Bishop was a bottom-feeder. He would eat anything he could. We thought, perhaps, he'd gotten into something he shouldn't). The last week or more, we'd noticed a distinct change in his gut -- a bloat. It seems, Bishop had developed a mass on his spleen which ruptured and he was slowly bleeding to death on the inside. Surgery was not an encouraging option; merciful sleep was.

People sometimes make way too much of their pets, and others -- a lot of Christians, sadly -- minimize the effect they have on our lives and our health. Bishop was not my son; he never held the same value to me as any of my children, but Bishop was never without incredible, unique and inestimable worth. He anticipated my movements about the house and followed me to a fault -- his osteoarthritis was aggravated by his constant activity. He was a beautiful animal -- inside and out; I couldn't help but marvel at God's immense love, creativity and intelligence in creating such a beast. Bishop's loyalty was unlike any I've experienced in another pet. In fact, when his original owner returned for a visit one day, Bishop "protected" me -- fiercely! On another occasion, I had a "dream" I was being hunted. I could feel the breath of my pursuer's black horse on the back of my neck; I began calling out, "Jesus. Jesus." And just as my pursuer disappeared, Bishop let out a single, loud bark in the middle of the night. I've come to believe it wasn't a dream after all, but a spiritual attack; and Bishop was fully aware of something in the room. I believe animals have a relationship with their Creator -- not as mankind is enabled to have, of course, but God speaks to them and uses them today as He did long ago.

Bishop was part of God's blessing in my life. His presence and his happy wiggling upon seeing me brought an instant smile to my heart. He developed such a relationship with Scott, it brought me joy to see them together. It was because of Tinkerbell's intense dislike of him so many years ago, I began walking in order to tire them and reduce aggression; our walks were good for my health and made us local "celebrities." It was on one of our walks that we first met my friend, Annette; she recommended Resurrection Life Church -- a recommendation that has changed my life and Scott's as well. And Olivia? Well, Bishop loved Olivia like a good dog loves his girl. He was the only pet permitted to enter the inner sanctum of her room or share her blanket.

Bishop was a picture of God's mercy toward me. Several weeks ago, God made it clear to me that the lives of our pets were drawing to a close. Tinkerbell, the slow and steady, will most likely continue to age gracefully and exit quietly. Bishop lived with all he had; I knew he would go fast and go hard. I began those discussions with Scott. On the outside, he refused to prepare; he railed against the death of our "Big Head" and said he would take whatever measures to keep him. I called on my prayer warrior friends. I truly believed we had been called upon to rescue Bishop (and he to rescue us), but that ministry was nearing it's end -- God had other plans. I asked my friends to pray that whatever happened, whatever turn life took, Scott and I would be in agreement, that no dog or situation would cause division. When we took Bishop to the vet this afternoon, Dr. Kwon made it clear any probable diagnosis was invasive and expensive. When diagnostics were complete, we were left with only two courses for action; one was uncomfortable and onerous with little hope of success. The other, the course we chose. And that was God at work. Removing the doubt. Doing the heavy lifting. Bringing all things into agreement. Mercy. For us all.

Thursday, June 21, 2018

Love Others and Get a Life

I've been thinking about death a lot lately -- not my own, necessarily, but in general. Maybe that's what people over fifty do; I remember my mother approaching complete neurosis if she didn't read the obituaries every morning. Nevertheless, death is all around us. Mom is in her final years of life. Twenty or two, who can tell? But it is inevitable. She sometimes breathes heavily just climbing the stairs; her heart is winding down like an old watch. And I am no longer "middle-aged." Even the Velvet Elvis on our deck (Relax, it's a type of plant -- nothing weird going on here.) seems to be struggling to stay alive. The first year, it grew, and bloomed, and grew some more. This year, its branches are dry and brittle; the minute leaves sprout, they droop and die off. Death. Our backyard is littered with fish, rabbits, hamsters, mice, and two 💝 dogs -- all former residents of our humble abode, permanently interred in "Pet Cemetery." Death is inevitable. Life, however, is a choice.

In recent years suicide awareness has increased, with walks and talks, and more money than ever being funneled into research and prevention. And while research can provide us with better counseling, there needs to be a little less focus on our Defense, and a little more focus on our Offense. You see, being suicidal is not like being "on the bubble" -- it could go either way. Being suicidal means choosing between what you perceive to be quiet and comfort, and what appears to be climbing Mount Everest at night, to bury your favorite dog, while you are suffering the flu. I'm not trying to be funny or minimize things, but suicide, to a person in the dark is the choice that ends physical, emotional, social, and intellectual pain, not endures it. To someone with suicidal thoughts, suicide is rejecting the impossible in favor of the inevitable. In my experience, people who are truly suicidal do not want people to "be there for them," and they certainly do not wish to talk; those interventions are a little like trying to shut the gate after the horse has left the barn. Which brings me to our Offense.

Our Western world is crazier now than it was when I was a child. I remember the imaginative journeys of mud puddles and cardboard boxes; store parking lots were empty on Sundays, and test patterns decorated the television late at night. The only information with which we were bombarded round the clock was on the radio; the only microwaves were the kind that flattened Batman. Most of us today -- myself included -- are uncomfortable with "the pause." We do this one thing so we can get to the next thing before that other thing. And then we'll relax. But, before we know it, the clock has been working against us and we collapse into bed, vowing tomorrow we're "just going to take it easy." Or, we relax with our phones in our hands, the remotes on our laps, and that political pundit who gets us all riled up blabbering from across the room. Constant sensory assault. Demanding. Invading our quiet places. With that kind of inescapable pressure, who has the time or fortitude to really care for anyone else? Many of us -- it's all we can do to keep our own thoughts and lives and families intact, much less notice someone else.

Love is the greatest weapon known to man. Love is what gives each of us life. Love is what gives each of us new life. Love conquered sin and death two thousand years ago. Love is still conquering death today. The remarkable gift of love is ours, not only to receive, but to pass on to others. We can take time to love and entice others to make good choices -- choices that promote good physical health, or lead to happy, satisfying relationships. We can put down our phone, reduce the demands on our time, so we can be a little sweeter to others. We can skip tonight's "AGT" or " Hannity" and share the gift of love that heals and encourages those around us. We can take a second to look someone in the eye; we might catch a glimpse of the struggles and needs of others before they have retreated to a place of darkness and deception. We can love always, that others might choose life.

Sunday, June 17, 2018

Real Men

I usually include some relevant photo at the end of my post, Today, I am beginning with one.


These are the fathers present during our morning worship at Resurrection Life Church on Father's Day today. To say their presence at service is a reason for gratitude is an understatement. To say their role in their children's lives is a reason for us all to be grateful is something we all need to acknowledge. Today is the day to do just that.

Some of these men have young children, children they lead and encourage to come to church, to come to Jesus. Some have children who are grown -- sons they are encouraging to seek the Lord and cherish their wives, daughters they are encouraging to choose godly men and honor their husbands. Some have grandsons for whom they would drop any and all worldly pursuits to take fishing, granddaughters for whom they would suffer indignity to have tea and play dress-up; grandchildren for whom they pray nightly. These are real men, God's men.

Do you see that one there, second to the right? That guy there is father to his children, step-father (meaning, he stepped up) to mine, and grandfather to our grandchildren. That guy there is my husband. My husband has taught me what a good father acts like; my husband has taught me what a loving father says and does. My husband is a father who hurts for his children; society says male role models are detached, and even, oblivious. My husband works tirelessly for our children, and longs to protect his children; society says men are unqualified and lazy. My husband would go to the wall for his children; society says fathers are secondary and unnecessary. In my husband I have found a father who cares, who provides, who uses discipline and correction to keep his children safe and set them on the right paths. In my husband I have learned that real men fail because they try; real men apologize because they are sometimes reactionary and insensitive; real men don't always act like "movie dads"  because there are no script-writers, and there are no retakes. Society says men should apologize simply for being born male. But the true measure of a dad is what they are willing to sacrifice to try to get it right. The true measure of a man is how hard he is willing to swim when the current of public opinion is pushing the other way. The true measure of a family man is where God stands in his life.

Happy Father's Day to some real men!