Good Enough

     Skiing all day in the beautiful cold definitely wiped us out. Asherel and I looked and felt like zombies the next day. And it was a full day we had to tackle the following day. I love skiing but it is probably a good thing the season is short. I am like the walking dead the next day.  This is often the case with bliss. It is followed by crash.

     On the plus side,the mountain cold was exchanged for 64 degree sunshine. I stepped outside in the morning and felt like dancing. There is something about warmth after frigid cold that makes me throw all caution to the wind and do a jig beneath the clouds. And it was particularly welcome since we had trebuchet practice which must be done outdoors.

     For those of you that haven't followed my blog every day for the past two years, first of all, why not? Secondly, the trebuchet is one of the Science Olympiad events I coach. A trebuchet is like a catapult which flings objects through the use of a counterweight pulling a pivoting arm.

We had altered our trebuchet a little, and at the lowest counterweight, it was no longer flinging projectiles at all. It would anemically swing the pivoting arm, and the projectile would plop out of the sling 2 inches in front of the treb, or even and most frustratingly, fling backwards. So we set up in the lovely warm sunshine, and videotaped the fling in action to try to figure out why it was no longer working.

     After much top secret tinkering and adjusting and highly educated winging it and guessing, we finally got it to fling 2 meters.

     "How far should it fling?" asked Ben.

     "I don't know...probably a lot more."

     "It's funny how we are so excited about just 2 meters," he said.

     I thought about that. It probably needed to shoot 3 or 4 times that far, but after all we could do for an hour was shoot backwards, 2 meters felt like a gift wrapped in chocolate. Failure seems to be a critical element in savoring success. Even just modest success. Even dismal success. Forward is better than backward.

     When the Israelites escaped out of slavery in Egypt, even the little they had had in Egypt seemed abundant in the deprivation of their desert wandering. They grumbled that they would all die in the desert subsisting on just the manna God provided. They longed for the leeks and onions of their now bucolic memories of abundant life as slaves.  Their eyes were on what they didn't have, not on what they had. That of course bred discontent.

     "How'd it go?" asked Ben's mom later.

     "Well, it went forward, and so we quit for the day," I told her, "Sometimes good enough is, well, good enough."

Chronicles 20:12

Our God, will you not judge them? For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you”

Waiting Round the Bend

     I wasn't sure what I would find as I entered the nursing home to  look for my old friends. Comer had been sick, and Evelyn had fallen and been in bed for much of the past two weeks. Comer had not sounded confident that we would be able to get Evelyn safely to the car.

     "Then we will use a wheelchair if needed, Comer. It would do her good to get out."

     "That it would," he agreed, "She is not doing well. Never says a word....sometimes mumbles but not so anyone can tell what she is saying. How will we get her in the car?"

      That was saddening- the Alzheimers seemed to be winning the battle lately.

     "I am an occupational therapist," I said, "I know how to help her."

     "Well ok, darlin, then see you then."

     But as I entered the Home, they both sat in the entry way as usual, Evelyn looking more chipper than usual. Her back was ramrod straight and her hand clasped Comer's. They both stared straight ahead, and I suspected that they had been there a while, though I was a few minutes early.

     "Hello!" said Evelyn, with a huge smile. She was thickly swathed in two heavy sweaters.

     "Good thing you're bundled up...it is frigid out there!"

     "Yes," she said, nodding, with sparkling eyes.

      "Shall we go get roast beef? I know that's your favorite Comer."

      "That would be grand," he said.

     I took Evelyn's arm, expecting a struggle with a shuffling sack of potatoes after Comer's description, but she was fine. She was a little slow getting in the car, but after a few slow shifts of her hips, she was in and comfortable.

     "Hey Comer, my book went to number one."

     "You are kidding me! That's fantastic."

     "Yep, in the dog training category on Amazon. You have a famous author taking you to lunch."

     Evelyn laughed.

     "I know Evelyn," I said, " A little exaggeration...But I wrote a second book too. It is ready to be published."

     I had had the music on as always, with songs from the 40s and 50s, their era. Evelyn sang along to many, and Comer smiled watching her.

Then Moon River came on. I cranked it up.

     "You know this one for sure, Evelyn!" I said. I was stopped at a corner so I sat there as the song blasted from the CD player. Evelyn reached her hands up, mimicking mine as we gestured dramatically in time with the words. Her voice was clear, and strong.

      Moon River, wider than a mile

      I'm crossing you in style one day

      We're after the same rainbow's end

      Waiting round the bend

      My huckleberry friend

      Moon River and Me.

The song ended and Comer gazed at his smiling wife as she sighed with contentment.

     "She's having a good day," he said, "What's your second book about?"

      "Miracles."

You shall rise up before the grayheaded and honor the aged. Leviticus 19:32

Black Friday- a Study in Contrast

Black Friday is when people go shopping and get great deals and fill their cars with all the items on their Christmas list for half the cost they might otherwise have incurred. Black doesn't seem to match the mood.
Good Friday is when Jesus was crucified, tortured, taunted, and killed. Good doesn't seem to match the mood there either.

This year, Black Friday really was black, My nutty son and adventurous wife left at 9 pm to be sure to get a good parking space for the midnight opening of the stores. It was cold and dark, an inky black sky. They planned to shop all night. Ah, to be young! I went to bed before their car wheels hit the street. It is exhausting preparing an enormous multi-dish meal that you hope to all come out hot simultaneously. It also required college level math computations. I had to compute when my make-ahead casseroles (5 of them) had to come out of the freezer/oven, and go in to the oven either concurrent or directly after the turkey came out. They all had different thaw times and different cook times, which made the careful computation necessary if they were all to emerge at exactly the same time from the oven, just as the turkey was done being carved, and the family seated with just the right amount of famished. It is a juggling act that those who have never attempted have no idea about the complexity involved.

So on Black Friday eve, I was happily snoring while the mobs scoured the malls for items that would change their life. It is really a custom that somewhat puzzles me. Thanksgiving is all about contentment and gratitude. But Black Friday really feeds upon discontent, and insatiable desire to have more. I understand the drive to save money on Christmas gifts or necessities, particularly if money is tight, but still....there just strikes me something inherently off with the biggest shopping day of the season following the day when we all wallow in contentment. And now it doesn't even just follow the day of Thanks; it begins as early as 9:00 the same day. We of course know where this is headed. Black Friday will completely engulf Thankful Thursday, gobble it up entirely, and instead of the family gathering for a feast and prayers to our Almighty Creator, we will be standing in line at Walmart gathering for prayers to the Almighty Dollar.

This is not to say that I can't wait to see what Matt and Karissa snagged on their all night foray when they wake up, which won't be til the middle of the day, I imagine. I just wish Black Friday could occur a few days after Thanksgiving. It would have a less incongruous feel. Even Jesus waited three full days after Good Friday to demonstrate why it was so good.

Job 28:3
³ Mortals put an end to the darkness;
   they search out the farthest recesses
   for ore in the blackest darkness.

Matthew 27:
³⁹ Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads ⁴⁰ and saying, “You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! Come down from the cross, if you are the Son of God!”

Isaiah 53: 4-6
⁴ Surely he took up our pain
   and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
   stricken by him, and afflicted.
⁵ But he was pierced for our transgressions,
   he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
   and by his wounds we are healed.
⁶ We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
   each of us has turned to our own way;
and the LORD has laid on him
   the iniquity of us all.

Que Sera, Sera

I heard people grumbling as the first few dogs came off the course. The several inch layer of sand that had been unexpectedly covered over the hard pack dirt might have been fine for horses- but the agility handlers and their dogs were straining to run. Most of the dogs were disqualified or dropping bars on jumps they rarely miss. Asherel and Honeybun rocketed off the start line, exuberant and excited, and then it was clear that Asherel could hardly move. Honeybun was leaping and running, but leaving poor Asherel in the dust. Somehow they finished the course admirably, but Asherel was breathless and distraught, "I can't run in that!"
"Well, you did a very good job considering, and since you can't change it, just enjoy the next runs for what they are. Don't worry about doing well, just have fun and learn new things."

It was not the fault of  my dog club, who was sponsoring the event. They had rented the facility  with the nice hard pack dirt surface long ago, and were informed the night before the trial that the expected hard pack surface was now sand covered. The participants had long ago sent the checks, made hotel reservations, and packed their dogs for the trial. There was no way my club could change plans now. They hoped the surface wouldn't be as bad as it seemed likely to be.

The grumbling escalated. Several handlers told the organizers they were going home. I was in charge of finding workers for the first two classes. Since I looked official, with clip board and microphone in hand, I was a target for some of the frustration.
"I just wasted $400 on this weekend," said one upset lady, "They can just have my entry fee, but I am going home. I can't risk my knees or my dogs, running on this surface."
I glanced at my unfilled worker clipboard, "Oh...would you want to work the next class then? We need a ring crew..."
The woman glared at me and shook her head, storming off.
"Is that a 'no' then?" I called after her.

Finally, the judges and organizers called a powwow. There was a plot of grass outside the sand covered arena. If they used just one ring instead of two, meaning the show would take twice as long, they could move all the equipment to the grass. Everyone there had to unanimously agree to this change, or they would just slog along with the dangerous and impossible sand surface. There was one dissenter, and the whole new scheme was almost tabled, but then the dissenter was dipped in boiling tar, and surprisingly changed her mind. The entire mob of dog handlers now moved together to take down the temporary fence encircling the sand ring, and erect it around the grass ring. The heavy equipment was moved piece by piece, with the hundred or so participants each swarming about with agility jumps, tunnels, chutes, tables, A-frames, teeters, and numbered cones in hand, like army ants. Within less than an hour, the show continued on the grass field.

Many people still went home.  They didn't want to have to wait several hours (for some) between their classes. We ourselves had two to three hours between each of our three classes, but it was a beautiful, warm sunny day. There was some consternation that the show might not end til after dark, and Asherel might miss the party she was so anxious to attend with fellow homeschoolers that night. Still, it was hard to not be cheery in 70 degree sunshine, under blue skies in the middle of a quiet peaceful country. The show was at an animal farm, and I took a break and walked for an hour, looping along paths with zebra, ostriches, camels, potbellied pigs, guinea hens, turkeys, emus, and horses. The rest of the time, I worked all the classes except the ones Asherel was running in. Shockingly, Honeybun did not seem interested in all the animals, and was wonderfully focused on Asherel. She missed her first attempt at the Weaves in the Open Standard class, but then nailed it on the second try. That was the only mistake she made and in Open level, one mistake at the weaves is allowed. We suspected she had Qualified. (Qualifying means the dog performed with no more than two mistakes in the open class, and within the time limit, without knocking down any jumps. When a dog qualifies enough times at each level, he moves to the next higher level.) The crowd that remained was remarkably happy, and enjoying the slow pace of the one ring agility trial. It had all seemed so awful at first, with so many unhappy people and that impossible situation. Now, we all had sunburnt noses, and were sitting in our chairs on the grassy field, basking in the sun and watching each dog as it ran the course, cheering in unison when it finished. No one was grumbling anymore, and despite the long day, it had all gone smoothly. I think, it was even nicer out there rather than in the covered arena anyway,  there on the sunny field, with the exotic animals dotting the adjacent pastures. Not only had the mutiny been quelled, but the mutineers were all smiling.

And then, the last class of the day, as the handlers were walking the course, they all broke out spontaneously into song.
"Que sera, sera," they sang, "Whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see, Que Sera, Sera! What will be, will be."

I had been in the bathroom at the time, but I heard the voices swell together, and I laughed. How wonderfully these fine people had tackled adversity, and made the best of a disappointing situation. I love that song and it reminded me of a favorite prayer: "God grant me the serenity, to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen."

Then, I checked Asherel's score on the computer at the judges' table- she had indeed Qualified...and won first place.

 Isaiah 29:24:
Those who err in spirit will come to understanding, and those who
grumble will accept instruction.

Joshua 1: 16,17
...“Whatever you have commanded us we will do, and wherever you send us we will go. ¹⁷ ...Only may the LORD your God be with you....

Straight Hair

If we shaved Asherel's head, we would have enough hair to cover 3 normal girls and maybe a small pony. The reason I know this is that I spent an hour straightening her corkscrew shoulder length curls. She has an agility dog trial for the next two days, and the more she runs, the more her thick hair curls and puffs. By the end of a typical agility day, she has hair so voluminous and broad in its range that it sometimes trips the dogs in the adjacent ring. She also has a strong, and inexplicable aversion to barrettes, headbands, pony tails, braids, bobby pins, or any other hair restraining device known to human kind. So she requested I straighten her hair, and she hoped it would stay that way for the next two days. She claims straight hair is "not so annoying."

She fortified herself with a cup of goldfish crackers at her side, and on the table in front of her, the art contest work she is laboring night and day to complete before the deadline. I came armed with a huge round brush, several hair clips, a large high power curling iron, and smooth silky hair serum. Her hair is so recalcitrantly curly that I have to go through it not once, but three times with the curling iron, or those persistent kinks still broing out of control.

Since she had specifically requested I do this, I did not get the typical complaining, eye rolling, and "when will we be done" mantra repeated till my eardrums were permanently distorted by the sound waves of that phrase. Additionally, I knew that I was amassing enough good works in her eyes that I would be able to have her pose for a photograph when I was done. I did get some eye rolls when I told her it was time for her photo, but she ultimately acquiesced and smiled. When I finally finished, her hair was smooth and silky and luxuriously thick. I love her curly hair, but she did look gorgeous with her sleek and shiny straight locks.

And as she disappeared and I put away the curling iron, the large round brush, the hairdryer, the four hair clips, the shiny styling serum, and the cracker box, I wondered why curly haired people always want straight hair, and straight haired people always want curls. Are we all doomed forever to wanting what we cannot have, and then struggling to fit in places we were never meant to be? If one word only could be used to describe the human race, I think it would have to be: dissatisfaction.  I know this for a fact. When I was young, my hair was straight. I wanted curls. When it was short, I wanted it long. When I hit adolescence, it became curly. I wanted it straight. I grew it long and I wanted it short. When I had bangs, I wanted sideswept chin scraping hair instead. When I had sideswept chin scraping hair, I wanted bangs.

I cannot think of a single time in the Bible when Jesus reported being unhappy with His hair, or His looks, or His circumstances. Even when confronted with the Cross, He only said, "If it be your will, take this cup from me." This is an exceedingly mild request to His Father, and honestly, doesn't hold a candle to the circumstances I typically complain about. If anyone had a reason to complain, He did. But He didn't. Do you know that the word "uncomplaining" doesn't occur at all in the Bible, but complaining or grumbling at least 75 times? This ought to tell us something, and frankly, makes me a little ashamed.

There is a secret to contentment. I am certain of it. I am equally certain, I am not going to find it looking in the mirror, straightening the misplaced hairs.

Exodus 16:6-8

 ⁶ So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, “In the evening you will know that it was the LORD who brought you out of Egypt, ⁷ and in the morning you will see the glory of the LORD, because he has heard your grumbling against him. Who are we, that you should grumble against us?” ⁸ Moses also said, “You will know that it was the LORD when he gives you meat to eat in the evening and all the bread you want in the morning, because he has heard your grumbling against him. Who are we? You are not grumbling against us, but against the LORD.”

Job 36:11
¹¹ If they obey and serve him,
   they will spend the rest of their days in prosperity
   and their years in contentment.

Pleasant Places

Asherel should have known better than to put a hotdog down on the floor of a room swarming with dogs. The hotdog was supposed to last for the full ten minute warm up period before she was to do her first run of the day at the Dog Agility Trial.While no food is allowed in the agility ring itself, hands smelling like hotdogs are allowed. And if a dog's attention is fully secured before entering the ring via highly desiriable snacks, she was more likely to sustain attention during the critical moments.

Thus, the hotdog was in Asherel's hand as she was dutifully stretching Honeybun's legs the way our dear mentor, Polly, had showed her. Asherel always would line up about ten minutes before her run was to commence, plop Honeybun over on her side, and gently stretch each leg just like Polly had taught her. Polly had warned her that this simple technique would help prevent injuries and allow our dog to run the course for years to come. Asherel always stretched the little dog's muscles before her runs.

However, this time, Honeybun was somewhat resistant, so Asherel needed to put the hotdog down so she could use both hands to convince Honeybun to lie still. A proven axiom with Honeybun, the once starving dog, is that if food touches the floor within a quarter mile of her radar, she will be on it before you can say "corpulent canine."  When Asherel looked back, the hotdog was gone. She had no choice but to pull out another hotdog to finish the warm up session before her run. Somehow, with two hotdogs busting from under her belt, the little dog made a beautiful run and qualified, completing her Novice title. As she waddled  from the ring, tail wagging, I thought she looked happier than usual. Later, hearing the hotdog story, I knew why.

A short time later, I went back to where Asherel was sitting with Honeybun, to see her munching on a full large bag of gummy worms. Gummy worms are to Asherel what hotdogs are to Honeybun. Our friend, Danielle, upon watching Asherel qualify and secure her last Novice Agility title, had given her the bag of gummy worms. Two of my favorite creatures on earth gazed up at me, with happy, gut-filled eyes.

Later, as the agility judge signed Asherel's junior handler forms required by AKC when a junior handler's dog qualifies, she asked me how old Asherel was, and how we had come to start agility. I told her that Honeybun had been an aggressive dog, towards both dogs and people. Asherel had always wanted to do agility, and despite Honeybun's overwhelming issues, she began training Honeybun on her home-made agility course in our backyard. In that difficult first year after finding the half-dead, starving, vicious dog, we had been strongly urged to euthanize.
"But we just couldn't euthanize her in the end," I said, happily collecting not just the signed paper for the first class, but a second form as well. Honeybun, filled with energy and surprising focus, had qualified in her second class, too, and placed second. That class was the harder Open division,  and a much larger class.
"It really shows the value of persistance," said the judge.
Persistence...and hotdogs, I thought, glancing at my daughter, and gummy worms.
And friends. I hugged Danielle, wondering how on earth she knew gummy worms were more precious than diamonds to Asherel.

I had been thinking all week of the blessings in my life. Like most people, I had balanced that against my chronic complaining over what I didn't have, but as I looked over the room teeming with happy dogs, and people, and our now gentle and sweet little rescue dog, I felt deep satisfaction. Oh Lord, I thought, watching the full bag of gummy worms slowly disappearing, the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.

Psalm 16:5-7

 ⁵ LORD, you alone are my portion and my cup;
   you make my lot secure.
⁶ The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
   surely I have a delightful inheritance.
⁷ I will praise the LORD, who counsels me;
   even at night my heart instructs me.

Dress Fancy

"I miss the beauty of our condo deck overlooking the lake," I said to Asherel as we walked the dogs, reflecting on our week at Smith Mountain Lake for my son's wedding.
"I miss writing my blog while watching the sun rise over the lake, and foxes trotting by, and being just a few steps away from kayaking in the morning. It was all so beautiful."
"There are different kinds of beauty," she consoled me, "This is beautiful in its own way. Look at that back yard!"
I followed her finger to a nicely landscaped terraced back yard along our usual dog walk route.
"It is," I sighed.

It was a nice back yard....much nicer than ours. And while I could see Asherel's point, and agreed... I still thought longingly of the deck overlooking the beautiful expanse of the shimmering lake with mountains ringing it. Just like God, beauty can be found anywhere, but some places are just more obvious about it.

I brought Asherel's bridesmaid dress and my Mother of the Groom dress to the dry cleaners. Having danced up a storm with no AC in the reception, both our dresses were in dire need of a cleaning. The man at the counter had a really amazing new computer/cash register. He hung the dresses then looked carefully at them. Then he punched some keys on his cash register, and suddenly it spoke to him, its robotic voice convicting:  "Dress. Fancy."
I laughed, "Yes, they are fancy dresses."
"They are beautiful," the store owner said, smiling. The cash register didn't say anything.
"We went to my son's wedding in those," I said, as though he cared, as though by discussing it perhaps I could stretch the beauty of that glorious week in the mountains a little longer. Still the cash register remained silent. It had said all there was to say, and now awaited the next customer.

I wondered as I watched the next client enter the store with an armload of casual shirts what the cash register might pronounce about those......
"Shirts. Common."

"Tell me, Mr. Cash Register, have you ever been to Smith Mountain Lake?" I asked it.
The cash register gleamed, "Lake. Fancy."
I glanced at Asherel and said, "How about my backyard?"
"Trees. Birds. Squirrels. Common."
I nodded knowingly at the Cash Register. But it wasn't done with its analysis:
"Home. Memories. Neighbors. Friends. Bamboo garden. Rocks with verses painted by little girl. Agility course. Happy dogs running. Family growing up. Faith. Prayer. Love. "
"I thought you said 'common'! Are you changing your mind? Since when are machines fickle?"
"Contentment,"  it said, and then was silent.
The Dry Cleaner owner acted as though he had not heard a word.


Philippians 4:11-13
I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.

With you always

I thought the old couple in the back seat were eating their roastbeef and slurping their milkshakes, mindless of the discussion between Asherel and me.
"Where did the music go?" I asked her.
"My battery died. Why don't you have a CD player in this car anyway? And a better radio?"
"I don't know," I sighed, "We are in it all the time. It would be nice to have one. Maybe you should mention this to Dad. After all, Mother's Day is coming up...."

Evelyn burst our laughing in the back seat.
"Oh, you heard me conniving for a Mother's Day gift, did you Evelyn?" I said, glancing in the mirror.
"Yes," she chuckled.
"Did you ever plot ways to get a Mother's Day gift?"
"Oh yes!" she said.
"Hey Comer, did you always get her the gift she hinted after?"
"Hinted or told me, she got everything she wanted. She and my daughter both. Whatever they wanted they got."
"Did they appreciate it?"
"Probably not," he said, squeezing Evelyn's hand.
"You're a good man, Comer," I said.
"He is a good man," agreed Evelyn.
"Well I'm just glad I had the money," continued Comer, "The day I got out of the army, I had a $100 bucks."
"But that was a lot of money back then, right?"
"Yea, but I blew it all before the next morning."
"On what!?"
"Oh you know, wine, women, and song."
"Did you know Evelyn yet?"
"Oh no, I didn't meet her for another 3 years."
"Good thing, Evelyn, you might not have liked him then."
"You're right about that. I think I did about the fastest turn-around of anyone in history. I walked out of there without a penny in my pocket to my brother's house, got a job, and worked my way up."
He started the first office of a small brokerage/insurance firm in the city and after expanding 3 times, he was well on his way to becoming a millionaire.


I had collected my old friends from their new Senior Care facility. The memories of the old place, being apart in separate buildings, poor Evelyn crying every time he sadly walked away to return to his place were already receding. They were sitting together on the lovely lobby couch, holding hands, both dressed elegantly. When Evelyn saw me, I could tell by the bright smile and joyful reaching out to me that she knew me. It almost seemed like in this new place, Alzheimer was retreating.
She stood up quickly, none of the shuffling painfulness of a week ago evident, and walked quickly to the car.
"You're leaving me in the dust, Mother!" called Comer.
We had driven to Lake Wylie, with a stop first at Arbys for the roast beef they'd been longing for.
On the way, Comer told me he had been needing a switch for his lamp, and a small hammer. I stopped at Lowes Building Supplies, leaving Evelyn in the car with Asherel.

"You stay here with Asherel," I urged her, "Will that be ok?"
"Oh yes," she said, smiling at Asherel.

As we drove home after meandering along the lake shore, Evelyn said, "This is such an interesting city, all these parts."
I knew enough about Alzheimers and Evelyn's echo-ing of words to know that word retrieval was sometimes impossible. She may know at times what she wants to say, but often the crumbles in her brain won't let her travel to the place where words come easily. This alert and spontaneous sentence was a little victory.

When I returned our old friends to the home, there were none of those torturous bouts of weeping that broke both my and Comer's heart. Evelyn and Comer went to his room, where they would spend the day together.
"I'm so happy to have this little hammer!" said Comer, holding up the Lowes bag.
"You watch him, Evelyn," I said, ""Don't let him knock the wall over."
"I won't," she said, laughing.

I took her hands and said, "We can go wherever you want next week, do anything you like, see anything you would like to see. What would you like to see?"
Without pause she said, "Asherel!"
"Ok," I said hugging her and Comer, "Then I will bring Asherel."

Later when I told Asherel what Evelyn had said, she mused, "But I didn't do anything. I just sat here."
That sometimes is all it takes. Just being there alongside a fellow traveler. As I left Comer and Evelyn together in his new room, hers just down the hall, I knew that was something this sweet old couple knew deeply in their souls.

Psalm 73:23

 ²³ Yet I am always with you;
   you hold me by my right hand.

Here or There

It is way too early.... but I don't know how far away the mountain is. So I have to plan on 3 hours though it is probably only a 2 hour drive. I know that it is supposed to be warm and sunny here. It is predicted to be cold and blustery there. Why exactly am I going there? It seems this sort of thing happens a lot in my life. All is perfectly peaceful, calm, easy here.... but I am always ending up there.

I will be fine once I am there, on top of the snowy mountain listening to some barely past babyfood aged young man telling me how to remain alive while balancing on thin wooden planks and careening full throttle into the force of gravity. As soon as we get to the mountain, I will be glad I went. I am sure of it......

Meanwhile, I am remembering Paul's admonition to be content in any and all circumstances. He was such a master at finding joy whether he was here or there. This is a skill I sorely need to develop.... quickly.

Philippians 4:11-13

¹¹ I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. ¹² I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. ¹³ I can do all this through him who gives me strength.

Greener Grass

I was enjoying watching Asherel win her jumpers class when my neighbor called my cell phone. Our other dog Lucky was doing an independent jumpers class on his own. He had apparently hopped our fence, been corralled into a neighbor's fenced yard, jumped that, and was now with my friend. She locked him in my bedroom til we returned.

The next morning, I was enjoying my coffee and relaxing from an exhausting but fun weekend when my cell phone rang again. It was 7 a.m.
"I have your dog," he said.
Now of course, first thought was that this was a dog-napper asking for ransom. Second thought was I wondered if I could arrange visitation rights. Let him keep the stupid dog contained in a fence.
"How much can I pay you to keep him?" I asked.

It was not, of course, Honeybun, who had jumped the fence and disappeared right after her breakfast. She, who had lived on her own in the wild and nearly starved to death and been beaten down with hundreds of ticks and fleas had no desire to leave her lovely home. It was Lucky, who has escaped our yard for years despite growing barricades we erect with ascendingly more horrifying aesthetic results.

The dognapper, alas, was not interested in keeping Lucky, so I grabbed a leash and put on my running shoes and went for an earlier run than planned.

Upon return, I went to the electronic collar manual. We had the voltage at the lowest setting, just a little beep and quiet zap to remind this stupid escape artist that it was more pleasant to remain in the confines of our yard. I upped the zap factor. Next I went to Lowes and bought 50 feet of wire. In the mosquito infested dribbling rain and 90 degree heat and 1,000 percent humidity, Arvo and I tacked the wire all along the remaining fence side that looked halfway reputable. We tacked the heavy wire another 5 feet above the fence. Now our fence looked like Alcatraz in its heyday. Lucky watched us from the back deck. He was smirking.

We were gone all day yesterday and when we returned, he was still home. We will see how long this fix works. When we were stuck in a traffic jam yesterday, Karissa was looking up words in the car dictionary (i keep one there as you never know when you are traveling and need just the right word).
"Tendentious!" she called out.
Adjective- having or showing a definite tendency, bias, or purpose.
Lucky is tendentious.
Since birth, Lucky has not wanted to be contained. He wants no restrictions on his freedom. He has a definite tendency, bias and purpose to explore the greener grass on the other side, wherever that other side may be. He has a cushy life with everything he wants, yet from his early puphood when he fell into the understreet sewer system at 6 weeks old and thus was rescued and became our dog, he has not been satisfied to stay where he should. He will climb out, or dig out, or jump out.... and when he finds himself on the other side, unable to get back to his dog door and food, water and comfort, he whines at the front door like it is our fault he is out there hungry, hot, and dehydrated.

And while I would kick him if I were the dog kicking type (which I am not and abhor those types), I sort of understand. I am not all that different. Neither were Adam and Eve. I think we all tend to want what we don't have, fight ferociously to get it, and then discover it was not at all what we had hoped it would be. Contentment and recognition of the wonderful blessings that surround us, the simple wonder of being in the presence of a loving God who created us and yearned for our decision to love him in return does not come easily to me. I am always yearning for something more, something better, something easier, something harder, something that is different from what I have..... and lose sight of the fact that what I have is enough and always has been. The difference between me and God is that He will not build bigger fences to keep me at His side. The great pathos in that story is that He created me with the capacity to leave should I choose to do so and He refuses to stop me. Instead of a giant wire barricade that hems me in and keeps me home, He whispers my name and waits.

Judges 6:17-19 (New International Version)

¹⁸ Please do not go away until I come back and bring my offering and set it before you."
And the LORD said, "I will wait until you return."

Tiny dogs

Our neighbors just got a dog from the humane society that is smaller than many flowers. For a few seconds after meeting her, Lucky forgot to strain at his leash and growl his typical socially retarded greeting because he didn't realize she was a dog. He thought she was a squirrel on a leash. She is the sweetest creature and I suspect wasn't snatched up sooner from Humane Society Lookyloos because they thought she was a speck of dust.

She has other unusual attributes besides having been clearly shrunk in the wash. We have not heard a single sound out of her. Most little dogs are yippy, and bitey, and hyper. Little Piper (so aptly named since as far as we can tell, she doesn't pipe or bark or growl or possess any vocal apparatus at all) must have been removed from her mother before she could be taught canine sounds. Her mother also did not have time to teach her typical annoying little dog habits. So Piper is gentle and quiet, and calm. We are helping the neighbors out this week, walking her midday while they are at work. She rolls over in the sunny grass, which is much taller than she is, and quietly implores us to rub her belly. The neighbors not only have this sweet peaceful little creature that barely takes up 2 molecules of space, but have an immaculate house. When I walked in with Asherel to pet and help with the little dog (we each got one molecule of dog), I stopped in the portico and sniffed.
"What's that smell?" I asked.
"I know," said Asherel, "I have never smelled it before either."
I glanced around at spotless white carpets, shining counters, gleaming honey wood floors, white walls without a single hand print on them.
"I suspect it has to do with the condition of this home. I think it is a clean house smell."
"Oh," agreed Asherel, "That is probably why we couldn't place it..."

A tiny seed of jealousy the size of Piper began to nibble at my soul. How do people do this? How do some people manage to get peaceful gentle dogs that don't bark and homes from the Planet where filth and clutter don't exist? I have a nagging suspicion it isn't luck.

So I won't go over there much. This is Asherel's job anyway and walking in that house and breathing that fresh clean air is just too convicting of my shortcomings. Unlike that tiny dog that will forever be tiny, my discontent never stays tiny. I am forever running into circumstances that make me long for anything but what I have. This is stupid. I don't use that word often, but I think shock therapy may be my only hope. Contentment in little things is perhaps the greatest key to satisfaction in life. Funny how that tiny little dog named for an attribute she doesn't possess reminds me to reach for magnanimity of spirit that makes me content despite what I don't possess.

Because of course, what I do possess is bigger than the universe.

^{1 Timothy 6:6-7
6}But godliness with contentment is great gain. ⁷For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it.

Cockroaches and Contentment

I awoke feeling almost normal for the first time in many moons. Just in time to return to the frenzy of homeschool and a new math book (the last one almost did me in... can't wait to see what is in store for us this semester....). Since I was sick for almost the entire Christmas break, I don't feel very rejuvenated. But, as the great philosopher said, "It is what it is." (This is a variation on "whatever", and "You are God and I am not.")

Stoically determined not to be depressed by the fact that in a blink of a flu-drooping eye, both boys had come and gone and presents had been opened and put away, and ornaments had flashed and vanished, but somehow there are still nasty leftovers lurking in the refrigerator...... I walked out this morning to the quiet sunny great room. Sunshine was gleefully pointing out that my newly cleaned windows were already covered again with dog snot and finger smudges. "Is there no balm in Gilead?" I said to myself, another variation of "It is what it is" with a touch of desperation implied.

And there to greet me wriggling in death throes upside down was a cockroach, frantically waggling its legs. It was a large one. It was clear it had escaped my meticulous housekeeping (lie detection device beeping) and had lived a good long life. Nothing grows that big unless it has been feasting for thousands of years on the debris of shoddy housekeeping. I watched it for a while, and strangely, felt compassion. Here it was, obviously dying and defenseless, utterly unable to flip its disgusting carapace over to scuttle away. I did not have the heart to squash it. I got a cup and scooped it up, then tossed it outside. It landed on its feet, like a large beetle eyed cat and scurried away into the bushes.

Cousin Carol had sent me a verse this morning, saying God had bugged her to send it. It is a favorite verse of mine, and the title of one of my paintings.
"The fruit of righteousness will be peace. The effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever." Isaiah 32:17. This is a little different than "it is what it is." This could be restated as "It doesn't matter what it is. It matters who I am." Isaiah's life, as is true of most of God's prophets, was no picnic. Though educated and privileged, when he accepted the call of God to warn Israel of how they were falling away from God, he lived the typical unhappy and increasingly difficult life of someone who brings news no one wants to hear. It is a strong tradition that he was martyred by being put in a hollow tree which was then sawed in half. Isaiah, whose name means, "The Lord is Salvation", prophesied doom and gloom, but always added his message of ultimate salvation and hope. It is in Isaiah that the clear picture of a suffering Messiah is most clearly portrayed, a Messiah who would be sacrificed for our sins, and "By his wounds we are healed."Isaiah 53:5.
The Israelites have to have been scratching their head over that one.

Oddly, thinking about Isaiah and his life, mingled with the image of the struggling cockroach, I did feel some peace. Life was certainly not as pretty as I had hoped, not the past two weeks anyway, and the freshly cleaned windows needed cleaning again.... but God had urged a sweet soul to send a verse of comfort, and I had rescued a creature that I normally cannot bear to look at, instead of stomping on it til its disgusting green guts came shooting out in all directions. There is balm in Gilead.