Safety in the Crate

Normally, celebrating the birth of our country is a huge deal to me. I love America and I love fireworks. But I was too exhausted from the wedding to stay up. However, it is never a fun day for the dogs. Even our brave dog, Honeybun, prefers to slink to the sound proof protection of my closet on the evening of unexplained, thudding noises. Lucky, the neurotic dog, prefers to go try to scare off the creature that is stomping the heavens. He races around the back yard, barking and lunging at the sky. Then he careens back inside and looks around to see if the monster somehow evaded him and came in the house. He would probably drop dead from exhaustion, or a fed-up neighbor shooting him, if we didn't finally corral him and put him in the crate. He knows the crate is a safe place, where thus far no awful calamity has ever befallen him and in fact, he often gets tidbits of milkbones there.

I am reminded, a little more often than I would prefer, that I am a rather hyper individual, poised on the brink of frantic when the noise and chaos threatens my calm, ordered world. I am like Lucky, afraid those unseen enemies that are raising such a ruckus in the distance will be coming for me next. I totally get his madcap racing and barking at sparks in the sky. The thing is, no matter how many times someone tells Lucky (or me), "Stop! Hush! There is nothing to be afraid of!", it doesn't make me less frantic, and it makes me feel misunderstood on top of my fear.

I have a crate too. It is prayer. It is crawling into the hands of God and nestling my cheek against His trouble scarred palms, and hearing Him whisper, "It's ok, honey, you are safe here."

I paused before dragging my tired body to bed while fireworks lit up the sky.
"Lucky!' I called to the racing dog out back.
He came bounding in, soaked by the recent rain, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
"Come in your crate," I crooned and opened the door. He crawled in and lay down instantly. The wide eyes slowly closed, and his breathing quieted.

Jeremiah 32:37-38
³⁷ I will surely gather them from all the lands where I banish them in my furious anger and great wrath; I will bring them back to this place and let them live in safety. ³⁸ They will be my people, and I will be their God.

Piles to go before I sleep.....

"Does she have a pulse?" asked Nicole.
I saw her nod her head weakly, but she didn't move any other aching muscle.
We had just finished shoveling approximately 4,000 pounds of dog poop, give or take a ton or two. It was a beautiful day and fortunately not too hot, but all those dogs at Hollow Creek Rescue Farm (HCF ) produce a lot of fertilizer.

Our wonderful neighborhood had responded to our biannual HCF food and blanket drive with an outpouring of blankets and donations, so Asherel and I drove them to HCF and stayed to help with chores. Our jobs out there almost always involve the transfer of animal excrement from one place to another. It is not glamorous but it is unskilled, and thus where we are usually assigned.

While shoveling interminable piles, I thought that this could be a suitable job for the inmates of Hell. A lake of fire might almost be refreshing after a job like this for all eternity. Yet, while shoveling away, and ignoring the cries of our tiring back and aching shoulders, a pack of dogs came barreling towards us, just let outside for their chance to add to our work. Among the pack was our old friend Walter, the wobbly pitbull with cerebellar hypoplasia. Given his excitement in conjunction with his ataxia, he crashed into me as he enthusiastically greeted me, sending poop flying and my joints adjusting in unacceptable new alignments.  Among his cohorts were other pitbulls, all overjoyed to see us, all gentle, all sweet. It is not what one would expect of a pitbull pack based on news reports. It made the shoveling bearable, all those dogs so happy to see us.

As we worked in the midst of all those pitbulls who could not contain their delight in seeing us, I thought of the reputation these dogs enjoy. There is a strong movement to ban the entire breed.... which isn't even a breed but many different breeds. While pitbulls are indeed a strong group of canines, and need proper and responsible pet ownership, did you know you are far more likely to be killed by an SUV? So why is there no public outcry to shoot all the SUVs? In fact, one study I read said more people die tripping over their own slippers than from dog attack. Yet we all wear slippers with barely a thought of the potential mortal danger we are tempting!

I am not a pitbull expert but there is one thing I know. I was much closer to death from shoveling poop for 2 hours than I was from my interaction with the pack of pitbulls. I am just saying......

Fear is such a huge motivator in most people's lives. We fear cholesterol, too much sugar, too little exercise, too much exercise, bad grades, bad investments, big dogs, little dogs, Global Warming, Global cooling, Death, life...... the list is endless. Yet we thumb our noses at the one thing we should fear, the One who has the power to cast out all fear.

Asherel lifted her head weakly as we pulled away from our successful completion of our poop collecting.
"Can I have a Mcflurry with oreo pieces?"
"Yes," I promised, "You earned it. Do not fear!"

Luke 12:5 (New International Version)

⁵ But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after your body has been killed, has authority to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him.

Casting out Fear

Another low barometric pressure day brought about the rain, the worms on the street, and the crazy dog. I thought the pelting on the roof by the little drops was comforting. Lucky however, was once again in his pacing the house fearful mode that seems to lead to him bolting to distant unsafe lands. So I watched him carefully, until I got distracted, which happens rather easily. Now....uh, what was I saying?

Next thing I knew, I didn't see Lucky anywhere. I went outside and called him, checked under the deck, went back inside room by room calling....no Lucky.

So I grabbed a leash, tied my running shoes and was off jogging along the street calling, "Lucky!!"  I ran down the cul de sac and as I was passing our house again, calling out, "Here boy! Here Lucky!", I glanced at our backyard. Lucky stood there, in the backyard, ears perked and wagging his tail. Wonderful. Now he has learned how to drive me nuts by NOT escaping.

I don't know where he had been hiding, but after happily greeting me, he was shaking again and following me, tripping on my heels. So I gave him two bones and put him in the crate. He looked woeful but then lay his head down and went to sleep. The craziness slowly dissipated. Sometimes prison is a good thing, a necessary thing, a place to reflect upon our actions and consequences, and maybe reconsider right and wrong.

Judge: Lucky, how do you plead?
Lucky: By sitting on my haunches and lifting my front legs?
Judge:  Defendant!  I didn't say how do you beg, I said how do you plead!?Answer the question or I will hold you in contempt!
Lucky: In my opinion, being put in a cage demonstrates you already hold me in contempt.
Judge: Guilty or not guilty?
Lucky: It depends on the moment in the day to which you are referring.
Judge: Do you not understand I have the power to throw you in the crate for the rest of your life?
Lucky: In that case I plead not guilty....at least not in a mean way. I am guilty if you want to be strict in your interpretation, but you must admit I am nice about it. Does this mean no milk bones for dessert?

I sat by the crate as Lucky slept, so that he wouldn't feel alone in his fear. Frankly his fear was a greater prison than the crate. Asherel and I had done a Bible study that very morning on fear. We were looking at Mark 4 where the storm comes up on Lake Galilee and the disciples can't believe that Jesus is sleeping through the storm. They cry out to Him and ask Him if He doesn't care if they drown or not. Jesus resists the urge to return to Heaven where everyone knows who He is, and asks them , "Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?"   The implication of course, stated explicitly elsewhere is that perfect faith casts out all fear.
"Why?" I asked Asherel, "Why should they not fear?"
"Because God will protect them," she answered.
"So Christians don't drown or get hurt or die young?" I asked., "Is God not protecting them too?"
This was one of those sticking points for me on my walk to faith. The age old question of why bad things happen to good people. Where is God then? How can Jesus tell the disciples not to fear when ultimately, nearly every one of them will be hideously martyred for their faith?
"What is the end game, the goal of every Christian?" I asked.
"To be with God," she said.
"And what could prevent that?"
"Sin..."
"Yes, but who?"
"Satan."
"If we believe Jesus, do we need to fear Satan? Can he take us from God?"
"No," she answered.
"That I think is why we should not fear. If we have perfect faith (and none of us do) we know that all that really matters is eternity with God, not life here on earth, and no one can take eternal life from us once we have accepted Jesus's gift of salvation. That is the protection He offers to every believer."


Lucky cocked an ear. He stretched and I could tell his crazy spell had passed. I opened his prison door.
"Go ye and sin no more," I told him..

Bring me out of prison, so that I may give thanks to your name.
Psalm 142:7

You were called to be free. Serve one another in love.
Galatians 5:13 (NIV)

Being Brave

I heard a speech yesterday that was among the best I have ever heard. I won't give many specifics because the speaker may prefer to remain anonymous. The young lady speaking is only 13 years old. This was the fifth public speech she had ever given. Many of the other speeches in this class had been about things like the 10 strangest creatures in the ocean, the ten most stupid criminals, and even the history of light bulbs. All were fine speeches and appropriate for the class. This young lady spoke about her sadness and fears for her dad who would be going away for a year to a distant land to help defend our country.

She spoke about how she had not dared to think about it, or talk about it, even to herself, because if she admits how sad and frightened she is, she may never stop crying. She talked poignantly about how when her dad was home, she would pretend he wasn't there.... to begin preparing for the reality of him leaving. She feared most of all he might not come back. As the oldest child, she recognized that she was responsible to be strong for her siblings. She said it was particularly hard for her because she relied so much on her father, his wisdom, his love.

Through it all, she said, she was overwhelmed by the love of family and friends, who were trying to help her. She knew that love would hold her family together as they suffered that year without their dad. She felt God had a special mission for her in this trial, and she would listen carefully to discern what she was supposed to do.

I try very hard not to take freedom lightly, to take the duties of citizenship in this great country seriously, duties like voting, volunteer service, civic care and pride. Our freedoms have not been won lightly. So many brave soldiers have fought to secure and defend them. And many very brave children and young people sacrifice perhaps the most.

Deuteronomy 31:6
⁶ Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."

A Wet Christmas

We don't have a white Christmas.... we have a wet Christmas. The rain is dancing like sugarplum elephants on our tin roof to the tune of "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" (my least favorite Christmas song.)
Lucky, who fears something we don't understand about being indoors in the rain, is standing in the frigid, wet cold, occassionally looking soddenly in, as though it is our fault his brain disappears on rainy days.

Maybe the rain and the frozen wet dog too traumatized for unknown reasons to come inside to dry warmth and comfort is the perfect Christmas symbol for the morning. Inside the tree is lit up with the lovely crystal decorations my mom gave me. The smell of coffee brewing drifts about, with tendrils of steam rising from my cup. Presents are beautifully wrapped and cheerfully arranged around the tree..... on one end of our great room.

On the other end, the sliding doors look out onto a drenched porch, shiny with rain in the slowly emerging break of dismal day. Lucky stands there looking in, his hair dripping in long wet strands about his silent, woebegone face. If I go and open the door, he comes in, and then instantly dashes back out the dog door. He has the choice to come in and join Christmas, but he doesn't. He stands frozen and miserable in the rain, locked in his fears and prejudice from joining the celebration.

I believe that is what entrance to the kingdom of God is like, symbolized by the gift of Christmas, the birth of a savior. We can all choose. Some will stand outside looking in, miserable and lost in trembling uncertainty. Some will be opening gifts eternally surrounded by warmth and love and light. A loving master opens the door over and over again, and out of fear and doubt, some choose to keep running from the source of all joy. My Christmas prayer and hope is that when the door opens, we can cast all apprehensions aside, and rush to the gift that awaits us, blinking in the blinding love. Merry Christmas.