The Lesson of Honeybun

Only one speech to go and Asherel would finish her manual in Gavel Club.I believe she gets some sort of title, like "Novice Speaker Able to Talk for Ten Minutes Without Visible Heart Palpitations or eyeballs falling out of your head", or something like that. She had to do her final speech outside of the actual Gavel club class as the coordinator wanted all the kids who were so close to completing a book to have the opportunity to do so. That meant scheduling extra time after Gavel Club ended for the day.

As a result, she would be giving her speech in front of the coordinator, the timer, one other speaker who would go next...and me. So our little group gathered and Asherel gave her speech. A friend and mother wandered in to listen. Asherel's speech had specific parameters that had to be adhered to, the most important being it was to be "inspirational."

The title of her speech was "Honeybun."

In her talk, Asherel recounted how we found the starving, dying, mud-encrusted dog, bereft of newly born pups, covered with ticks. I felt tears start to trickle in the corners of my eyes.
"Don't cry, don't cry, " I murmured inside.
Then Asherel told how we had no money or desire for a second dog but how we ended up bringing her home anyway. She spoke about how Honeybun became aggressive, attacking our other dog, and threatening people as well.  As she continued the story of how we tried to get rid of Honeybun, I was digging my fingernails into my palms so I would not weep. She recounted those hard, hard days, when our every waking moment was centered on keeping Honeybun from killing Lucky or neighbors while trying to hoist her off on someone, anyone else. She told how Hollow Creek Farm helped us work with Honeybun since we had absolutely no knowledge or skill to help the little dog, but we were hesitant to send her to Animal control, knowing aggressive dogs are euthanized.

Fortunately, Asherel studiously avoided looking at me during her speech or she would have seen me biting my lip and swatting at my eyes. I remembered those days, how hopeless they seemed, how insurmountable the obstacles, how impossible the odds of success. I remembered Hollow Creek Farm warning us that this "fear aggression" was the hardest to heal, and could take years. Years! I remember losing weight, taking the dogs on 5 mile power walks twice a day to exhaust them, reading every dog training book I could find, muzzling and tethering Honeybun when I could not be holding her leash. I remember thinking I can not live this way for 5 more minutes. And then when 5 minutes passed, certain I could not live 5 minutes more.

Then Asherel spoke about how she began training Honeybun in Agility. She told about building the agility course out of sticks and furniture in our backyard, and how Honeybun seemed to like it. It became part of her therapy. She told about Honeybun's eventual entrance into Agility Trials, winning ribbons and titles, and transforming over the next 3 years to a docile and beloved pet.

"Saving one little dog doesn't make much of a difference considering all the dogs that don't have homes and are in rescues and humane societies. There are many many more dogs that are waiting to be saved. But for one little dog, for Honeybun, it meant everything."  With that conclusion, her last speech for the school year ended. She had spoken a bit fast, so that it was hard to quite understand every word. Had she slowed down, I might still be sobbing. She delivered her 10 minute speech in 6 minutes. 6 minutes that described one of the hardest years of my life.

When I look back on my life, the things I remember with the greatest satisfaction are the things that were the hardest to accomplish. The most difficult struggles that I felt could not be overcome, but somehow...were....those are the memories that give me the most joy.  Of course, like everyone, when I was going through those struggles, I was pretty ticked off at God at times.
"Why did you send me this dog, and then watch me suffer financially, physically, emotionally, for 2 years after I did a kind thing? Is that how you repay compassion!? No wonder so few people reach out to be the Good Samaritan if this is the result!"

It is hard to value the lesson, the transformation, while you are enduring it. In fact, it usually hurts to the point where you are not certain you can bear it. It is so easy to toss your crumpled dreams and life into the nearest waste basket and settle into all the piles of scratched out, erased, and mangled hopes.

Those little victories, eeked out in the midst of battle after battle after battle of a world that seems bent towards hopelessness, complacency, and despair may make little difference in the grand scheme of things.....
but in the end, mean everything.

Isaiah 57: 9
¹⁰ You wearied yourself by such going about,
   but you would not say, ‘It is hopeless.’
You found renewal of your strength,
   and so you did not faint.

Job 6:10-11

¹⁰ Then I would still have this consolation—
   my joy in unrelenting pain—
   that I had not denied the words of the Holy One.
 ¹¹ “What strength do I have, that I should still hope?
   What prospects, that I should be patient?

Psalm 31:24

²⁴ Be strong and take heart,
   all you who hope in the LORD.

Transformed!

Church is canceled as is every other event in Charlotte this morning. An inch of snow is fallen and more is expected.... maybe at least an inch more! All people are urged to remain home and drink hot chocolate and only venture on the streets at your peril!  A Northerner for most of my life, I still chuckle when I see the dusting that shuts down a whole city. When we lived in Syracuse, we drove unless 2 feet of snow fell in 10 minutes. And we would drive in even that if we had snow tires. Here, just the threat of snow causes a run on toilet paper and milk, and news flashes explode 24/7 updating us on the possibility of snowflakes potentially being conceivable within the next 72 days.

An event is cherished in direct proportion to its rarity. It is true for snowfall, it is true for adult children coming home, and it is true for a day when no one grumbles and everyone smiles all day long. Diamonds are a girl's best friend only because her other friends are so common.


  If we can find a way to get Asherel's Christmas snowboard to a hill, we can even practice snowboarding.  While the streets are still visible thus nixing cross country skiing for now, snow is forecast to fall all day!!! It is possible, even likely, that I will be able to cross country ski in the moonlight, all around my neighborhood transformed to a winter wonderland.  None of us had to be anywhere today and the snow will all melt tomorrow. So today, we have nothing to do but look at the beautiful white layer that covers all the dead grass, and mud, and potholes and play for the few brief hours it will be here.

Which reminds me of why we have to die.  None of us appreciate what we have when it comes too easily and stays too long. It is only the things we struggle mightily to obtain, or that we only hold for a moment that we usually value.  I think if we saw Jesus' face every moment, as the Earth once did, we would just say, "Oh, ho hum, just that Messiah again. Show me something new!"  I am not saying this is right, or as it should be.... I am just saying that in my experience, it is the way it is. 

I sometimes wonder then how we will adapt to Heaven, where there is no crying, no mourning, no pain, no sickness, and probably no cellulite.  If we can't bounce perfection off of imperfection, will we become immune to it? I guess that is why we can only enter heaven with the spirit of a newborn babe- looking about at all things with wonder and delight. We will have to be transformed for sure because the humans I know, myself included, just could not feast on continual joy without finding something to complain about.

Perhaps part of the process of growing towards God is learning to find the wonder and delight in all things so that wonder and delight becomes an integral part of our makeup. Then,  when we enter the presence of God, we won't be squashed like cockroaches in the blinding light of Glory.

But for now, I will practice delighting in the uncommon and go frolic in the North Carolina snow. Twirling in the snowflakes and reaching out my hands to scoop up the wonder of the world transformed however briefly, I hope that a bit of my insides are transforming too.

1 Samuel 10:6
The Spirit of the LORD will come powerfully upon you, and you will prophesy with them; and you will be changed into a different person.

The Blossoming Weed

Poinsettias get a bad rap.... alot like pitbulls. Poinsettias are not toxic...or at least not as deadly toxic as rumor has it. They have some sort of substance that is irritating to skin, but you won't likely die from munching on their leaves. (Not that I would recommend it.)

I had been curious how Poinsettias had come to symbolize Christmas. I love origins, tracing words, customs, creation back as far as we can and trying to understand the source from which we sprang....or sprung. (?)  The poinsettia, which grows wild in Mexico, became associated with Christmas in the 16th century. The legend says a poor child, too impoverished to buy a gift for the baby Jesus celebration in her church was told to gather weeds from the roadside to place as altar decoration. The weeds blossomed into vibrant red and the beautiful Poinsettia has graced church altars and homes at Xmas time ever since. There are a few problems with this story though. The red leaves are not "blossoms", they are leaves. The blossoms are actually the more subtle little yellow centers.

The more obvious problem is that who in their right mind would tell a child, "Go gather some dusty old weeds from the roadside to celebrate the most profound event of all time."?  It smacks of urban legend from the get go, doesn't it? But we all love those kinds of stories, where out of nothing, wondrous things are produced. The rags to riches stories of the world. And the Poinsettia abounds in those images- it must have darkness for extended periods or the beautiful red leaves will not develop. The most dramatic of plants, it begins life as a green weed.

I think we all yearn for those kinds of stories because at their heart, they reflect the one story that trumps all the others. The one story that matters most.  A little baby that was lucky not to have frozen to death was born to poor, humble parents amid great scandal in a no-nothing town. Completely surprising everyone, He grew to change the course of History. He, like the Poinsettia, grew to manhood in the dark and obscure corner of the world to suddenly spring forth as the light of the world. Rather than red blossoms or even leaves adorning His magnificence, He wore a crown of thorns and drops of red blood that were shed for me...for you.... for all of us.

I like the transforming nature of the Poinsettia. It gives me hope. I am usually more like a weed, and I don't love those periods of darkness in my life. But the lesson of the Poinsettia is the lesson of Jesus. Out of the darkness, God made a Light to guide us - and when we walk in the Light, we enter the presence of blossoming Glory.

Deuteronomy 5:23
²³ When you heard the voice out of the darkness, while the mountain was ablaze with fire, all the leaders of your tribes and your elders came to me. ²⁴ And you said, “The LORD our God has shown us his glory and his majesty, and we have heard his voice from the fire. Today we have seen that a person can live even if God speaks with them.

Isaiah 42:16
I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.

Turning Junk into Treasure

I decided to sacrifice for my son- rather then keep the cabinet and shelf unit I found on the curbside years ago and have used as a book and game shelf, I selflessly decided to hand these valuable recycled trash on to him. They are constructed of the finest pasteboard with a simulated wood grain, found only in the most discerning homes, and Matt is moving into a huge unfurnished apartment.

"I am an artist," I told myself, "I will transform these."
My friend Andi stopped by as I was busily painting the units. I had only one coat painted on, and the particle board was still showing through. Naturally, she could likely not see the beauty I was envisioning.
"What do you plan to do with them?" she asked, nonchalantly, but I could detect in her carefully guarded tone a touch of horror.
Plan? I am not following a "plan". I am in the throes of inspiration, spontaneous creative genius will pour from my fingers directly to the old cabinet.
"I don't know," I answered, "Do you have any ideas?"
"Well, what look are you going for?" she asked, as though the look of 20 year old rejected garbage was not adequate in and of itself.
"Well it is a historic, majestic, magnificent home," I answered, "I would like the piece to reflect that."
Andi blinked at me. I believe she was speechless with the magnitude of my aspirations.

She did convince me that I could not just paint the outer trim but had to paint the inside as well.
As I blobbed some paint on the brass hinges, I hoped she didn't notice, but she did.
"I can wipe those off later," I said, as though blobbing the paint was exactly what I meant to do.
"I think you need to take the doors off and paint them separately, then put them back on," she suggested.
"Take them off?!" I screeched. Not if I intended to be done by dinner, I was thinking.
"This will not be a 20 minute job," warned Andi.
She left to her errands and I did not take the doors off, but decided the brass hinges looked better with white paint on them anyway.
By the second coat of paint, the unit was looking almost lovely. I left the shelves fake wood grain, but painted the back wall of the inside white as well. By the time they had dried, and I had placed the pristine white cabinet unit on top of the gleaming shelf unit, I no longer wanted to give it to Matt. If I painted a delicate floral trim in Wedgwood blue, I felt I would have a museum ready piece, as long as one didn't peer too closely at the right bottom side where mice had chewed away a half circle of splintering board. A plant could sit nicely at that corner. However, I will give it to Matt though at this point it is one of the nicer pieces in my home.....

I only wished I had done this years ago. Transformation is never easy, always involves work, and often sacrifice. Our sermon at church yesterday was that we could never transform ourselves, so we could stop that endless futile struggle. Transformation is of the spirit, and by the spirit; the spirit of the Lord. The pastor was careful to point out that he was not saying we should give up obeying God, reading and studying scripture, gathering together as believers to support and encourage each other..... but it did mean that we didn't have the power to turn particle board into oak. Only God could do that.... and He did it through the love and sacrifice of Jesus on our behalf. Through His brushstrokes, our flaws are not only covered but metamorphosed, and He doesn't need a plant to hide the holes. This is encouraging news, because I still have a dresser and a computer hutch to transform, and am already exhausted.

2 Corinthians 3:17-18 (New International Version)

¹⁷Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. ¹⁸And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.

Even Pink Can be Transformed

First congratulations to Elisabeth Davis, our high donor in save the horse art contest. And thank you to all of you who donated. A larger nation wide contest for another painting starts today, with details (we hope) on the hollowcreekfarm.org site.

Now that our commercial break is over, I will return to my regularly programmed erudition of the mundane and often ignored common events that make up a life. Also, for the record, I just learned that erudition is a word.
Last year, I spent a lot of money to get Asherel really good and supportive, warm boots since we get so much snow in North Carolina. I was determined that should it snow we would be ready. We also have 3 snow tubes in the attic awaiting this big event and a full snowsuit and waterproof face covering. I got her these magnificent boots in her all time favorite color- pink. It snowed once last winter, a half inch dusting. The boots still had the factory smell on them when we put them away after that blizzard.

So now in a week, along with needing to be fully prepared to dress to the nines for the wedding, we must be prepared for snow. I did not worry nearly so much about that as the wedding finery since I had the wonderful almost unused pink boots.

I pulled them out to begin packing eight weeks ago. My philosophy of life has always been that if something is worth doing it is worth doing early. If it would not despair my loved ones, I would already have my grave dug with my best clothes laid out neat and ready. At any rate, Asherel took one look at the pink boots and ran from the room. I am sure you think I am exaggerating, but that is exactly what she did. and she went into hiding. I opened the closet door where she was shuddering in a corner.
"NOT pink," she told me.
"Pink was your favorite color last year!" I cried.
"Well it is my least favorite this year."
"Asherel, these boots were worn ONCE. I am not buying new boots for one week of snow."
I of course in my kindest unkind voice told her to get out of the closet and stop this nonsense. She would wear the pink boots and that was that. It wasn't a fashion show. She bit back tears and glanced sideways at the pink boots as she returned to her school work.
Each time she saw the boots over the next few weeks, she would ask in a new and creative way if she had to wear the pink boots. If she had this much tenacity over her math, I am sure she would be out of college by now.
"Can we spray paint them?" she asked. Hmmm, maybe.....
"I know!" she said,"Can we duck tape them?!"
Now I am quite sure that many of you are snickering behind your hands wondering how someone who could so confidently toss out the word "erudition" would in the same story use the term "duck tape". I know all you smarty pants think it is "duct tape". Well, for your information, duct tape was first called duck tape as it was invented as a waterproof material made of cotton duck to protect soldiers' weapons from water. I am a font of knowledge in things that don't matter.
"It would just come off," I countered.
"Not if we shellac it," she said, her troubled eyes reflecting the pink boots.
"Will you wear them happily?" I asked.
Her head bobbed up and down like a cork and she raced off for her supply of many colors of duck tape. Since the wedding dress crisis of past blog posts is now averted, I can tell you that she was making a dress of duck tape for it, but in the end, we felt the bride would not appreciate being thus upstaged.
A day later the pink boots were totally transformed- shiny bright royal and baby blue, and fully sealed with tough shellac.
She gives new meaning to the verse "Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Romans 12:2. In a sense, we are all pink boots with the potential of being transformed in glory.