Providing Needs

      School has reopened at the Kaseorg Homeschool. Asherel and I creaked into the new year, kicking and screaming a little but by the end of the day, we were back into the routine. I was glad I had written the blog yesterday about a good attitude making all the difference because it is never easy to return to long hard days after two weeks off. I had to resort to a lecture on the serenity 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.

    "Can you change the fact that you have end of the year AP and SAT tests and have to be prepared for them?"

     "No."

     "Can you change the fact that you are a student and by law I am required to educate you?"

     "No."

     "Then that is one of those things you have to accept, and it will be a lot more pleasant for all of us if it is with joy and delight."

     I recounted how I used to stay up mourning all night on Sunday before I had to return to work on Mondays back in the days of my full time working. It is not that I didn't understand her reluctance. It is hard to kiss vacation goodbye.

     Meanwhile, my favorite animal rescue, Hollow Creek Farm, never takes time off. They had posted to facebook that the dogs were coming in faster than money, potential owners, or crates. They were desperate for all three to be able to help the dogs they pull from imminent euthanasia lists or have found dumped in mostly horrific condition. They have started a new rescue venue, called Operation Candy Van (at least I think that is what the OCV stands for...could also be Occupy Canine Vigilantes given the current fad in our country.) Whatever OCV stands for, it transports dogs from southern gas chambers to owners seeking pets in the North. HCF makes sure the dogs are vetted, innoculated, healed as needed, linked with potential owners, and then driven a thousand miles to their hopeful haven. They scrounge for donations, but a good bit  of money is from their own pockets.  I am sure I will be corrected if I am wrong on this description.

     Anyway, I noticed in a recent post that they were asking if anyone had crates, preferably 36 inch crates, so they could temporarily house more dogs in their shelter, save more lives. I wondered why there was a glut of dogs that required 36 inch crates. It was right around Christmas, and I was in the midst of family gathering, cooking, entertaining. As soon as family left, I was felled by a mysterious illness which my husband called a "bad cold" but I am certain was something more exotic, like PanAsian HiNi7. I had already given them our extra crate, so had nothing to offer.

    Finally feeling well enough to start back to my walking regimen, I was rounding the corner yesterday and noticed my neighbor working in his yard.

     "Happy New Year Jim!" I called.

     "Happy New Year, Vicky! Oh, I wanted to ask you. I have a brand new crate, never opened, still in the box that was the wrong size. Never returned it. Might that animal farm you like want it?"

     I stopped in my tracks, "They sure would!"

     He had the tiniest dog on the planet so I knew it wouldn't be what HCF most needed, but any crate could help them. If nothing else they could loan it to other needy rescues. He opened the garage door. The crate box came up to his waist.

     "That was for Piper (the chihuahua mix)?"

     "No, it was for Casey. It turned out to be a little too small for her." I wondered why for three years since Casey had died, the crate had just sat there, unopened.

     "Well thanks! Out of curiosity...what size is it?"

     We leaned over and read the box: 36 inches.

     I led the way while Jim shouldered the heavy box to carry to my porch, and I smiled shaking my head. I may not always have the courage or wisdom to change the things I can, but it seems God is determined to help me out in my inadequacies. I sent an email to HCF, "Want a 36 inch crate?"

     "Heck yeh!"

Philippians 4:19 NIV

And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.

Dogfood in a home without a dog

"We saw this great sale on dogfood and bought three bags," the lady said as she handed them to me.
"Do you have a dog?" I asked looking around the house.
"No. But we thought of Hollow Creek Farm and the good work they do. We thought it might help them and we noticed you didn't do a dog food drive like you usually do around this time of year."
"Yeh, I was busy marrying off my son. But Hollow Creek Farm really appreciates this. It is very kind of you."

It wasn't til later, as I was considering that kind older couple's donation that I thought how odd it was that they didn't even have a dog, but noticed the sale on dog food, and bought 3 huge bags for a rescue farm they had never even seen.

Asherel and I had spent the day finishing off the set-up for my book cover. Now that we had a better idea of what is involved after the less than happy day before preparing the pdf file of the book contents, we sailed through the cover construction. That only took us about three hours. Then I got to the last button on my computer screen on our easy book publishing check list.This was not just an e-book, wonderful as it was for me to publish even that. This was a bone fide real physical book, that people could find in any bookstore and spill coffee on.  All I had to hit was "submit".

There is a lot of connotation packed into that one little 6 letter word. It is a much maligned word, raising images of cringing peasants crumpled under cruel landowner's whips. Dictatorial husbands love to quote that verse in the Bible about how wives are to submit to their husbands, and thus required to accede to whatever cockamamie opinion the husband holds whether the wife holds it or not. That word evokes fear of subjugating everything we are to an authority we sometimes don't even know.

I stood poised with my finger over the button, trembling.

If I submit this book and someone sees himself in it and doesn't like the portrayal...will he sue me? Like my son? If I submit this book and the publisher decides it is not worthy and sends it back after the review, will I be able to handle rejection....again? Particularly from a publishing venue that accepts everything as long as it is formatted correctly? If I submit this book and only 2 people buy it, my mom and me, will I ever dare pursue a dream again?

"Should I submit now?" I asked Asherel.
She raised an eyebrow, and looked at me, cocking her head.  The gesture spoke for her: why do you think we just spent two full days sweating over this very specific formatting and coming close to blows if not to this end?

"Let's say a prayer first," I said.
And so we bowed our heads and asked God to take this book where it needed to go, to melt the hearts of the people who ought to read it, and to be a blessing in the hands of those who maybe needed the encouragement of my story to never give up, never give in to despair, never lose hope. Or that's what I meant to pray anyway. In actuality I think I said, "If it be your will, let this book pass the review."
I poised my finger again over the submit button.

And here is the big part of submission that those who try to force submission don't seem to understand. Submission is voluntary. If you force submission, it is not submission. It is slavery. Thesaurus.com defines submit with terms like: accede, acquiesce, yield, surrender......
And the Bible goes a step further. While it does indeed say wives are to submit to their husbands, that is only part of the section. It is preceded by the critical verse- Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. (Ephesians 5:21). Why is that one so often ignored in the whole Christian submission debate? Just think how wonderful the world would be if every action were dictated by that verse? To submit one to another, one would have to know the other's desires, and one would have to want to please the other, and one would have to understand that by so doing, one was revering Christ Himself! How could anyone object to such a selfless and gentle spirit with which to tackle life? What if everyone thought so givingly of each other that they would buy dogfood for others when they themselves don't even own a dog?

I hit the button that said, "Submit" and watched as my book lifted off magically to its destiny.

As I finished writing this post, I got an email. My book has been accepted and is ready for proofing and publishing.

Job 22:
²¹ “Submit to God and be at peace with him;
   in this way prosperity will come to you.
²² Accept instruction from his mouth
   and lay up his words in your heart.

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.

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.

A Gentle Giant

I would have finished this post an hour ago, but Walter keeps trying to climb into my lap.  This big wobbly dog has been the perfect guest. He has not barked once. He compliantly goes wherever we drag him with his disjointed bumbling gait. When he sniffs, his poor nose bounces up and down as he tries to control the extraneous movements that cerebellar hypoplasia imposes on him. Despte outweighing all of us, he is gentle and sweet. Even grouchy Lucky went outside and played with him. Honeybun is a little leery and keeps looking at me as if to say, "I knew you had a few screws loose, but letting this special needs canine loose is not one of your more lucid moments."

HCF has trained me well though, and thus far, all the dogs appear to believe that I am alpha dog, and all of us remain unscathed. In a few hours we return to the Theatre Charlotte with Walter to man (dog?) our fund raising booth for the Sunday matinee. Walter was a hit last night at the Saturday evening play.  Children flocked to him like fire ants to my naked toes when they step on a nest (which by the way, did happen yesterday and I would highly NOT recommend it.) Walter licked them, and with his wobbly nose, tried to shove his face into theirs, and then flopped deliciously onto his back to let twenty small children rub his belly, bat his jerking paws, and lie down against his silky fur.

I knew HCF would not send a huge dog to a theater filled with live bait unless he was completely trustworthy. I know they are well aware of my inadequacies as they have known me a few years now. So while I would not have trusted either of my pets in this situation, I had been assured that Walter, the big clumsy lug would not remove even a tiny freckle from those cute little cherubs. 

You of course know that this sweet giant must have been a gentle breed, a lab or a Great Dane. But no. Walter is a pitbull mix.  The theater patrons were more well informed than I am about pitbulls. (Not that that requires an advanced degree or anything...)
"Did you know that they are the number one dog in shelters?" asked a young man, (that fact I actually did know), "And it is so unfair. They are a fantastic dog. When I grow up I am starting a pitbull rescue group."
"Did you know that they used to be the most popular dog in the 30s?" another woman who heads up a rescue group  herself told me, "They were a favorite pet because they are so good with children."
We glanced over at Walter who had his massive head in the lap of one child, and all 4 paws were waving spasmodically in the air. One little boy was timidly stroking the wagging tail.
"This breed has been given such an undeserved bad name," said another man who was rough-housing with Walter, "Is he up for adoption?"

I didn't open the money box, so I don't know if all the love Walter spread translated into donations, but I do know that a lot of people went away with a little bit different feeling about pitbulls.... me included.
My revelation regarding pitbulls is not unlike my coming to faith. I once thought that people who believed the "Jesus story" were stupid losers who couldn't deal with reality.  The Bible was a ridiculous collection of fairy tales. And then slowly, my eyes were opened as I read this Book that has changed so many lives, and prayed to this God that so many claimed had a personal interest in whether they bought wheat or rye bread.  And as I look back on now 25 years of trusting Jesus, I realize that He may have the power to chomp my head off, just like Walter, but instead He chose to die that the punishment I deserved would fall instead on Him, and He turns His belly up and invites me to trust and love Him.

Matthew 11:29
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

Washing away despair

Seven dogs were lined up in crates on the porch, all of them looking a little scared and a little hopeful we might pet them. The largest was a huge black Newfoundland, and the smallest were two pups a few months old. They all needed brushing, baths, medicine, ear cleaning, and toenail clipping.  They had all just been pulled from area rescues, all slated to die, and all reprieved by Hollow Creek Farm.

Fortunately for HCF, this time they had some help. Four volunteers tackled the job that HCF often does alone, and it still took 2 hours. We discovered the Newfie, with some areas of hair so matted that we had to cut them off, knew how to shake. He good naturedly sat as we tugged, and combed and pulled through massive matts that had probably never seen a brush, and then Alex, the child volunteer, said, "Shake."

The sweet giant dog lifted his massive paw and laid it gently on Alex's lap. Either the polite greeting "Shake" resides deep in dogs' DNA, or someone had taught this matted, unbrushed, skinny, and homeless dog to shake paws. They had neglected details like feeding, brushing, or neutering him, but he knew how to greet the human world genteelly.

  None of the dogs acted like they had ever had a bath, but the sparkling and beautiful fluffy creatures that emerged sweet smelling when we were all done strutted a little more proudly on the end of the leash. They get their pictures taken tomorrow, and when HCF has had time to make sure any issues that need resolving are resolved, their pictures will be posted on hollowcreekfarm.org and they will wait for a family to love.

They will share the living room couch with the dog that HCF hopes to bring home from the shelter next. A dog with no eyes.
"I mean, why not?" she asks me, "I don't have a dog with no eyes yet!" 
That dog is not likely to be adopted. It will share the home with the other dogs no one wants that found safe landing at Hollow Creek.  But the seven freshly scrubbed creatures now resting are hopeful. Surely someone will want a giant dog who lifts a paw with the gentleness of a cloud to shake hands with his new friends?

There are always a thousand reasons not to go volunteer or not to send money. And then when I get there and greet those animals who have chosen to reside peacefully with humanity for thousands of years, and so often abandoned and misused.....

"Where have you been? " asked Walter, the big mixed breed with the cerebellar anomaly that makes him wobble and crash into my legs as he enthusiastically says hello. His head shakes like a bobble-head doll, and he slathers me with kisses of infinite forgiveness.

Zephaniah 3:
¹⁹ At that time I will deal
       with all who oppressed you;
       I will rescue the lame
       and gather those who have been scattered.
       I will give them praise and honor
       in every land where they were put to shame.  ²⁰ At that time I will gather you;
       at that time I will bring you home.
       I will give you honor and praise
       among all the peoples of the earth
       when I restore your fortunes 
       before your very eyes,"
       says the LORD.

Pickles and Kayaks

When HCF Rescue Farm owner, N, heard we would be traveling north, she asked how far North we would be going, and could we be the first leg of the Doggy Express carrying doomed puppies north where another rescue is more certain to find homes for them? She cc'ed the other rescue, who was beside herself with delight that they might be able to save the puppies. If we could get the pups to her, she could find them forever homes.

So far on the list of things I had to fit in my van for the trip were:
3 kayaks, one kitchen table, 2 kitchen chairs, a dresser, a bookshelf, a cabinet, a computer desk and hutch, a large kitchen garbage can, a sleeping bag, 3 paddles, 3 life jackets, and our suitcase.

"How big are the puppies?"
"Small- we can squish them into a small crate. And also if you can take Pickles, he has a better shot of finding a home up north."

I went to their website to remind myself which of their dogs was Pickles, all of which I have met but can never remember the names of all but a few. Pickles is a bassett hound, young, friendly, housebroken, loves people. His ears scrape the floor.

"I'm not sure I can fit Pickles...." I wrote back, "Maybe a small crate of pups though."
"That's ok, Pickles is not under an immediate death threat. If the pups don't go, they die."
I knew that meant she had found them on a euthanasia list and they had hours to live unless claimed immediately.
I glanced again at the photo of Pickles.
"Lemme see what I can do," I wrote back, "Measure Pickles."

So even though we don't leave for a week with this load of furniture for Matt's new apartment, I decided I needed to find out if there was any possible way to load that list of heavy large furniture and leave room for a crate of pups and Pickles.

It became a very intellectual exercise in spatial relationships and physics. I discovered immediately that steel doesn't bend, at least not easily. First, I knew that the kayaks had to somehow go on top of the van. As Asherel was still sleeping and so could not be immediately roped into this project, I dragged one kayak out all by myself, hoisted it up on the van alone, and then managed to wrangle it to a sideways position against our kayak stop on the roof rack. I strapped it down and wriggled my sore wrists. One item down.... twenty to go. Next I collected the assortment of heavy furniture in a pile. There was 1,000 square feet of furniture that had to go in 100 square foot van. This meant I had to outsmart wood by a 10 to one ratio. By now Asherel was awake, so I had her take the legs off the kitchen table. She helped me wrestle the two heaviest pieces to the van. We loaded them in the back of it, and stared glumly. The van was full. Not only was there no way Pickles would fit, but the pups would not either....in fact, neither would 80% of all the things I needed to bring.

Asherel waved goodbye to go do her dogwalk job while I contemplated this unsolvable dilemma.
When the going gets tough, the tough pray. Then I noticed that if I turned the desk upside down, I could pile things inside it. With extreme contortion and grunting and groaning I got both chairs in that small space, with some room for other stuff. I measured the three largest pieces, and measured the van's width. I had 1/8th inch to spare! So I heaved and turned and trialed and errored my way into stuffing the three largest pieces in the back right behind the middle seats. For Pickles and the pups to fit, I had to leave those middle seats open. The desk upside down went in next, and then the inflatable kayak and garbage can inside it with the kitchen chairs. Only one large piece left. I measured it. It would fit exactly to the exact millimeter. I didn't know if the hatch would close but I hoisted the last huge piece in, laid the dissembled kitchen table on top of the wooden puzzle of furniture parts all perfectly interlocked into every molecule of space, and carefully shut the hatch. It clicked close to the applause of Heaven.

Asherel returned and helped me hoist the last kayak up top, and I can't say we did it with the exact perfect amount of sweetness and joy, but we did it. The middle seats remained open. Pickles and the pups were saved.

It is a little thing in the grand scheme of all the suffering and horror in this world to be able to take a few little pups and a dog whose ears scrape the floor to a new lease on life. It amazes me sometimes how if we all did just a few little things, they might add up to a big thing. There is so much I can't do. It feels so good to do the little I can...and how blessed I am to have Someone who does Big things rooting for me.

1 Timothy 1:12

¹²I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength, that he considered me faithful, appointing me to his service.

Matthew 25:21

²¹"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'

Patient Endurance

I am here to tell you that 6 hours in 95 degree southern sun is enervating. Enervate is from a latin root which means: to weaken by extraction of the sinews. This is highly descriptive of me at the end of the day yesterday. The sun bleached the calcium from my bones and melted my sinews. I was a slimy slug, crawling boneless and completely enervated to my bed last night.

We started our day by shoveling 400 piles of dog poop at Hollow Creek Farm. For those of you who love dogs and want to support a really fantastic and unique rescue farm, they always need volunteers to help move animal excrement. I normally do not mind this task. I breathe through my mouth so that no molecules enter my sensitive olfactory system. But in 95 degree southern sun, invariably I take an inadvertent sniff of the baking collection and the smell alone could fell stronger women than me. When every poop pile was gone that we could see with the inevitable anoxia from taking as few breaths as possible and resultant double vision, we moved on to our next task- trying to tame the wild mustang Sadie. As the owner of HCF pointed out, this is dangerous. This is trying to pet a 2,000 pound weapon with 4 hammers at the end of catapults and bone crushing razors traps at the mouth.... a weapon, I might add, that is not anxious to be petted. (But don't worry Mom, I am being very careful.)

Our job is to try to convince the mustang that people are not monsters and that she should be happy to let us touch her neck and maybe eventually brush her tangled mane. We have been "taming" her for months now, but with my series of injuries and health issues, I have not been out there in quite a while. We had advanced to the point where I could get a halter over her nose and almost to her ears using carrots as bribes, but she has never let me touch her ears. When she saw us, she trotted over. This is a good sign and shows she connects us with kindness, gentleness, and carrots. Lots of carrots.

She quickly shoved her nose in the halter, having lost no ground despite months of not seeing her. At this pace, I expect to have the halter on her by the time I am 106. Asherel groomed the beautiful, but cranky pony Bob (you can see his story on youtube about the evil pony Bob) while I developed patience trying to get near the ears of the wild mustang. After an hour, she not only let me scritch her behind her ears, but I got in two brief strokes of her neck and one of her shoulder.

With this mind numbing degree of success, we staggered back to our AC and car, and headed out to Lake Wylie where Asherel wanted to kayak to a deserted island and practice skimboarding before our ocean vacation. Her skimboard training on the bedroom carpet was good for a first step, but had gone about as far as it could take her.

First we submerged ourselves in the water and then paddled to the island. Since it was midweek, no one was there giving Asherel the opportunity to wipe out without an audience. Most of the time there was spent just learning how to skim the board across the shallow water properly. She stepped on it a grand total of 3 times, and did remain upright for about a foot. She informed me that was enough for today. There is only so much fear and bruising someone can handle in 24 hours.

It struck me that so many of our endeavors require inestimable patience and slow progress. Very little comes quickly or easily to us. It seems most of success in life depends on not giving up. And wearing sunblock.

Revelation 14:12-13
¹²This calls for patient endurance on the part of the saints who obey God's commandments and remain faithful to Jesus. ¹³Then I heard a voice from heaven say, "Write: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on."
"Yes," says the Spirit, "they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them."