Grateful For Every Good Gift

This is how shiny Susy greets me every time she sees me. I am in charge of Susy and hanging out with my fun nephew Anthony for the next week while his folks are gallivanting in exotic places. Suzy decided she wanted to sleep with me last night, but couldn't quite hop up on the high bed. Against my better judgment I helped her up. She rewarded me with a few well placed slurps across my face and then lay her head on my chest. She is incessant, but endearing.

She loves Anthony too. Anthony doesn't really connect with most animals but he tells me he loves Susy. He even likes it when she licks his face. 

Susy wil not permit anyone not to love her. In this household, what Susy wants, Susy gets.  If denied, she will lick you into submission.

After getting about four gallons of dog spit all over me, I dropped Anthony at his job and took off on my bicycle. The bicycle is a loaner from my brother's neighbor and a REALLY nice bike. I felt like I could've biked all day...and it would take that long to dry off all the Susy slobber.

The scenery in this gorgeous area where I grew up is breath-taking. Mountains surround the valley, and the Susquehanna river meanders alongside the historic town where my brother lives. I biked for twenty miles along the river. I wondered if I had appreciated the beauty when I was growing up here. I don't think I quite did. I always thought it was pretty, but now, it was gorgeous. Was it always gorgeous, and it had just become so familiar that I lost sight of just how gorgeous it was? What other wonders of my life had become so familiar that I had become immune to the beauty? Those closest to me? Even maybe God? I prayed as I biked that God would reawaken any lackluster response to the delights of my life that perhaps I no longer noticed because they were so ever present.

I passed Jackson's Pumpkin farm which was one of my favorite places to visit in the fall. They always make amazing figures out of pumpkins and autumn sheaths of corn and hay bales. It was always magical visiting Jackson's farm. Many happy memories of going there to pick out pumpkins clattered about in my head. 

As I biked back homeward, watching the river sparkling in the sun that was peeking from behind clouds, I saw a pair of bald eagles! I crossed the street and stood on the river bank watching the bald eagles gliding above the water. After ten minutes, they disappeared behind the mountain. What a blessing!

They were too far away for any picture to show up, but this is where I stood watching them. When I returned home, guess who covered me with fresh slobber? I won't take it for granted. I know when I fly home next week, I will miss her exuberant love.

Psalm 118:24 

This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Colossians 3:17 

And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Psalm 136:1 

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.

Ephesians 1:16 

I do not cease to give thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers,

James 1:17 

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.

Not the time for weeping

The boy glanced at me with a worried look on his face as he tossed the ball to Shadow, the black lab. My dogs love Shadow and whenever we pass his yard, they stop to have peeing contests with each other. I knew Shadow's owners had two small children, not a teenage boy. The boy looked kind, and vaguely familiar, but I knew he didn't own Shadow and wondered why he was in the fenced yard.
  
As soon as my dogs hurried over to greet Shadow, the boy blurted out, "I feel so sorry for him...he's always alone. I came over to play with him."
"That's very kind of you," I said, "I'm sure he appreciates it."
"I come over after school whenever I can. He seems lonely."
Shadow barked as the boy tossed the ball across the yard. The boy relaxed now that I was not going to report him to the police for climbing into a yard that was not his own.

We chatted a little longer and then I went on my way. I was filled with a joyful hope for the future. I thought of my emails back and forth with my dad. He is buying an electric car because he is convinced that we are about to lose access to gas and he is buying the cute little car "for survival." I suspect he just really wants the cute little car, and the survival tact makes the purchase fly with my mom, but the whole doom and gloom scenario had made me a little depressed. What kind of a world would my children be growing up into? It does sometimes look bleak.

There have always been bleak times. As I mentioned, I am in one of my favorite Bible books, Nehemiah, and before the Jews began rebuilding Jerusalem, they cried, "How can we build with all this rubble?" The walls were fallen, the buildings smashed, and before they could even begin to rebuild, they had to clear away the debris. Talk about hopeless! But Nehemiah was an optimist, and a leader, and a man who loved God. He not only oversaw the rebuilding of the city, but when it was all done, he set his people down and read to them from the dusty Book of the Law, the scriptures, that they had forgotten. The people wept because they had neglected God for so long. I love what Nehemiah told them- "Now is not the time for weeping! Now we have God's word again- it is a time for rejoicing, for moving forward, for hoping!" (PS- this is a paraphrase, but you should read Nehemiah and check it out. You cannot read that book and come away sad.)

I watched Shadow playing with that wonderful boy as we continued on our walk, and the worries about gas and my childrens' futures dissipated a little.
"Now is not the time for weeping," I thought, "We have God's word. Now is the time for rejoicing."

Nehemiah 8:10
Nehemiah said, "Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is sacred to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength

Show Pieces

We debunked the bunk bed and put the single bed in the Master bedroom against the wall. We didn't want to get rid of it for a variety of reasons- one of which is we didn't want Asherel to have to sleep on the floor when both boys come home to visit,as they will at Christmas.
Arvo threatened to get all gooey and sentimental on me as he disassembled the bunk bed support he had built years ago.
"Many small feet went up and down this ladder," he said, misty eyed.

I don't need anyone in my immediate world starting to reminisce about the good old days when the children were little. My carefully crafted sheen of self control will be ripped away and I will become a bubbling mass of unconstrained grief. I loved those little kids underfoot. So I told him to go get all weepy elsewhere, while throwing the bunk scraps outside. Harsh yes, but life is cruel. (PS- Remember, exaggeration is a key literary device so don't start sending me emails about how insensitive I am.)

I am not much of a home decorator, but even my unskilled eye could see that the twin bed against the wall of the master bedroom left much to be desired in terms of beauty and design.
"What would you think of me making that pretty...like a day bed with pillows and a nice cover?" I asked Arvo, who had recovered by now, with the bunk ladder out of sight in the garbage pile.
"That's fine," he said.
"I'll do it as cheaply as possible," I said.
And off I went to outlet linen stores. I prowled the aisle of one for many minutes before a saleswoman decided I was either homeless, and just warming myself in the store, or needed assistance.
"May I help you?"
"Yes! I hope you can anyway. I have an ugly bed in a master bedroom- an extra twin bed that we need to keep there. So I want to beautify it."
"You mean like a day bed look?"
I almost kissed her.
"Yes! Is that weird?"
"Oh no, that is quite common."
"Really!?" I don't think I have ever stumbled on appropriate, common decorating schemes before.
"What color scheme?"
"Greens...and most importantly, cheap."
"Cheap is not a color, ma'am."
Neither is bankruptcy."
"OK, I understand. Well, the cheapest option would be two king pillows with shams and a couple of decorative throw pillows."
We scoured the store together. They had only one king pillow and it was not as cheap as I had hoped.
"Pssst," she whispered, "Go next door. They are on sale and they have lots of shams and covers to choose from. Best of all, their favorite color is cheap."
I tiptoed away after giving her a big wink and high five.

When I set all the pillows and decorative cover over the bed, it looked stunning. It is currently my favorite part of my house. As soon as I smoothed the cover and settled the pillows at just the right angle, the dogs leaped up on the bed and stretched out.
"Hey!" I said, "This is not for sleeping on! This is art!"
Arvo shook his head, "Do you want to just put a plastic bag over it?"
"No, but I don't want to have to clean dog hairs off it!"
He left, looking a little disgusted, and Honeybun looked anxiously at me.


Even I have to laugh at myself sometimes. Decorating a bed that I don't want anyone to sleep on. There are homes with such exquisite furniture and decor and pristine carpets that I am nervous entering them. I am just not comfortable in those types of dwellings. They are beautiful, and I love beauty. But those homes have lost sight, in my opinion, of the primary purpose of a home. A home should be a welcoming, unpretentious place where you can be who you are, surrounded by those who accept you anyway.

It is not supposed to be a showpiece, I reminded myself. It is first and foremost a bed. And strange as this is to non-animal people, the dogs are family, thus have rights to the bed too. I have seen homes with large ornate Bibles on the coffee table. Those Bibles, embossed with gold, are too large and too precious for dirty hands to open. Yet the miraculous power of God's word cannot be unleashed if it is unread. And dirty hands are the ones that need it the most. And we all have dirty hands.

"OK, you can stay," I told Honeybun, "But no shedding on it!"

Isaiah 6: 3-7
“Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty;
   the whole earth is full of his glory.”
 ⁴ At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.
 ⁵ “Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty.”
 ⁶ Then one of the seraphim flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar. ⁷ With it he touched my mouth and said, “See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for.”

Luke 5: 12
...When he saw Jesus, he fell with his face to the ground and begged him, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

A Good Day to be Ambassadors

Nice little break from school- we are off to two days of dog agility trials. Honeybun looks relaxed- snoring next to me as I write this. I think she may have stolen Lucky's breakfast too, so her fine athletic waist seems a little distended. Oh well. What matters, what really matters is that she and Asherel have fun, meet fellow dog lovers, and are ambassadors of light.
Honeybun perks an ear.
"What is this ambassador stuff? I am a dog and my duty is to jump satisfactorily enough that you pay me at the end with real sirloin."
"We are all ambassadors. This is not home. We are to conduct ourselves in such a way, that the whole world longs for our real home."
"The whole world? You been eating too many dog bones, Master. What about immigration quotas?"
"There are none in the land where we are headed,the one I hope we represent. Everyone who wants to can enter."
"You are speaking Greek," says the dog, closing her eyes again, "As if human English weren't difficult enough to understand."

That's what I hope is the outcome of our adventure today, I thought. Lord, help me and Asherel (and yes, even Honeybun) to be ambassadors that show the beauty, mercy, and grace of my King so convincingly that everyone will be clamoring to follow Him.
"You don't expect much out of ordinary events, do you?" asked Honeybun, opening one eye again, "Can't I just win a blue ribbon instead?"
"Well my plan doesn't preclude yours," I told her.
"Fine, you collect trophies for heaven, leave the earthly trophies to me."
We will keep you posted on how well each of us conducts our mission....

2 Corinthians 5: 19-21
¹⁹ that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. ²⁰ We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. ²¹ God made him who had no sin to be sin^[a] for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

The Furminator

My nightmares have been watching too many movies. The nightmare last night was right out of Hitchcock. It is a troubling one, because it is recurring. And now it has become more and more explicit and worst of all, I remember it. Last night was a variation on the theme, but they all follow the same basic pattern.

 Before I tell you last night's dream, I must preface with my dream from two nights ago. The recurring theme is I descend into a spooky basement. Two nights ago in my dream, my mother in law had cleaned the basement and I could not get over how unspooky it had become. It was no longer the terrifying dark pit filled with unknown horrors. It was neat and scrubbed. She had even put up fake windows with curtains on the concrete walls to give it a homey look. There were soft warm rugs on the concrete floors, and all the spider webs had been dusted away. This is the only time I recall the basement dream being pleasant. All other times it follows the pattern of last night's dream.
But before I tell you last night's dream, I must set the stage with the story of the furminator, which was heavy on my mind before going to bed. Our neighbor had loaned us her furminator to try out on our dogs. The furminator is a dog brush that costs $60, but is supposed to remove every stray dog hair from your dog in one brushing session. This could reduce the need to vacuum in our home by months, so I have been eager to try the furminator, but not eager to pay $60 for it.  I had heard you are not supposed to brush wiry terrier type fur with the furminator, but I wasn't sure if a reputable source told me that or not. So I tried it gently on Lucky. His fur began coming off in huge gobs with absolutely no effort. He loved it and stood happily while I collected a pile of fur ten feet high. When I was done, his undercoat of golden retriever like fur was more evident, and there was clearly less of the wiry wild hair. I wondered if I had ruined him. I was very surprised at how soft and silky and thick the undercoat was that we had never really seen before. You just never know what is under the surface.

Now fast forward to last night's dream. The dogs and I descended into the spooky basement. It was clean, but not nearly as decorated and clean as my mother-in-law had left it two nightmares ago. As always, in my basement dreams, I felt an unsettling sense of foreboding. I looked around and all was silent. There was no apparent cause for alarm. I started back up the stairs, and the dogs suddenly stopped and stared back down into the basement, hackles raised. I turned quickly and saw in the center of the room, a strange globular substance starting to rise out of the drain. As soon as I looked, it instantly disappeared, such that I wasn't even sure I had seen it. I started up the stairs again, and the dogs continued to stare and softly growl. Again, I swung around and this time the ooze was growing and it was clearly malignant. In terror, I tried desperately to say, "Jesus is Lord," which is a strategy I have used many times in overcoming nightmares. I don't know if this is a universal phenomenon, but when I try to say something out loud in the midst of a dream like that, I have to struggle and groan, and force each syllable. I am sure it is terrifying to my husband, who quickly awoke me, though not until I had garbled those victorious words, Jesus is Lord.

I know what the dream means. Evil lurks, and evil desires to overcome. It is usually hidden, biding its time. But it is a real and everpresent danger. It is like Lucky's undercoat- hidden, but always there. We just don't always notice it. What makes this particular nightmare even more unusual is how it came on the tail of the clean basement dream. It is an exact parallel of the story in Matthew 12, where a person cleans house. A demon leaves the person, and seeks other places to inhabit. It decides to return to the original host, and finds the house clean, orderly, and unoccupied. So the demon invites seven of his buddies to now go and take residence, and the poor person is worse off than ever!

To tell you the truth, I am not crazy about this passage. It is spooky, like my basement. It is not enough to just clean the unoccupied house, despite all the external trappings of purity and righteousness. Jesus must occupy the house. One must daily put her trust and reliance on God, or the demons return. Only God can ultimately defeat evil. When I awoke, I found myself praying, "What more can I do, Lord? I believe and I struggle daily to live my life in accordance with that belief. I don't know how to trust more."

And I think perhaps that is key. I, on my own, can't trust more. I can only submit, and watch God work, watch the bubble of evil disappear, and let Him show me His glory, in spite of my meager faith. He is capable of meeting any of us exactly where we are, with how ever little we have to offer. In His hands, little is enough.
He is the ultimate Furminator, sweeping away every thing that hides what we really are underneath, and exposing all weakness, all sources of defilement. We may stand shivering, exposed, and vulnerable before Him, but that is when we recognize most how desperately we need Him. Oh how I pray that I would trust the brush of His presence more!

And by the way, this week I intend to buy a furminator.

Matthew 12:43-45

   ⁴³ “When an impure spirit comes out of a person, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. ⁴⁴ Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. ⁴⁵ Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that person is worse than the first. That is how it will be with this wicked generation.”

My purpose

Warning: If you want to bawl your eyes out, read A Dog's Purpose, by Bruce Cameron. I don't normally do book reviews on my blog, but this book grabbed me by the heart. It made me regret every harsh word I have ever spoken to any dog. Do not read this book if you have not been the absolute perfect owner of a dog for every second, and don't read it if you have ever treated any dog, even the hopeless smelly mutt that tried to eat your child, with anything but kindness.  I am not sure that is what the author had in mind, but the result of me reading this book was guilt. Then I went to my two sleeping dogs, and woke them up with my kisses and hugs. They did not seem as thrilled as you might think.

This is the main difference between my book and other dog books. My book is happy. It starts sad, but it ends happy. I am beginning to think happy is not the way to go...afterall, this Bruce Cameron dude is a NY Times bestseller. Heart wrenching sad sells. And sex. That's not in my book either. And deviant behavior...sickness works well with the reading public too. Sick, Sex and Sad are the winning literary combination.

And I don't get that, because in my opinion, there is enough sadness already stitched into every fiber of real life. Why escape to a fictional world that makes sobs heave like vomit from my soul?

ON the happier side of the day, a friend dropped off a synopsis of a true story that an acquaintance of hers wanted turned into a book. The writer didn't feel she had the skill to tell the story in book form, and was seeking a possible ghost writer. I agreed to read it with that in mind. It was a sad story that ended happily, and miraculously. The writer had me engrossed in her story with just her summary.

"This is not a story I could write," I told her, "There are too many details that it would take too much time for me to try to draw out. For a true story to come alive, you need to hear what the people actually said, feel the emotions you felt, hear the background noises, smell the scents....This is a story you need to write, and one you have all the tools to write. Just expand what you put in the summary. I will help you when you are ready to publish."

So many stories there are! Each of us has a story, and given the right twist, they are all of inestimable worth and interest. And nearly every culture has tried in some way, to put their story in a form that future people could read. Even the pictographs on the caves of  ancient men told the story of their life. What is it that makes us want to preserve in story what we have experienced?

God obviously felt the same need. He spent thousands of years employing ghost writers to tell His story, to compile His book. And the ghost authors were, by and large, just regular people. They were just like you and me. There was the occasional  oddball who was a king with 500 horses and 2,000 wives and huge palaces, but most of the authors were just like you, just like me. God's book, like most bestsellers, does have that literary magic three, sickness, sex, and sad... but like my book, He gives us a happy ending. In the end, He heals the sick, sanctifies sex in its proper confines, and dries every tear from our eye. He doesn't leave us sobbing with guilt, but comforts us with redemption.

So why did He use ghost writers? Why didn't He tell His true story Himself, carving it on the very earth He placed us on or searing it into the sun? I don't know for sure, but this is my humble guess. God wanted ordinary people to experience His extraordinary tale, and tell it in a way that the most simple of us could relate, could understand. And in each case, the ghost writer told his corner of the tale that he himself had lived. The story was about God, but the writer told of his encounter with God, in his own words.

As I closed The Dog's Purpose, and settled my head against my soggy pillow, I thought about my purpose. Of course, that is probably what Bruce Cameron was, in the end, hoping I would do. And I thought my purpose is to live my story in such a way that it brings comfort and joy to those around me and glory to my creator. In a way, it is not unlike what my dogs sleeping at me feet, desire. Usually they do it better than me, but by God's grace, I am giving it my best shot.

Exodus 9:16
¹⁶ But I have raised you up for this very purpose, that I might show you my power and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth.

Waking to dog noses

"Ugh....5:30.....why are we so gung-ho about dog agility trials?"
Meanwhile, Honeybun was wagging her tail, "Oh boy! 5:30 and she is getting up! I get breakfast an hour early!!!!"

(by the way, did you know the origin of the phrase "gung ho" is Mandarin and had to do with the Chinese call to rebuild and thrive when the Japanese destroyed their factories? It translates to "work together.")

It didn't help the waking up and acting like there was sunshine in my cup with the fact that the neurotic dog, Lucky, had felt it necessary to tell me repeatedly through the stormy night, "There are thunderstorms lurking everywhere." Then he would stick his cold wet nose in my formerly sleeping face. I think I slept about 5 minutes last night, in between two thunderclaps.

After breakfast, Honeybun crashed back in her bed. Meanwhile, I am trying to rub the bags out from under my eyes with hydrochloric acid.  Fortunately, I will be all weekend in the presence of dog people. Dog people aren't looking at the dog owners anyway. Dark circles the size of Texas under my eyes won't be noticed.

And really, having hit another  birthday milestone yesterday, I think I should be praising God for every day I awaken. I should be doing that no matter how cranky I feel, or how early the morning shows up.

But just for the record, I am hoping that there will be no thunderstorms tonight. Gung ho! Off to the trial!

 1 Samuel 26:12
No one saw or knew about it, nor did anyone wake up. They were all sleeping, because the LORD had put them into a deep sleep.

Instinct or Spirit

I stood watching my dog Lucky roll delightedly on his favorite lawn at the far edge of our neighborhood, and had the strange sensation of being watched myself. Honeybun was sniffing while Lucky was rolling. I looked off into the forested edge of the favorite lawn, and there stood a mother deer and two speckled fawns. The fawns were eating, but the mother was on high alert. She saw my two predators only 50 feet away, and she stamped a foot. Her huge radar like ears were pointed at us and she was frozen in place, the massive dark eyes unblinking, and the foot every few seconds stamping.


"We won't hurt you," I told her, but she gave no indication of believing me. She didn't run, didn't even yet alert her babies, unless that is what the foot stamping was all about. I had the feeling that if we moved one step towards her, she would charge us. I don't know what damage a deer can do, except maybe to contort her victim's face into a permanent expression of "Ohhh, how sweet....", but still, I didn't want to antagonize this new mother. I know what mothers are capable of when they believe their babies to be in danger.


I turned and pulled the dogs after me. They never got scent of the deer. She watched us, till we were a good distance down the road, and then she finally pivoted and urged her fawns to follow her deep into the forest. Her defiance in the face of danger was impressive. She stood no chance against two dogs. She must've known that, yet she stared them down. I don't know if she was a particularly brave deer, or if that is what deer do. She seemed to sense they had not yet seen her, but she had to know I did. I was looking right at her, and even talking to her.  Was it foolishness, bravery, or instinct?


Often, that is what our actions boil down to as well. Are we brave, foolish or acting on some inner directive, some unknown guide that tugs us in ways we feel we have no choice but to follow? In a deer, we call it instinct, but from my perspective, it is the hard wiring God placed in every creature to help them survive. In humans, I think it is the call of God as well, but in a different way. I think it is the tugging on our conscience that is not forceful enough to determine action like in animals, but if we listen to it, forceful enough to move mountains. If we ignore it, and unlike animal instinct, we can  ignore it, I think it gradually fades from our soul and all we are left with is foolishness or bravery. We are on our own, and anyone conversant with history knows every great civilization has ultimately toppled. So much for self-reliance.


The deer disappeared into the forest, and the shadows of the trees completely concealed the speckled fawns. I marveled at the small moments of exquisite joy that remind me God is always watching, always protecting, and always sending me evidence of His presence. He doesn't demand my attention, but I am always rewarded when I grant it.


2 Peter 2:12
¹² But these people blaspheme in matters they do not understand. They are like unreasoning animals, creatures of instinct, born only to be caught and destroyed, and like animals they too will perish.

^{Jude 1: 18-2018} They said to you, “In the last times there will be scoffers who will follow their own ungodly desires.” ¹⁹ These are the people who divide you, who follow mere natural instincts and do not have the Spirit.
 ²⁰ But you, dear friends, by building yourselves up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit,

Spoiled by dog doors

We're spoiled by a dog door. Do you know it is a little known fact that dogs can pee up to 7,846 times per hour? And that's only if you withold water. So while we are visiting our folks who do not have a dog door, we are at the mercy of the dogs' bladders. Our activities are limited by tolerance of the least controlled dog to remain dry.

Fortunately, 90% of a dog's day is spent sleeping. Sometimes I wonder why dogs were designed this way- to spend almost every waking hour peeing and every other available hour sleeping. It just seems a little dull. And then, I have to ask myself, why do I love dogs so much then?

Maybe it is because dogs don't ever pretend to be something they are not. You always know what you are getting with a dog, and then you make your choices accordingly.

Last night, despite being tired, I had to walk the dogs a last time. I had forgotten how glorious summer evenings in upstate NY can be. The air was washed by the recent rain, the stars were out, and a cool breeze was just the right amount of gentle against the waning warmth of the day. As the dogs and I walked through the cool evening, I realized how blessed I was that my folks didn't have a dog door and a fenced in back yard.

Psalm 22:20 NIV

Deliver me from the sword,
my precious life from the power of the dogs.

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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.

Confined

The "back forty" needs a bit of repair. I went walking the fence line yesterday morning and found that a dog even less wily than Emporer Escapist Lucky could manage to get out of our fence. Now it is true that all the damaged sections just lead to someone else's fenced in back yard, but depending which section Lucky decided to scale, the consequences could range from none to severe. There are four damaged areas, each leading to a different yard with different likely results.

Escape number one would be the safest choice and I am pretty sure that is the route Lucky usually chooses. It leads into Comer and Evelyn's back yard, and since they are currently in a Nursing Home, and no one has yet bought the house, it is empty. Their gate is a little tottery so Lucky can squeeze through that fairly easily to freedom. That section of decrepit fence would require some climbing and then scraping through some open wire, but it could be done, and I could tell, had been done.


Escape # 2 was at a low corner that led into Piper's yard. Piper is about 6 inches tall and loves Lucky. Those neighbors also love Lucky and have been very sweet about the few times they have found Lucky in their yard. Their fence is otherwise difficult to scale however, so Lucky chooses it less often as he only finds himself in another fenced in yard, and his entire nervous system seems wired to escape enclosures.

Escapte #3 was one I had not known about, and exceedingly disturbing. The picket fence was actually toppling and the wire was squished down . Any dog with half a terrier gene could figure out how to squeeze through that hole. This route was most unfortunate, as being very simple to navigate and leading into the jaws of the pitbull neighbor. This pitbull does not like other dogs, and growls when he sees us near the fence. However, that section is particularly tempting to a dog like Lucky because a.) it is an easy escape from our yard, and b.) the neighbor's fence has a large hole in it not big enough for the pitbull to get out of (supposedly) but big enough for wiry Lucky to slip through to complete freedom. All he'd have to do is get past the pitbull..... I tacked that section up immediately with all the old wire screening I could find and knew that any money left from this year of great expense had to go into a new fence. We just had no choice.

Escape #4 was an unknown risk. It led to the neighbor's house where a new dog seems to visit every few weeks. The last one was a rottweiler, but I don't think he is there any more. This was the surprise box with a big question mark on it for Lucky. It was a route he must have used at least once, as the wire was squashed down with dog shaped squashes, but I don't think it was a route he used regularly. Lucky has an electric collar as well as a physical fence. The collar supposedly shocks him as he gets near the fence line, but freedom is such a lure to him that he withstands the small moment of discomfort for the greater glory of disobeying us.

So we called fence businesses for our requisite three estimates. The first man arrived quickly. He surveyed the fence, we outlined the issues with our dog and he came up with a fencing solution that should be difficult for even Lucky to escape through. As he left, he talked about our need to discuss with neighbors whether we should do a jointly erected (and hopefully split cost ) or should put up our own fence right beside their's.
"And people get really funny about these things. Really greedy. Must be republicans," he laughed.

Neither Arvo, my to-the-right-of-Atila-the-Hun husband, nor I smiled.
The fence man kept laughing, then slowly rolled to a grin, and then choked to a concerned look on his face in the ensuing silence.
"You ain't one of those, are you?" he asked.
I smiled sweetly, "Well yes, as a matter of fact, we are."
I suspect we will need to contact Fence Company Number two.

I was thinking about those escape routes and the results each choice would bring, and realized what a perfect picture they painted of the consequences of all our choices to sin and to stray in life.
#1 is a safe choice, no real thrill, no real danger, no horrible consequences in the short run. Of course, once out of the safety of our own "fence", any number of dangers could await us.
#2 is a mercy laden choice, into the confines of friends and loving reception by those who care for us and will restore us to our right place with little recrimination. If we must stray, it is best to stray towards those who will counsel and protect and ultimately restore.
#3 is a risky choice into obvious dangers that could maim or even destroy us. The route is easy and appealing in that respect, but the consequences are likely dire. This choice is suicidal, and one that few make except in desperation.
#4 is an unknown. The consequences could go either way depending on the day.We choose that route when we feel lucky.

Of course, the choice I wish we would make each time isn't listed. It is implicit however. Stay in your own fenced yard! Remain in the confines, rules, laws of the Master who put the fence there for your protection because He loves you and longs for you to thrive.

Since Lucky is unlikely to remain happy long with this best choice, we greedy Republicans will need to buy a new fence.

Psalm 88: 8-9
I am confined and cannot escape;
 ⁹ my eyes are dim with grief.

2 Corinthians 10:13 (New International Version)

¹³ We, however, will not boast beyond proper limits, but will confine our boasting to the sphere of service God himself has assigned to us, a sphere that also includes you.

Psalm 139:4-6 (New International Version)

⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain.

Unmerited Blame...sort of

The problem with being guilty most of the time means people assume you are guilty all the time. Following this principle, I have unjustly maligned my dog. He did not technically "escape" from the backyard while we were out of town. I found out someone had left the gate open. He just walked out with an open invitation to sin.

Now it is true that the good dog, Honeybun, did not leave the back yard, despite the wide open gate. Honeybun, who had been rescued from starvation and homelessness was taking no chances on being booted from this haven she has found. Lucky doesn't know how good he has it. He is willing to chance our ire because the grass always looks greener to him when it is not the grass we have told him he is allowed to roll in.

Root causes of behavior are important to examine here, because there is a stark contrast in the behavior of our dogs, raised by the same inept family. One dog seems to have no desire to please us, is forever chewing things he shouldn't, barking when he shouldn't, climbing over or under fences he shouldn't, and tugging on leashes and dislocating arms when he shouldn't. The other dog wants nothing more than to make our lives as pleasant as possible and will do everything within the capacity of a dog without a credit card to bring that about.  I think the underlying difference is gratitude. Lucky has always had a happy, protected, plush life. Honeybun spent her first two years in apparent misery. At the very least those last few months before we found her were likely a living hell given the condition we found her in.

Lucky is an ingrate. Honeybun is thankful. Lucky doesn't see we are the source of his food, his bed, his chewy bones, and the soft couches we have finally given up protecting and let him sleep on. Honeybun always asks politely for every tidbit we offer, with moist gentle eyes, and then she says Thankyou by obeying our every wish.

I love Lucky, just like every mother continues to love a difficult child, but I cannot pretend there are not some deep seated character issues he really has never resolved.

But in this case, he was innocent, or at least more innocent than I had originally believed.

At times, I am a Lucky. I should be a Honeybun more. I forget to say Thankyou to the source of everything I possess. I forget to have an attitude of expectant gratitude for every breath of life I am granted. I grumble when my freedom is contained in any area, and I forget that the freedom I have is a gift. I worry about so many things when the source of all things has promised me that He will provide and all that I need, I already have when I have Him. So I love Lucky also because I understand. He does occasionally look at me sadly, like he knows he has blown it again.

"I just can't help it," he says with his ears drooping, head hanging.
"Sometimes it seems I can't either, " I answer.
"Oh woe is me!" he moans, "Is there no hope!? The very things I should not do, those are the things I do. And the very things I should do, those are the things I do not do."
"The apostle Paul had the same problem."
"He did?"
"Honestly we all do, Lucky, you just are a little outside the bell curve on this one."
"Then you won't send me to the Dog Pound?"
"No, you are forgiven. However, I'd prefer you demonstrate your love a little more tangibly by trying a little harder to do what I ask, don't miss-hear me on this one."
"I will try.... I promise..... "
"Lucky!!!! No! Don't eat that muffin wrapper! Stop! oh....Lucky......"

Romans 7:17-19

¹⁷ As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. ¹⁸ For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. ¹⁹ For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.

Where to find Peace

I looked in all the usual places.....no Lucky. The chronic escapist, trouble making dog was not in any of his beds, couches, or crates early this morning, as I crept out of my room, with darkness still dripping from the night.
Ohoh.  I had taken off his electric collar, thinking at nearly 9 years old, surely surely he no longer wanted to dig tunnels or climb the fence to get out of the large, lush back yard that had everything a dog could want.
I hurried out back, noticing stars still twinkling in the still, cold sky.

Lucky lay in the middle of the yard. Honeybun raced out at my heels, and seeing the golden blob on the grass, she began barking to warn me of this alien intruder.
"That's your brother, dope," I told her.
Lucky looked at us, as though there was nothing at all unusual in him spending the night curled up on the cold, damp ground.
"Lucky, do you want to eat?" I called.
He gazed at us, but remained still in the quiet night. Honeybun began twirling in circles and racing back and forth to her food bowl. I glanced a few times at Lucky as the sun began to lighten the dawn. He didn't move, except to peacefully turn his head and perk his ears at the sounds of the world awakening. Lucky seemed to be quietly greeting the new day.

Matt texted me last night. He thinks he may have broken some fingers, which he will have xrayed today. This is not happy news at any time, but particularly as he heads into his last week of his first year of law school.
Did you break them turning so many thousand of pages of law books? Or perhaps typing so many thousands of words of papers and briefs ? Perhaps you broke them while lugging all your books back and forth from the library where you were busily preparing for your final exams?


No, he broke them playing frisbee. Law school is rough, I guess.


And then he texted me, "and I got attacked by a dog."
What!? Were you attacked by the dog while walking to your professor's home where you would discuss some of the fascinating cases you are studying? Were you attacked in the early morning as you trudged through the mist to a study group of other devoted students? Or in the evening having worked hours on your paid research job in hopes of glowing recommendations to gain you the best internship possible to fund your marriage in two months?

No, he was attacked while on a run. A pleasure run, I might add. Not a run to the library, or professor, or job.

It is not that I want my son miserable, or working every second of every day.... I just find it curious that this first year law student has time to do anything but study. It just seems like misplaced serenity....like Lucky spending the night just watching the bats flit overhead. He did well his first semester, so I will just hope that he is putting in the time and effort he needs to pass.

Then he texted me a new recipe he had made up for making quiche. He had devised a clever way to make a gourmet low fat crust. He typed in all the delicious, healthy ingredients, that even I would have no idea where to go to shop for.

"Well if law school doesn't work out , you could become a chef," I suggested.

I went to check on Lucky. Maybe he was injured? He still lay in the middle of the grass, shivering a little. I walked over to him, and he wagged his tail and stood up. All seemed fine. The noises of the neighborhood were slowly erupting across the stillness as the sun rose. He looked around, sniffing. Sometimes you just have to settle into the silence, and the joy, and the delight of the world. Sometimes you just have to step outside the daily grind and hear the beating of your own heart in the infinite stretch of the sky. Sometimes you have to break fingers playing frisbee instead of laboriously turning countless pages. I tend to be more like Job, who cries out , " I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest but only turmoil." (Job 3:26).  I like that my son and my dog can remove themselves from the ravaging tumult of overwhelming business and noise of life. As long as they know when to come in......

Lucky finally came in and scarfed down his breakfast. The hard work of a dog began. There were countless people walking by the house that he would need to bark at. Servicemen would be traipsing in nearby yards that he would need to terrorize. Squirrels would need to be chased, and holes would need to be dug. But for that brief portion of that cold still night, he had known peace.

It might not come so easily to me, but I do know the source of real peace. It is the only time I have found true quietness for my soul. It is when I have opened the pages of His book and rested in His promises.

We were reading a novel about World War 2 yesterday. It is a true story of a man who went to war, was gravely injured, and crippled for life as a result. He was filled with anger, bitterness, and despair over what he had seen, what he had done, and what he had become. But his mother had given him a book, a very important book, he wrote, which he had stashed at the bottom of his backpack before he had gone off to war.
I paused in my reading to Asherel, "And what book was that?" I asked smiling.
She wrinkled her head in thought. "The phone book?"
I blinked at her.
"The phone book? Her only son is going off to war, she herself is dying and may never see him again, and the important book she slips in his backpack is the phone book?"
Sometimes I wonder if this whole homeschool thing is working.
I think I need to go lie in the cold, damp backyard with Lucky under the stars and regain some peace.

Psalm 4:7-8

⁷ Fill my heart with joy
   when their grain and new wine abound.
 ⁸ In peace I will lie down and sleep,
   for you alone, LORD,
   make me dwell in safety.

A Promise

Every time Asherel would walk away to go walk the upcoming agility course, Honeybun would rivet her eyes on her beloved mistress. She perked both ears forward, and remained in that stance of concentrated attention til Asherel returned.

Loyalty is one of the driving forces at Agility trials. Loyalty...and food. With Honeybun, I think food wins out over loyalty in assuring optimal agility runs. But I heard a story yesterday that I hadn't known, a story of such sweet loyalty that it makes me want to cry.

I have volunteered at agility trials and always noticed the loud and exuberant man, John. Everyone in agility in this area knows him, and as far as I can tell everyone likes him. When the handlers' time in walking the course before their class ends, John bellows, "Thank you everyone for coming. Now get off the course and go get your dog!" The booming voice, and happy wisecracks, and competent control of whatever job he has at the trial have always impressed me. I didn't think I could be more impressed, but I was wrong. I was in the stands watching the class before Asherel's class. I was sitting near my friend Danielle, and we were watching as John ran his dog in the Excellent Standard class. He ran it well. I mentioned some funny remark John had belted out in the class before when he was gate steward. Those happy fun comments always help the jittery competitors. It keeps the atmosphere joyful, loose....like it should be at an agility trial. It is easy to start thinking if you miss a jump, the whole world might crack right down the middle. People like John keep it in perspective.

"He seems so nice," I said.
"He is," said Danielle, "Do you know his story?"
"No. Just that he is at every trial we have ever seen and he is always nice and always funny."
"That was his wife's dog he's running," she told me, "His wife died of ovarian cancer last year. Before she died, she asked him that when she was gone, he would keep running her dog in agility."
"Had he ever done agility before that?" I asked.
Danielle shook her head.
I let that settle into my soul. Agility may look easy to those who have never tried it but it is not. Asherel has been training for almost two years now, and she is still only beginning to run with some confidence. And the dog is in Excellent- the highest level. I don't know if he was when John began running him, but anyway about it, it is not easy to just step into the shoes of an experienced handler.

For some of us, agility is a pastime, for some a passion....and for some a promise. 

Honeybun's eyes were now riveted on Asherel who had gone down right after John's class. Her gaze never wavered. She posed like a sphinx, watching. Meanwhile, I saw John checking off names on the gate steward board, making jokes with the handlers and smiling. I suspect I was not the only one watching him. I pray that heaven allows the veil to be lifted back from time to time, and that his wife's gaze was resting on him as well, not wavering, til he returned to her side.

2 Samuel 2:6

⁶ May the LORD now show you kindness and faithfulness, and I too will show you the same favor because you have done this.

Love in Action

The little Welsh Corgi with a broken back was dumped at a shelter by his owner . His back legs hung uselessly behind him and he dragged them along to get around. This would not have been a very cheery story for Valentine's day, but it is a story of love and victory in the end and worth reading.

Hollow Creek Farm is the quirkiest animal rescue I know. They don't rescue the animals that most people rescue. They rescue the blind, the lame, the wounded, the vicious... and they restore them and place them in a forever home, or they give them a home on their beautiful farm dotted with rescued cows, horses, deer, goats, pigs, and dogs dogs dogs. They prowl the kill lists sent from the surrounding shelters and the most tragic cases are the ones they snag. The ones no one else thinks should be bothered with.

Speedy, the little corgi was brought home to Hollow Creek. They started a fund raising plea on Facebook for "wheels" for Speedy. But whether they got the funds or not, they began the process of fitting Speedy to special dog cart wheels so that he could run and play again. You can go to their website (hollowcreekfarm.org) and watch the little corgi learn within seconds that he could walk again. And within three days, Speedy was playing fetch, and herding the pack of dogs like every Corgi is innately wired to do.
He already knows how to wheel his cart to his special pillow where his front end lies luxuriously and his motionless back end is supported on his new wheels.

Donations are at an all time low, and the needs are at an all time high. It was in this wretched economy that Speedy was loved enough by a little rescue farm to be given a chance to be a corgi again, doing what corgis love to do.

Jesus told us that it is when we act on behalf of the "least of us" that we most fully reveal our love of Him. I know that He is speaking of humans specifically, but if God created the animals, surely He cares for them as well. Proverbs 12:10 says the "righteous care of the needs of their animals."

There is plenty of suffering to go around, and plenty of human and non-human places to send our money that might ease the pain for some creature of God. But I hear there is a paralyzed goat at Hollow Creek Farm watching Speedy enviously....hoping for funds for her wheels so she can race the little corgi and rip open and dump all the feed bags like all the other goats.


Matthew 25:40
⁴⁵ “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

Luke 9:46
For it is the one who is least among you all who is the greatest.”

Engraved Names

Honeybun NA, NAJ.
This is our dog's official name now, according to AKC. She is a titled dog. We got the proof in the mail yesterday. We laughed at the simple, unobtrusive name, incongruously followed by titles. She doesn't act any differently. She sniffed her official notification, printed in fancy, framable letters. Big deal, so she jumps and navigates agility obstacles now beyond novice level. She isn't going to get sucked into this fame and fortune thing.
But we are.

"Mom," said Asherel, "We can get a medallion with her name and titles engraved on it."
"How much?"
"They start at $25."
"I don't think so," I said.

But while she wasn't looking, I read the fine print. The back of the medallion is left blank so the owner can engrave the dog's name and title on it...themselves....It isn't even engraved for $25!

This reminds me of the American Poetry Assoc... or some similarly named group contest that Matthias entered when he was a young boy. He wrote a lovely poem, which of course as his mom I cherished .  Lo and behold, he received an official paper with his name and poem on it, claiming he was one of their "winners" and his prize was publication in their book. We could order the book with all the "winners" poetry for just $150!  I am a rotten, cynical mother, so instead, I cut out his poem, and hung it on the refrigerator.

We are such a vain species. We so long for recognition. If we don't get it by doing good things, we seek after it by doing bad things. We hate to think we are just a nobody, a speck of dust floating by like all the other nameless specks of dust. I like to challenge myself to try to understand- "who am I when no one is looking...when no one knows what I am doing, thinking, being?"  I am not sure I can answer that question. Not fully. The closest I can get is to consider what brings me unquenchable joy. When I am in the presence of unquenchable joy, I am probably most who I am at the core. We all have different lists of what brings that overwhelming joy, but I think it is a good list to ponder.

Solomon is probably the most famous of these kinds of seekers. In the Bible book Ecclesiastes, he searches for the meaning of life, what gives him value, satisfaction, joy.  He admits it is not wealth, women, or wild living. He tried all those things, and ultimately realized they failed him. It is not fame- he was King! Still he was not convinced life was anything greater than a futile grasping of the wind.

I think this is why I like dogs so much. They are seemingly so content to be fed, loved, and eat an occasional dead squirrel or chase a ball. Their needs are so simple. They appear to find joy in simply being. How many of us can honestly say that? I know I can't.  I am not content to just be.... I want titles after my name that could be engraved on a silver medalion.

The funny thing is... I have that.

When the disciples returned from one of the missions Jesus had sent them on to proclaim His name, they are pretty full of themselves, because  "even the demons submit to us!" It is a heady thing, power. But Jesus quickly reminds them that is not what they should be rejoicing over. Instead, He tells them, their names are engraved by God Himself. Rejoice over that. My name is engraved in Heaven.

I threw away the AKC medallion offer. Honeybun still curled up at my feet that night and turned adoring eyes upon me. Her name was engraved on my heart, and that is all she cared about.

Luke 10: 17-20
 ¹⁷ The seventy-two returned with joy and said, “Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name.”
 ¹⁸ He replied, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. ¹⁹ I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you. ²⁰ However, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

Loyal Love Waiting

I am always greeted by the dogs exuberantly, always. It is a joy and sometimes a burden to open the door to so much love. It is a joy when my heart has been broken by the assaults of the day and there the dogs are with wagging tails and unconditional regard for me. It is a burden when I am carrying eggs and they can't contain their joy and smash into me.

While being the recipient of so much loyal love is a balm to my soul, it is even more touching to be reading a book and watching the dogs waiting for some other, absent family member. Lucky tends to go to sleep, but Honeybun will often sit in front of the front door in an expectant pose. Her ears are perked forward, listening for any sound of the Beloved's car. Her muscles are tensed, and she shifts position but never alters her steely, unblinking gaze. She watches and watches, and waits, hopeful.

A sound inside the house may cause an ear to flick back, but then she shimmies slightly back and forth, and returns her full attention to the place where she knows her Beloved Family always return. I have seen her in this expectant pose for hours. When the absent ones return, she and Lucky both embrace us with their complete joy, an offering of devotion and love that no human I know can equal. Lucky brings us a bone, which in his mind is the equivalent of an anointing of the purest perfume. Honeybun licks us- something she never ever does except in those uncontrolled first moments of ecstatic greeting. Both dogs tails are thumping so wildly that they sometimes lift off the ground and hover momentarily.

I wish I could greet others with that unabashed love. I wish others would greet me with so much unconditional delight. I wish I could wait so patiently and determinedly for the presence of my Master to enter. I have never understood how anyone could not love dogs. They are in my mind the perfect example of how we should treat each other, and how we should behave before God. We should be always loving, always forgiving, never judging, always delighted to be in each other's presence, always humble, and always expectantly and joyfully waiting for our Master's return. We should always approach the Master as though there is no one else that matters. Life is complete in His presence no matter how empty the water bowl is or how many times we have been kicked off the leather couch.

Our reason for existence is to serve and to love the Master. Well, Honeybun winks at me and adds one small caveat- "Don't forget to tell them that I know it is the Master that feeds me."
So perfection in motive is not possible on earth, but it comes closest in dogs. I could do much worse than model my behavior after Honeybun.

2 Kings 20: 3
³ “Remember, LORD, how I have walked before you faithfully and with wholehearted devotion and have done what is good in your eyes.” 

Habakkuk 3:16-18

¹⁷ Though the fig tree does not bud
   and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
   and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
   and no cattle in the stalls,
¹⁸ yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior.

Solution- Super Glue!

Honeybun is always finding some discarded tidbit to test for edibility, so at first, I didn't panic....not til I noticed that the container she had mangled said, "Super Glue". Perceiving that she was having a little trouble opening her mouth,  I exploded into action. She looked befuddled and one side of her mouth was not quite working. Her lip seemed stuck to her teeth.
"Oh dear Lord," I cried, "Please don't let this be happening!"

I reached in and rocked back and forth the glob stuck to her teeth and on the verge of permanent stuckness to her lower gum. Fortunately it was the superglue that takes a minute to set and I had caught her in time, There was a piece on her lower gum that I left as it was stuck and I knew once she chewed a few  bones it would dislodge. I scraped the rest of her tooth and watched her for the next hour. She must not have ingested any as she seemed to be breathing, and eating just fine.

As Asherel noted, "That would be really ironic, of all dogs for Honeybun to have her mouth glued shut." Asherel is studying "irony" in her Painless Poetry book. How kind of God to give her such a perfect object lesson. Honeybun who lives to eat, being unable to open her mouth would  indeed be ironic. It did hatch a plan in my heart, evil as it may be...... what about super glueing Lucky?  Next time he tries to eat the window sill, just squeeze a little super glue on it first. Hahaha. Ok, so I am not quite embracing the Bible verse where God commands us to leave retribution to Him, proclaiming, "Vengeance is mine."

The Super Glue had not only played the dubiously useful role of gluing Honeybun's mouth shut that day. I had awoken to the shattered, splintered window sill which I had laid suggestively on Arvo's dresser. I hoped in tripping across it, he might find a way to replace it before our holiday guests arrived. But then, the spirit of self-reliance that made our country great seized me.  I gathered the aforementioned super glue, wood filler, sandpaper, paint, and nails. She who made a wooden reindeer out of a fallen tree could surely reconstruct a window sill.

I gathered the splintered pieces and put them together like a puzzle. There were some gaps, but I was not willing to pump Lucky's stomach for them.  First I used the super glue to reconstruct the sill. I only stuck my finger semipermanently to the sill once. Then I slid it in place and superglued some more, and for good measure, taped it to be sure it stayed in the proper alignment. Then I used massive amounts of wood filler and squeezed it in the gaps and toothmarks.  Mind you there were more gaps and toothmarks than intact wood so this was no small feat. Three hours later, I removed the tape. It held! I sanded, and then painted, and since the lovely clean white sill now made the rest of the window look dingy, I painted the whole window trim. And then of course the second window needed to be painted. By then, it was time for me to teach my Trebuchet class so I had to clean my paintbrush and hope I hadn't glued the window shut.

When Arvo came home, he asked me where I had found the new window sill. Victory!!!!!

So I got a double lesson from God yesterday and it was a clear one. Most things have a proper and wondrous use or a corrupted, and evil use. It is not the thing that is good or evil... it is how we use it. God speaks eloquently of that in regards to the tongue. The tongue can proclaim love one moment, or spew venom and hatred in the other. It can build others up with encouraging words, or it can mangle and despair with discouraging words.  Money can be used for selfish means, or it can be used to help a hurting and desperate world.  Time can be spent in self indulgence... or in reaching out to a child, or an old man that needs a listening ear to whom he can cry out his pain.  Christmas can be used as a massive greedy gift grab, or it can be used to help us remember that Jesus was born to die for us, and to save us from our sin...and from super-gluing sweet dogs' mouths shut. ( well, ok, maybe not for exactly that last one....) This is just a short list.

I threw out the chewed up super glue tube, but I thought of all the times I wished I had super glued my mouth shut that day alone!  I praised God who had not taken the lesson to its painful extreme, and then prayed that I had learned enough that He might never have to.

1 Corinthhians 10:23
 ²³ “I have the right to do anything,” you say—but not everything is beneficial. “I have the right to do anything”—but not everything is constructive. ²⁴ No one should seek their own good, but the good of others.

Looking for Opportunity.....

The dogs know something is up. Suitcases keep being shuffled in droves to the car and thus far, no dog has been asked to "Get in!". They find this gravely ominous and are consulting what the best course of action might be.  Lucky of course is advising that they be proactive and escape immediately, before the car departs. Honeybun whose nature is really one of submissive obedience finds this suggestion abhorrent but was particularly disturbed when the iPod charger got put in the car. They intend to go away longer than an iPod remains charged, and this she knows means at least one full food cycle.

"Who will feed me?" is her overriding concern. But they both stand at the door, looking out, hearts a flutter.
"Now Lucky,"  I warn, "Some very nice girls will be coming 4 times a day to feed and walk you. If you chew the window sill off  or dig a hole in the wall, you will have to be crated. I don't want to get a call like we did a few  years ago when we were in Florida asking me if we had a dog named Lucky."
Lucky blinked at me as though he didn't remember that episode. The neighbor 2 streets over was kind enough to drop him back in our yard and we called the dog sitter to hurry over and barricade him in the house.

Fortunately Arvo will be here for another week so the dogs will only be alone about 3 days. A lot can happen in 3 days, however. In that brief time period, the Savior of the world was killed and then resurrected. If one man could manage to save an entire species in three days, imagine the havoc a crazed dog could create.

So we go with some trepidation. Asherel is much better, fever gone, and just some lingering congestion.... so the anxiety is no longer for her health.  But Lucky and Honeybun are looking ominously conspiratorial.
"God sees what you are planning, even when I don't," I remind them. Honeybun hangs her head, but Lucky stares back at me knowingly.

Micah 7: 3-4

3...the powerful dictate what they desire—  they all conspire together.
 ⁴ The best of them is like a brier,
    the most upright worse than a thorn hedge.
    The day of your watchmen has come,
     the day God visits you.

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)