A Eulogy for Grace

Found beaten and abandoned to the streets, she was taken in by Because You Care, a local pet rescue organization.  She was a Yellow Lab/Beagle mix – a “Leagle”, I like to say.  BYC named her Natasha and adopted her out to a local couple.  This couple renamed her Sasha and promptly dispatched her to their backyard, where the neighborhood kids threw stones at her.  In addition, she was only fed table scraps and cheap dollar store treats.  With poor nutrition, no exercise and limited human interaction (abusive, at that) her weight ballooned to 72 pounds on her short beagle legs and she withdrew in to herself.

BYC’s mission was to keep animals out of shelters and place them in loving homes.  In Natasha/Sasha’s case, the home had become no better than a poorly run shelter.  True to their mission, BYC removed Natasha/Sasha from this home and brought her back in to the program.  It was in their “Pet of the Week” newspaper ad that I first laid eyes on her.

Nine months before I’d had to have my dog, Coach put down and after a few months of grieving, I began the process of looking for another dog.  But not any dog, it had to be the “right” dog.   For a few months I’d scanned newspaper ads, gone to shelters a couple of times, followed up leads from friends but none of the dogs were “right”.   Taking in a pet is a lifetime commitment – lifetime of the pet, at least.  This decision needed serious consideration.  But when I saw Sasha’s picture I knew she was the one.

Her newspaper portrait was anything but a glamour shot.  It was obvious she was seriously overweight, sad and withdrawn.  In the ad they referred to her as “plump”, which struck a nerve with me.  Having been more than “plump” at one time, I thought it mean for this to be pointed out.  I felt a kinship with Sasha and called BYC to apply to adopt her.

The application required more than name, address and adoption fee.  I had to provide a veterinary reference, have a fenced in yard (which in my case they gave an exception) and sign an agreement that if I ever had to give her up, I would not put her in a shelter but give her back to BYC and provide financial support until she was adopted again.  Like I said – a serious commitment.

I did all this and we arranged for a meet and greet.  The woman from BYC (Joyce) said she’d bring her over and introduce us.  Since I worked close to Joyce’s home I volunteered to go over there to save her the trip.  Joyce cheerfully declined, saying it was no problem for her to come over. 

Joyce and Sasha came over one evening.  Sasha was so overweight that her belly almost touched the ground and she had a bit of trouble climbing the four steps in to my house.  I showed them around a bit, Sasha cowering behind Joyce.  Sometime during the tour, I realized Joyce was doing a home inspection and screening me; BYC takes their job seriously!  Eventually Joyce and I sat on the couch to discuss the adoption procedure.  Sasha tried to climb up on the couch behind Joyce.  She tried to stop her, explaining to me that they don’t encourage foster families to allow dogs on the furniture since it might be a problem with their final adoptive families.  I have no problem with animals on the furniture (in her abode in heaven, my mother is scowling at this) and since I planned on being the final adoptive home, I let her sit up there with us.  It was a bit of a struggle due to her weight, but she made herself comfortable.

The only potential issue I had with the adoption was no one knew if the dog was good with kids.  Normally, BYC screens this information or gathers it from foster families.  Since she’d just been brought back in to the program and given her experience with the neighborhood kids at her last home, no one really knew.  Because of regular Barbling visits, this was a deal breaker.  The Barblings were on vacation at the time so there was no way to find out.  Joyce and I agreed to have Sasha stay with me for a trial period and if after the Barblings returned from vacation we discovered issues, I could return her with no problem.

So Sasha had a sleepover at my house for a few days.  To increase the chances of success with kids, I headed on over to the Barblings’ home and took some of the girls’ dirty laundry from their bedrooms.  I left the laundry on my living room floor so the dog had many opportunities to sniff and get to know them.

She and I spent the next few days getting to know each other.  I fed her healthy food.  I took her for walks around the neighborhood – short walks, which wore her out.  She slept on the couch, she slept in the chair that eventually became her chair, she looked out the window that eventually became her window identified by the hundreds of snout prints on the glass.  She quickly settled in.

When the Barblings returned, everyone was introduced.  The dog shyfully sniffed everyone and tentatively accepted the hugs of three excited little girls.  We took a brief walk and the girls got her running, tongue lolling from her mouth, ears flapping, a look of pure joy in her eyes!  There was no doubt she was good with kids; she was good with everyone!

Now that she was a permanent fixture in my home, I wanted to change her name.  The name Sasha is a perfectly acceptable name, but it didn’t flow with my last name.   I mulled over a number of possibilities, but one time I looked in to her soulful eyes, dug past the fear and pain and saw…grace.  And so she was renamed and reborn – Grace.

To look at her, she was not the typical picture of grace.  She had the long Lab body on short Beagle legs.  Overweight, out of shape, shy and withdrawn, her grace was not readily apparent; covered in layers of fat and fright, her true character hidden.  She did not have the lithesome body of a dancer but the solid, wide-shoulder look of the working dog she was designed to be.  She lacked the agility and speed of a runner; she lumbered and plodded, but she plodded with enthusiasm!

From healthy food, regular exercise and overdoses of affection Grace quickly shed pounds and apprehension.  Her beautiful personality began to emerge.  So did a bit of willfulness, too I must say.  Considerate of her abusive past, I was gentle in my training of her, but Grace still needed to know the boundaries of our household; I still had to discipline her.  Any sharp word or scolding from me would send her slinking away in fear.  It broke my heart and I wondered if she could ever recover from her sad past.
 
Over the years, I would occasionally whisper her old names to see if she would react.  “Natasha”, I’d speak; “Sasha”, I’d quietly say.  Sometimes I’d get a bit of a response – a flick of the ears, a jerk of the head.   It might have been my imagination, but at times I thought the reaction was a fearful one.  About three years after her adoption I called out Natasha, Sasha again.  There was no reaction; her ugly past was forgotten.

 About two months after her arrival, I reprimanded her for something when she walked away to her crate.  She turned around, slumped down and started muttering under her doggie breath.  “She’s sassing me!” I thought.  I knew then that she’d shed her Natasha/Sasha self.  She was now truly Grace.

She was full of grace in her gentle and kind bearing, her quiet demeanor, the manner in which she approached new friends, two- and four-legged.  Those who experience grace understand joy better and joy Grace exhibited at the mere mention of the words walk, treat, biscuit, or ride.  At the jangle of her leash or the crunch of a lunchmeat bag she’d practically do backflips.  We made many walks up to the local Dairy Queen often times with a Barbling at the end of her leash.  She liked trips to the playground across the street and Barbling #3 even got her to go down the slide a number of times.  Grace enjoyed the simple things in her life, perhaps because she’d known depravation.

Because grace had been extended to her, Grace extended it others.  A number of other dogs (and a couple of cats) have stayed with us over the years.  Atticus, Daisy, Tin, Bella, Buddy, Phoebe – they were all welcomed in to our home. But in every interaction, Grace had to be top-dog.  Most of the time this was a given, but occasionally a skirmish broke out as her dominance was established and reestablished.  She was gracious, but not a doormat!

About four months after her arrival, I was contacted by BYC to foster another dog.  “Sissy” had been found wandering the streets and she was extremely frightened and skittish.  Joyce had to drag her in to my house.  Like Grace and the “plump” and “portly” comments, I thought it cruel to call this dog “Sissy”, highlighting her weakness and so I renamed her Dora.  We became a two-dog, three-bitch household.

From her behavior it was clear Dora was traumatized, but she slowly came to be a bit more trusting of humans.  I think this was because she saw the two-legged being treated the other four-legged being pretty well so she didn’t have to worry so much.  Though they never became playmates or best buddies, Grace and Dora had an understanding.  And as top-dog, Grace took her role seriously, on occasion facing down another dog who might try to go after Dora.  Other times, Grace would place herself between a stranger and Dora, offering a layer of protection.  And Grace bestowed the greatest of kindnesses to Dora by allowing her to sleep on our bed – albeit at the foot, saving the honored place at the pillow beside my head for her own.

After over nine years of faithful service and loyal friendship Grace left this world on Friday,      September 27.  Almost twelve, age and arthritis ravaged her body, but her graceful heart remained strong until the very end.

That last day, as we both lay on the floor of the vet’s office saying our goodbyes, I whispered “Natasha, Sasha” and she had a little twitch, as if she was spending some time reflecting of her life, a trip down memory lane.  I was doing the same, speaking to her about how much I loved her, how she’d been a good dog and done her job so very well.

Years ago I read the book “Heaven” by Randy Alcorn in which he biblically answers people’s questions about what heaven will be like.  When I first got the book, I saw that the format was each chapter answering a specific question.  I quickly looked up the question “Will animals, including pets, live again?”  Alcorn’s answer was that though there is no definitive biblical answer, some noted theologians allude to the fact they will be.  In fact, Alcorn quotes a poem by John Piper in which he refers to seeing his old dog, Blacky in heaven.  If one so noted as Piper believes his pet will be in heaven, then there’s a pretty good possibility of this being true.

My pets in heaven – Priscilla, Dusty, Lucy, Coach – this isn’t a deal breaker between God and me.  He gave me more than I ever deserved just with their presence on earth, let alone heaven.  I’m just so very thankful to have been blessed with the most amazing, Grace.

Forgiveness & Grace (the Dog)

In the past year, I've noticed my dog, Grace slowing down.  She's had trouble jumping up in to the car, had to consider whether a trip up or down the stairs was worth the effort, lagged behind on the occasional walk to the Dairy Queen.  She's 11-1/2 years old  so this is to be expected.  In the last two weeks though, I noticed a steep decline.  This came to a head on Thursday night when I arrived home late and found her panting heavily, and a panic-stricken look in her eyes.

I had no idea what was happening.  She'd been panting heavily all summer, but I thought it was related to the heat and humidity and though the weather was cooler, this panting episode was heavier than ever before.  I though maybe she was having lung or heart problems.  It was only after Googling "canine+heavy panting" that I discovered this was a symptom of pain.  It finally registered to me the look in her eyes was not panic but one of intense suffering. 

I researched how to treat her symptoms and realized I had none of the over-the-counter remedies available at home.  About 10:30 pm I made the decision to take her to the Emergency Vet office where they examined her and described all her joints - hips, knees ankles, neck - as "crunchy".  The very word makes me cringe.  The vet gave her an injection for her pain and some oral meds which helped slightly.  On Friday evening I followed up with our regular vet office, where they gave me additional meds which seem to alleviate her pain somewhat, but not nearly enough. 

As I reflect on the past 12 months I see so many signs I missed, where I could have had Grace treated earlier, possibly forestalling the "crunchy" joints and the pain that accompanies them.  At one time I had been giving her Glucosamine to keep her joints lubricated, but ran out and never got around to buying more.  When I was unemployed, regular vet visits fell victim to budget cuts.  When I was more gainfully employed, I just never made it a priority.  I used to walk my dogs often, which keeps their joints flexible; but when I got a job with a long commute I settled for just letting them run in my backyard.  Dog care took a backseat to "Barb-care".

Many of my reasons for putting off the dogs' care were legitimate, financial and time constraints being two of the biggest.  But, truth be told, in my own self-absorption I ignored the needs of both Grace and Dora and now they (Grace, primarily) are suffering because of it.

Sin is like that.  It causes us to see only our selves and our own needs, blinding us to the needs of others.  Much has been written about the story of the Good Samaritan. A priest and a Levite walk by, see the injured traveler and ignore him.  The Samaritan sees him and stops to take care of him.  But I wonder, how many walked by and never noticed the injured man.  How many were too busy thinking about their own troubles that they never saw the bleeding, beaten man on the side of the road? 

In Genesis, God gave man charge over the earth and all that was in it.  With this authority came responsibility to care for it.  In this most recent case with Grace, I flunked.

Lest you think I am beating myself up over this, I am not.  There is forgiveness for the repentant and I have apologized to Grace and to God.  Because of Jesus, God has forgiven me... and so has Grace.

Theologically speaking, it's said dogs do not have souls.  Only man was created in the image of God and only to man did God breathe in His breath of life.  But I have a theory on this.  Note:  my theory has no biblical basis.  In addition, in case you haven't noticed, I am totally biased in favor of dogs.

Knowing dogs the way I do, I think that after God created them, they followed Him everywhere.  Sure, they chased the squirrels and the occasional cat in Eden, but they ran back to their Creator,  happily napping at His feet as He sat on His throne. 

So, when God created Adam, the dogs were all there milling about.  As God formed Adam from the dust of the earth dogs were watching excitedly saying, "Wow, it smells like dirt!".  Being the curious and obtrusive beings they are and loving dirt as they do, they were right there surrounding Adam when God breathed His breath into Him.  I think they might have caught a bit of His draft, an overspray you might say; which is why like God, dogs are able to forgive so easily and so often.  Maybe that's why dogs find such joy sticking their heads out of car windows.  They're trying to re-experience that invigorating, life-giving breeze from so long ago!

Lesson learned, I will be paying more attention to Grace, administering her meds, trying to make her comfortable, alleviate her pain and prayerfully considering the next steps.  Deciding when my beloved dog has had enough is a great responsibility, one for which I seek His guidance.

I thank Him for giving me grace and for giving me Grace.

Obama as Nebudchanezzar

The Bible says we’re supposed to submit to government authorities as they were put in their positions by God.  I’ve tried to follow this directive.  While others refer to him as “Obama”, I’ve tried to intentionally use his title President Obama, conferring respect for his position.  I may not have felt respect, but I thought by using his title I might eventually develop some.

The day after his last inauguration speech, I was driving to work listening to talk radio during my long commute.  The previous week had contained a particularly large number of hot topics in the news including the economy, jobs, Benghazi, abortion, same-sex marriage, and women in combat.  The IRS and NSA scandals hadn’t even entered the picture, yet.  As the radio shows and news reports were rehashing the President’s inauguration address in which he touched on these divisive issues I remember being struck with – not anger or frustration, my normal reaction; but with a deep sense of sorrow for our country.  Suddenly I realized why President Obama so brazenly flaunted unbiblical principals – God had hardened his heart, as He had with other leaders throughout history.  At times, God hardened leaders’ hearts as a judgment of the people of the nation, their defiance of His authority.  This is what I felt on that day; God had hardened our President’s heart because of the American people’s disregard for Him.

And so I began praying more regularly for our country and its leaders, including President Obama.  I prayed for a return to the Biblical principles on which our nation was founded and our constitution developed.

Though I disagree with President Obama’s policies, I honestly believed he wanted the same outcome as I did.  You know - life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, the Bill of Rights, the self-evident truths.  Since Syria crossed the “red-line” and subsequent developments it’s become clear to me that I was naive. 

When it was revealed that Syria had used chemical weapons, I supported US intervention.  When you take a child’s life, you forfeit your own.  Period.  No amount of diplomacy can correct such evil; there is no room for negotiation when a kid is involved.  My motto – “Don’t mess with kids” (and were I not trying to exhibit a bit of decorum, I’d use another four letter word other than ‘mess’).

However, the President’s comments and behavior these past few weeks have led me to change my position on attacking Syria.  Obama’s (note the missing title) flip-flopping, denials and blaming demonstrate his motives.  He is not defending US interests; he cares not for the US Constitution, his motivations are not innocent Syrian citizens and children, and the only life, liberty and pursuit of happiness he’s interested in are his own.  He doesn’t even support his supporters or staff; he routinely hangs them out to dry.   I don’t trust him.  In addition, Obama doesn’t even know what he wants to accomplish in Syria so getting involved with not even a remote goal would be disastrous.

As I listened to Obama’s lackluster speech last night I was reminded of that day last January when I was struck by how hardened his heart was.  As I drove to work today, again listening to the talk radio hosts rehash the speech, God reminded me of another story – that of Nebudchanezzar.  In the Daniel 4 passage, because of his pride and disregard of God Nebudchanezzar went insane for a period and roamed the fields eating grass, like cattle.

After having to dine on the crow he served up these past few weeks, Obama can expect to be eating a vegan diet for a while until such time that he humbles himself.  Unfortunately our country will suffer in the meantime.

For Phil Cooke

Today, I saw a Tweet by Phil Cooke that, in reference to his Huffington Post article, asked "What should Christians do to change their perception in the culture?"

I replied "Uh...be Christ-like???  Is this a trick question???

Phil replied “Being Christ-like” is too vague. What does that mean? Give me 5 specific expressions of that which would change people’s minds. 

Good response, Phil.  And it WAS a trick question.  You "tricked" me in to having to explain my flippant, but accurate answer.

Like Phil, I don't like vague.  But to give 5 examples in the 140 character limitations of Twitter is impossible even for the most succinct, which I am not.  And since I haven't posted anything here in a while, I decided to kill two birds with one post.  So, Phil, here goes:

(NOTE:  these are not in any specific order - by importance, or chronology, or anything other than the random, stream of consciousness that is me.  Additionally, Christ-likeness is not limited to five examples.  These just happen to be the five that were floating at the top of my psyche at this time)

1.  Jesus healed people.  So did some of the disciples (well, God did the healing through them, but He used them for this purpose).  I do not see me ever healing anyone in the near or distant future, but I can and have prayed to He who does the healing.  I have prayed for people and with people - believers and non-believers alike.  It's the praying with people that really demonstrates one's care and compassion for the other.  It's an open display of one's faith.  In addition, when God answers the prayer, the recipient will remember that moment and (hopefully) recognize the answer was anything but coincidence.

When Jesus healed Lazarus, He prayed aloud to those within earshot  "Father I thank you that you have heard me.  I knew that you always hear me, but I said this on account of the people standing around, that they may believe that you sent me."  (John 11:41-42)  He made a public display so people could view the entire process from prayer to answer/miracle.

Like Christ, I need to pray with people more.

2.  Jesus died for sinners so they might become saints.  John 15:13 says "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends."  I've never taken a bullet for someone, though I like to think that if the situation presented itself I would.  However, I can give my time, my money, my home, my goods - and not just the extras sitting around.  Taking a bullet would hurt.  A lot.  Sometimes we need to give 'til it hurts.  Sometime we need to put aside that quiet night home vegging on the couch after a rough day at work and seek out our hurting neighbors.  I say "sometimes", acknowledging the need for boundaries in some relationships and we need to wisely discern when to stay home and when to go.  But too often we (more accurately, I) err on the side of self-preservation and put off the sacrifice until a more convenient time.

3.  Jesus confronted sin.  There are right ways and wrong - horribly wrong ways - to do this.  Think "Westboro Baptist Church" wrong.

But there was that time in the temple when Jesus attacked the moneychangers.  And Jesus did say "Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!" (Matthew 23:13).  Pretty strong, confrontational words!  And if Jesus found it appropriate, so should we - sometimes.

However, there is also Jesus' treatment of the woman at the well in John 4.  She was a Samaritan and Jews didn't associate with "those people"; yet Jesus did.  When she tried to skirt around the issue of having had five husbands plus her current lover, Jesus didn't ignore or avoid the issue.  He still spoke with her and she left pretty impressed with His treatment of her.

Then there was the adulteress in John 8 who faced stoning.  After His famous line
"Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her." when everyone left, Jesus told the woman "go and sin no more".  He pointed out her sin and that of the crowd and told her to not sin anymore.

4.  Jesus hung out with tax collectors and sinners.  (Considering all that the IRS has been up to lately, believers should set up shop outside their office buildings -bad joke -  couldn't resist -sorry.)  Doing this takes wisdom and awareness of our susceptibility to various temptations, but we cannot wrap ourselves in a cocoon of righteousness; our faith will suffocate.  The Word does instruct us to guard our hearts yet that doesn't mean we're to go on full lockdown.  God provided us with armor to defend ourselves from attack as we go forth. 

I remember a story from about 25 years ago about my friend, Angelo.  He worked for the county nursing home where a number of the residents were on various government entitlement programs.  Part of his job required him to go to the local welfare office on behalf of some of the residents.  Quite often he had to stand in line with the other welfare folks and he would say or do things to make it known he wasn't there on personal business.  He didn't want people thinking he was on welfare or anything like that.  One time, while standing in line the Spirit reminded him that these were the people Jesus hung out with.  Ouch!  I still remember this story so many years later when I'm finding myself looking down on "certain folks".

When Jesus was at Zacchaeus' home He said "For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”  I certainly don't do the saving, but I do need to do more seeking and introduce the lost to my Saviour.

5.  Jesus was humble. He was God but He was also man.  He knew where He came from and He knew where He was going (John 13:4).  Knowing this, He was able to submit completely to the Father's will. 

Humility is NOT the "Aw shucks, I'm not THAT good" attitude.  That is false humility; and in fact, it could be construed as a form of pride, a means to garner attention to oneself and away from God.

Humility is the knowledge that God is sovereign; that He is in complete control of everything - the number of hairs on our heads, sparrows falling on the ground, weather.  The LORD giveth, the LORD taketh away.  We can do nothing without Him.  The surgeon who saved a life today?  God did it.  The baseball player who pitched a no-hitter? God did it.  The blogger who wrote a really insightful and inspirational post (Phil, is this insightful?).  God definitely did it!

I could come up with more than five expressions, but I think I'll close with this synopsis of Christ-like character using God's own words.  Micah 6:8 -Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.  And then there's Luke 10:27 - Love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your soul and with all your strength.  That's what Jesus did every moment of His life, until His last breath and beyond.

Hmm, maybe I could have done this in 140 characters!

Swinging on a Pedulum

Too much and not enough
I swing on the pendulum of life.

Too much and not enough
Love, intelligence, experience

Too much and not enough
Too tall, too short.  Too young, too old.

Too much and not enough
Not smart enough, nice enough, patient enough

Too much and not enough
Back and forth I swing

Too much and not enough
I struggle through each day

Too much and not enough
These words repeat through my brain

Too much and not enough
I long for someone to still the dizzying sway

Too much and not enough
Will someone ever tell me "just right"?

The LORD Your God is with You Wherever You Go



The Word says in Joshua 1:9 "the LORD your God is with you wherever you go".  I have evidence of this from my recent trip to New England.

The week before the Independence Day holiday, my nephew heard a noise from his car.  He took it to his mechanic who told him it was a wheel bearing and replaced it.  However, he still heard a noise and took it back to the mechanic who said it was the Universal Joint and he should have it replaced, but the car was still drivable in the meantime.  The evening of July 3, about 30 minutes from home, the u-joint broke, the drive shaft fell off and my nephew and his family were stranded for a bit.  My sister picked them up and got them home that evening, but their car was in the shop over the holiday weekend and I helped to chauffeur them around town.

During one of these trips, my nephew commented that he heard a noise from my front tires that sounded like a bad wheel bearing.  I hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary and wrote this off as him being extra sensitive due to his own recent experience.  However, as days went by and my trip to Maine approached, I thought I just might be better off having the bearings checked.  It turned out that both the front wheel bearings were shot and needed replaced.

Though I don't like that my nephew had to go through the experiences he did, had he not been in my car and told me the sounds he heard in my tires, I might have had major problems a thousand miles from home.  God provided for me through my nephew's misfortune (for the record, his mechanic was upset at having given him bad advice so he only charged my nephew for the parts, saving a considerable sum on labor charges).

One morning when I was in Acadia National Park, I stopped to get gas before I ventured in to the park for a day of hiking.  The plastic ring that allows the cap to hang from the filler inlet broke long ago so, as I always do I removed the cap, placed it on the top of the car, and filled the tank.  Then I drove  - up steep mountains, down steep mountains, and around curvy switchbacks - at a bit above the posted speed limit, I confess.  I hiked for a few hours, returned to my vehicle and then drove around curvy switchbacks, up steep mountains, down steep mountains (at roughly the same speed as before) and returned to camp.  Hours later I was walking past the car when I noticed the fuel tank door was ajar.  Curious, I went over to shut the door when I saw the cap was missing.  A little shocked, I instantly looked up and saw the cap still sitting on the roof, right where I'd left it that morning.

A few days later, as I was leaving Maine and heading to Vermont I set my GPS and placed it on the dashboard.  The mounting device I'd had for the GPS broke a year ago so I'd always just laid it on the dash.  I didn't need to see it, anyway; I just listened to the voice and followed what it told me.  I had never driven to New England before and had no idea of what roads or highways there were so I was completely at the mercy of my GPS.

After setting the unit, it displayed that I had about six hours of driving time ahead of me, which matched what I thought.  The GPS screen out of view, I proceeded to follow it's directions - drive to highlighted area, turn right, drive 6 miles, etc, etc.  About twenty minutes in to my trip, with no reason to mess with the unit, I picked up the GPS and saw it now displayed I had 10 hours of drive time!  What???!!!

I quickly pulled over and reset it.  Somehow, I must have bumped something and set myself on a course to who knows where.  Had I not picked up the GPS at that time, I could have been hours out of my way before I caught the error; probably somewhere at the Canadian border with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arresting me for attempting to enter the country without a passport.

These are the issue that I KNOW about.  How many passed by without my noticing?

When times were tough for the Israelites, God continually told them to remember.  Remember how He got them out of Egypt.  Remember how He parted the Red Sea.  Remember how He gave them manna in the desert.  Remember...  He gave them many instances to remember as proof of His love and care for them so they could trust Him in future not so easy times.

He gave me plenty just on this one trip; not just safe travel over 1,946 miles, but also wonderful memories of hiking, the beauty of His creation, and friendships.  Now, when times are difficult and the vacation afterglow and my tan fade, I need only remember.

Bathroom Humor

The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.  For the record, the identifying numbers are in no way indicative of their level of friendship to me; the numbers were just assigned in the chronology in which they appeared in the story.

Over the Fourth of July weekend, I went camping at a local State Park with four families from church.  Our campsite was what is called a "walk-in" site; that is, we had to walk over a small bridge, on a path, over another small bridge, and up another path littered with exposed tree roots.  Though not too dangerous, you still had to pay attention when walking.  The washrooms were located just a short distance from our site, but across the road.  Therefore, you had to navigate the aforementioned bridges, hill and tree roots each time you needed/wanted to use the restroom.

The weather for our trip was wonderful.  Not too hot, not too cold, and little rain.  However, rain from the previous week had made parts of our wooded campsite a bit boggy.  On Friday night there were brief and gentle showers, but not a soaking rain.  The paths were a bit muddy and slick, so more care had to be taken when travelling to the bathrooms. 

About 2:00 am Saturday morning, I woke needing to use the bathroom.  I put it off as long as I could because I really didn't want to walk "over the river and through the woods" to the bathroom.  Finally, I could no longer ignore nature's call so I threw on a pair of shorts under my nightshirt, slipped on my sandals, grabbed my flashlight and carefully walked in the dark of night over and around the tree roots to take care of business.

The next morning we women compared notes on our prior night's sleep.  Friend #1 mentioned that she had had to get up in the wee hours to - umm, well...wee.  Friend #2 said she too had to avail herself of the facilities because her preschooler had to go number one.  I shared my own precarious travels through the pitch dark woods when Friend #3 piped in "I had to go, too but I just went out behind the tent by a tree." (For the record, Friend #4, pregnant and camping with a toddler was still deservedly asleep in her tent during the conversation).

It was a shock and awe moment for me.  I was in awe of Friend #3's guts and openness.  I was in shock that she would boldly expose her behind at camp with - well, not total strangers but certainly not real family, either.  And these were church people, at that.  What would have happened if one of the kids or husbands had gotten up at the same time???

Saturday was a beautiful, fun-filled day.  We hiked, we swam, we ate a fantastic meal cooked over the campfire (Garlic Rosemary Pork Loin thanks to Friend #1, and venison steaks thanks to Friend #4 and her husband).  However, during s'more time it began to rain.  It wasn't a very hard rain, but it was steady and we all got a good soaking.

After we packed up the food,  put various equipment under cover and secured camp, we all turned in for the night.  In addition to being wet from the rain, I was also pretty sticky from sweat and humidity.  It's hard enough to undress when sticky, but to do so in the confines of a small, two-man tent is next to impossible so I decided to go to sleep in my clothes - a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

About 2:00 am, nature again tapped on my shoulder.  Well, actually she pounded on my bladder.  I tried to ignore her, but she was persistent.  I had no desire to walk the dark, tree-root strewn incline to the bathroom.  At that time I remembered Friend #3's boldness and decided to follow her example.  It was still raining, and I dreaded getting wet once again and having to go back to sleep in damp, sweaty clothes so I brazenly stripped off my shorts and carefully snuck out of my tent to the nearest, most private tree, in the darkest of spots.

Mid crouch I had a horrible thought.  What would happen if some cheeky raccoon came along and bit my exposed cheeks?  What if one of my camp mates came along on their way to the facilities?  What if it was one of the kids?    The thought terrified me and I started to have an anxiety attack, at which point my legs got a bit weak and shaky.  This brought on an even more horrible thought.  What would happen if I fell over and broke a hip?  Should I yell for help and bring everyone running or should I just lie in the mud until someone (hopefully only ONE, not many) got up?

As usual, I worried for nothing.  I completed the necessary task, returned to my tent and redressed, tucking myself safely in to my sleeping bag, leaving no part of me exposed.  I had exposed enough for one night.

Drifting off to sleep, I thought about what had just happened.  Camping with these friends, I was seeing more of their real selves; their faces sans makeup (the women) and unshaven (the men), faults and foibles being revealed.  Had Friend #3 not been so open as to mention her exploit of the prior evening, I would have stomped through mud and tripped over tree roots, getting rained on and feeling miserable.  Her transparency made my life a bit easier.

In fact, living with these folks for only a weekend I was able to see some of their true selves emerge.  Their frustration, impatience and weariness were on full display; like the proverbial elephant in the room, these couldn't be easily covered up in this venue.  I even saw little 2-year old ZW, a child with whom I am enamored, throw a temper tantrum or two.  But I also witnessed many acts of patience, kindness and generosity.  Our little campsite was a community much like our home neighborhoods and churches should be.  In a tent community, privacy is limited; there are no doors or windows behind which to hide or keep people out.

Isn’t this how the church is supposed to be?  Isn’t this how we’re supposed to be with each other?  And aren’t we supposed to give and expect compassion and forgiveness from our Christian brothers and sisters when (not if) we fail?  We keep our mistakes and sins to ourselves due to pride; our own and that of other Christians.  We’re afraid of facing judgment – justly and unjustly.  In trying to save face we deny ourselves the opportunity to experience grace.

As I think of all the embarrassing possibilities of what could have happened to me that dark night in the woods, I think that had any of those horrors come to pass those are the people with whom I would care to share my mortification.  They would have laughed – at me, with me, whatever (hey, it’s funny).  Because of their love for Jesus, I know they love me.  It is with these people I bare my soul; it for these people that I will bear their burdens.  But I hope to never bare my bottom again.  I think we all are of one mind on that!

Why It's Important to Check and Double Check a Map

This is dedicated to my friend, Mindy.  Mindy is a godly Christian woman, wife, mother, homemaker, homeschooler AND Occupational Therapist, to name a few of her roles.  Along with all these responsibilities, she has a strong sense of adventure and an amazing ability to not only accept the quirky missteps of life but to enjoy them.  I appreciate this quality of hers and want to emulate it.  Today, I had the opportunity to do so.  I respectfully call this a “Mindy Moment”.

Today is officially Day 1 of my Acadia National Park vacation.  One of my goals for this trip was to get in a lot of hiking.  Trails are rated Easy, Moderate, Strenuous and Ladder (which means there are portions of the trail where you have to cling to climb iron ladders.   Of course these are relative terms; one man’s moderate is another man’s strenuous.

There is a Ranger-led hike tomorrow that I would like to try, but it’s rated Strenuous, so I wasn’t sure I could keep up.  Because I’m somewhat active, I figured I could handle Moderate, no matter what level of Moderate it might be.   It would just be a matter of how well I felt after tackling a Moderate trail, whether I would try the Strenuous hike tomorrow.

I was a responsible hiker.  I carried not one, but two bottles of water and trail mix.  I had sunscreen, bug spray, a hat.  I wore good hiking boots and packed extra socks.  I even had a cool compass/whistle thing (Mindy has a compass/whistle thing, but her’s is way cooler).  AND I purchased a trail map at the visitors’ center, complete with a listing of all the trails, their level of difficulty rating, distance, topography, etc.

I reviewed the map and chose a Moderate trail – the Schiff Trail.  And then I set off.  This trail was pretty much nothing but granite steps up the side of Dorr Mountain, the second highest mountain in the park.  It was definitely taxing and I had to take numerous breaks.   Since this wasn’t a loop trail, to get back to my car I’d either have to connect with one of the other trails ahead or return the way I’d come.  Consulting my map, I could see the shortest way back would be to take Emery Path, a Strenuous rated trail.  I had thought that if I did well on the Moderate trail, I could try the Emery Path to see how strenuous Strenuous was.  Since I was having such difficulty with this path, I was rethinking this plan.

There were a number of times when I thought of turning back.  I wasn’t worn out…yet; but I knew I could find myself overly tired before I turned around and it could be a problem getting myself all the way back to my car.

Still, I pressed on.  I wanted to complete what I started.  Where would Jacob have been had he given up when wrestling with God?  He would have missed out on God’s blessing.  What would have happened had Hannah quit praying for a child?  Because she pressed on she was given Samuel.  I was going to finish this Moderate hike.  I would conquer…and then collapse back in camp!

When I got to the end of the Schiff trail, there was a way sign pointing to the Strenuous Emery Path.  There was also a sign pointing back the way I had just come only it didn’t say Schiff Trail.  It said Kurt Diedrich’s Climb, a Strenuous Trail. 

Though I’d wanted to try one of the more difficult trails, I had not planned on doing so today.  I’d walked in to it (literally) unaware and not at my own timing.  God does things like that.  He’s put me on a difficult life trail, not one I’d have chosen for myself.  If I had known when I started how difficult it would be, I might have turned back long ago or never even started.  But He knows the path He’s chosen for me and He sent His Son, Jesus to walk the same paths before me, blazing trails and leaving way signs along the way.  In fact, because of Jesus’ sacrifice, His willingness to live life as a man and die a painful, sacrificial death, my omnipresent Father is there leading me – beside still waters, through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and up steep granite Strenuous Moderate mountain trails.

Tomorrow, barring incredibly sore muscles, I plan on taking that Ranger-led Strenuous hike.  And I plan on continuing on the life path my heavenly Father has chosen for me.  And on any future hikes this vacation, I will be carefully reading the Trail maps!

 

 

If Money Had Been No Object

On this date last year my sister, Cassie died.  At that time, I was tasked with the responsibility and the privilege to write her obituary.  Because of space and financial considerations (you have to pay the newspaper for extra words), I was limited in what I could publish.  If I'd had unlimited funds, this is the obituary I would have written.  And this is the obituary she deserved.

Mary Catherine (Cassie) Best Kraus King died in her sleep on June 9, 2012 at her home in Odessa, Texas.  She was born on August 15, 1956 - a Wednesday.  "Wednesday's child is full of woe..." and Cassie had her share of woe.  But on that day in 1956 her parents, John Edward and Jean Shirley Hammerton Best, greeted her with joy and much love.

She was named Mary because August 15 is a Catholic Holy Day - the Feast of the Assumption  of Mary.  Her middle name Catherine was after her paternal grandmother, Catherine Carney Best.  The name Cassie came about because her sister Jean (Jean Wright) couldn't pronounce Cathy.  Her parents called her Cassie Assie, but because she wasn't allowed to say "ass" she referred to herself as "Cassie Bum Bum".

She was the third of four children - Bruce Best, Jean Wright and Barbara Best.  In addition to her father and siblings, she is survived by her son Steven Michael (Julie) Kraus and two grandchildren, Damian and Skylar.

Family was important to her and so she would have liked to include all her aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, great nieces and nephews, steps-, friends who were as close as family, etc in this list. And she could have named every one, along with their birthdays and anniversaries!

She attended St Lawrence O'Toole Elementary School, Ursuline Academy, and for a time, Clarion State University.  She graduated from Allegheny County Vo-Tech with a degree in Practical Nursing and was a Licensed Practical Nurse.

As a young teen Cassie had thyroid problems that were possibly thought to be cancerous.  She was finally diagnosed with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis and had to have her thyroid surgically removed.  It was serious surgery for it's time and a cause of great worry for her parents.  The surgery was successful and the experience may have fueled her nurturing skills.

From an early age, Cassie demonstrated great nursing skills.  She often tended to her siblings and parents when they were sick or hospitalized.  Highly intelligent, she understood medical science, but her best professional skill was her compassion and desire to ease people's pain.  Prior to her nursing career she worked at a church bingo refreshment stand, as a Laundromat attendant, a hospital food service worker  and a waitress, always serving people.  She was an advocate for her patients and any downtrodden she thought were being disrespected and ignored.  You would not want to be the Customer Service representative who was rude to a hapless customer!  Cassie would have had no problem coming from the back of the line to dress down said representative for the sake of a total stranger.  And if the customer happened to be rude to the person behind the counter, she'd take them on as well.

Cassie had a variety of interests.  Her musical taste ranged from Elvis to Elton John to... (gasp) Barry Manilow.  She loved to read - anything from Best Sellers to gossip rags.  It was the latter that made her a killer Trivial Pursuit player, especially in the Arts & Entertainment category.

Her taste in food was far from refined.  Cassie's favorite Italian meal was Chef Boyardee Spaghetti-O's.  She liked Potato Buds over homemade mashed potatoes and LaChoy over any Chinese restaurant.  However, she was quite particular about stuffing.  It had to be homemade - her mother's recipe; StoveTop was no substitute.  Cassie's culinary skills were not top-notch, either; but she WAS able to duplicate Mommy's stuffing (for which there is no written recipe, it's totally by "feel & taste") like no one else in the family.

 Her greatest love was for her son, Steven - her "Bunny Boy", and his family.  She adored her granddaughter, Skylar or, as she referred to her "Skylab".  She wanted for Steven every experience, every advantage.  She scraped together money for him to take a few flying lessons, and took him on a trip to New York City.  And there were also the numerous trips to Cedar Point...  Steve inherited his love of roller coasters from her.  Though she enjoyed coasters, she would still try to protect Steve and any one who was riding next to her, by putting her arm up in front of them to stop them from falling out - again, sometimes total strangers.

It would be easy to ignore or gloss over the "full of woe" portion of Cassie's life, but it was part of what made her - and she would be angry if I didn't acknowledge it.  Throughout most of her life, Cassie struggled with substance abuse and suffered the physical, emotional, social and legal ramifications.  It may have been what killed her, we don't know.  At the very least, it contributed to her way too early death.

I don't know what caused her addictions.  I wonder if maybe it was her great compassion and empathy; her ability to feel others' pain.  Perhaps Cassie was so sensitive to everyone's hurt that she was overwhelmed by it and sought relief in drugs and alcohol.  I don't know.  Nobody does.

In January, 2012 I read the book "A Praying Life" by Paul Miller and was struck by the need to pray for my sister in a regular and very concerted way.  The verse that came to mind when I prayed for her was Matthew 11:28 - "Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest."  I did this quite often over the next few months.  After she died, I was sorting through the prayer cards I kept for various people and thought to myself wryly, "Well, I don't need this one anymore". 

(Yes, it's a sick joke; but Cassie would have liked it.  She would have laughed at it...hard.  Her only complaint would have been that I'd said it before she did.)

Thinking about my prayers, I realized God had answered this prayer.  This wasn't the rest I'd expected Him to give her, but Cassie is at rest.  As a teenager, she'd made a commitment to Christ; she knew that her own good works were not enough to please God; she couldn't do enough of them to earn salvation.  And at that time, she'd done quite a few good works.  To look at her life afterwards - the stints in rehab, the times in jail, and all the other ugly acts - it didn't look like she was "living for Jesus".  But pull back the curtains that cover our lives and our selfishness, greed, anger, malice, impatience and pride (to name a few) would be revealed for all to see. We all fall short; which is why we need Jesus in the first place.

So, Cassie is at rest; she is in heaven with God, healed of her addictions.  She is not in hell because of her addictions and crimes any more than she is in heaven because of her good acts.  For all of us, our sinful acts and attitudes far outnumber our "saintly" ones.  Cassie is living in heaven because Jesus took the punishment she (and we all) deserved and she accepted His free gift of eternal life.

On this, the first anniversary of her death, I say with confidence in God, who answered my prayers that Cassie is Resting in Peace.

Trashy Thoughts

Why is it my most profound thoughts come to me just as I start to fall asleep?  While I drift off to slumber these inspiring ideas drift off someplace else.  Maybe they travel to the place where socks lost in the dryer and teaspoons that disappear in the dishwasher go to nest.

Why is it my most provocative writing ideas come when all I have at hand are a leaky pen and a mere scrap of paper?  Either the words are too smeared to decipher later or the scraps wind up tossed in the trash.

Maybe it's because these ideas were not as profound as I thought.  Or maybe they were too profound; maybe they would cause me to be too proud.  Losing these thoughts is God's way of keeping me humble; reining in my ego and keeping my reliance on Him closely tethered.

Whatever His reasons, I trust that the words that do survive carry on for a reason; reasons to which I'm not always privy.  Maybe they'll encourage someone.  Maybe they'll make someone laugh (With me not AT me, please).  Maybe the reason is as simple as keeping my head from exploding from the buildup of too many ideas. 

Bizarro Barb

A few months ago, curious about my web presence, I Googled myself.  There were many references to Barbara Best.  Most were something like Santa Barbara Best Vacation or Barbara's Best Cheesecake, etc.  However, one hit really hit home.  It was another Barb Best - a REAL live person, with my name, with her own blog and everything.  I now follow her on Twitter and we are Facebook friends.

Reading her Blog and getting to know her, I'm reminded of the Bizarro Superman comic book.  Or for a more recent reference, the "Bizarro Jerry" episode of Seinfeld.

The other Barb Best appears to be opposite me, from a parallel universe.  From her pictures, she appears to be short; I'm tall.  She's blond; I'm brunette.  She lives on the West Coast; I live on the East Coast.  She won the 2010 Erma Bombeck Global Humor Award; I think I could be a finalist in the Erma Bombeck Housekeeping Award.

It's confused me quite often when I see a Tweet or Facebook Post by the other Barb Best.  My first reaction is that someone must have hacked my account and posted as me.  I wonder if she has the same reaction.  I wonder if my friends think I've suddenly become funnier or her friends think she's having a dry spell.  She hasn't unfriended me, yet so I must not be detrimental to her career.

Recently I saw from her Twitter feed that the other Barb Best is going to be at Lucy Fest in Jamestown, NY.  I work in Jamestown, NY!  I immediately messaged her when I saw this and we plan on meeting; I'm looking forward to this unique experience.  I have only one concern.  Which one of us is Bizarro?

Heal My Lonely Heart

There are millions of lonely people in the world,
Studies show this true.
I wish there were one less around;
Correction, I wish for two.
I pray my loneliness be healed
By His giving me to you.

My Sixth Sense

While out running with my dog, Dora this evening, I was struck by how all my senses were engaged during our jaunt.  I was enjoying the view of the beautiful sunset, the salty sweat dripping from my top lip onto my tongue.  A light rain began to fall and I felt the refreshing droplets tickle my face, the fresh clean scent filling my nostrils.  I was listening to some jazz music while enjoying the gentle shower when I realized what band I was listening to - Weather Report.  During my spurt of giggles I realized I have a highly developed sixth sense - a sense of humor!

A Jackson Pollock Painting-Repost

Reposting this from 2011 'cause it's one of my favorites.  And it's still pretty accurate description of me.

I'm not a fan of Jackson Pollock's art. It's way too out there for me. But I was thinking about myself, my personality, my likes/dislikes, my history, what I read, what I listen to, what I think about. And I realized, I am a Jackson Pollock painting. I'm a mishmash of colors thrown together, with no discernible rhyme or reason. A drop of green here, a streak of blue there, dabbles of pink and red and purple and white.

I like jazz music, rock music, bluegrass, Celtic, some country. I own some bagpipe cd's, for crying out loud.

I read murder mysteries, urban noir, biographies, history, current events, contemporary thought, health and wellness. I read newspapers, books, magazines, blogs, cereal boxes and nutritional labels.

I dress conservatively, casually, modern, old-fashioned. I'm just as at home in jeans and sweatshirts as I am in business suits, as I am in khakis and blazers. I'm LL Bean, Evan Picone, WalMart, and Salvation Army Thrift Store.

My home is decorated in Traditional, Country, Cottage, Mission, Victorian, Romance, Contemporary.

I have an educated slang casual city country vocabulary.

I drink wine, Diet Coke, tap water, spring water, flavored water, black tea, white tea, green tea, herb tea, iced tea, Long Island Iced Tea and the occasional cappuccino. That's really as far as I've delved in to the coffee world.

I like a clean house; I like a messy house.

I like to ride my bike, walk, hike; I am a couch potato.

I feel happy, sad, angry, encouraged, fearful, confident, excited, disgusted - sometimes all at the same time.

Many biographers and art historians speculate that Pollock suffered bipolar disease, which would explain the mania exhibited in his art. Some might look at the canvas that is my life and wonder about the Artist that created me, as well.

No one understands what was going through Pollock's mind as he dripped and tossed paint on canvas. No one knows what fueled the thoughts and feelings he was trying to display, what emotions he was trying to free from deep within his soul.

I don't really understand what the Artist who created me was/is trying to accomplish. His Word, His Autobiography says we all were fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps 139:14) in His image (Gen 1:27). However, His art is not from bipolar disease. He is not manic. God is quite deliberate in how He proceeds.

One need only look at the history of creation in Genesis to see how carefully He made the earth and all that is within it. For six straight days, He created a new item, one thing leading to another. There was nothing random about it. He separated land and water before He made plants. He created plants before He created the animals that would eventually feed on those plants.

As I feel happy, sad, angry, encouraged, fearful, confident, excited, disgusted (sometimes all at the same time), contemplating the "why's?" of my life, I have to step back and see the Artist at work, trusting there is a masterpiece being made that is still in process. He's dripping points of sad blue on to streaks of boring beige next to lines of hot red through pools of peaceful yellow and green, with some splashes of fun pink and purple tossed in for humor and good measure.

There will be a day when the canvas that is me will be in His heavenly gallery. Jesus and I will be viewing the completed work and I'll understand why that big black drip fell on to that fuschia experience and that it hadn't ruined but enhanced my life. I need to have faith that the omniscient, omnipotent Artist will complete the good work He began in me (Phil 1:6). Until that time, I need to watch the Artist wield His brushes, trusting that He has complete and total control. There is nothing random about His paintings.

War Wounds

The wounds of loneliness
Bleed tears of grief.
Scar tissue covers the wound
But constricts the heart.

Spin Doctor

Intense.
Emotional.
Passionate.

Who can look beyond the intensity;
Through the emotionality
Recognize and appreciate the passion?

Lonely

Longing overwhelms
Never ending love.
You.

Laugh and the World Laughs With You

One of my favorite quotes is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Earth laughs in flowers" from the poem Hamatreya.  The quote is taken out of context of the poem; but still, I like the imagery.  This got me to thinking of other ways in which the earth expresses itself.

If "earth laughs in flowers" then it rejoices with gleeful jubilation with sunshine.  It giggles with rain.  The earth howls during windstorms, obviously.  It roars with hurricanes, shrieks with tornadoes, and shouts with thunder.

Then there are days like today.  On these days, when it sleets and snows on APRIL 24 , earth guffaws... loudly...at us, not with us.

I think my brother and his wife, currently vacationing at Disneyworld, are guffawing along with earth.

Waiting-A Valentine's Lament

I don’t need to know

What you are doing,

Who you are with. 

I don’t need to know

What you are buying or wearing;

Where your mind and your heart and your body are. 

I don’t need to know

What you are thinking or planning or feeling;

Your hopes, your dreams, your aspirations…

Your desires. 

I WANT to know. 

I want to know

That you are happy, that you are at peace;

That you are under His watchful eye and care. 

I need to know

That I am under His same care;

That the peace I so desire for you is available to me. 

I need to know

That I matter; that my thoughts and plans and feelings

What I hope and dream and aspire

Are of some value, warrant some attention – if not from you, 

From Him.

Peaceful Easy Feeling

There are thousands of books, probably millions of articles and interviews written on how to handle the onslaught of responsibilities and activities and tasks we have taken on.  How to multitask, how to prioritize, how to have it all.

God says it in 8 words:

"Be still and know that I am God."
                                    Psalm 46:10

I can't add anything to that.