Sam the Supermutt - a Memorial

When Sam first came to live with me, no one had a clue as to what breed he was. He looked poodle-ish. Maybe a Maltese? I’d never had a small dog before, so they’re all Maltese or Yorkies to me, because those are the few small breeds I can name; though I’d have trouble recognizing one if it bit me. 

Curious as to his lineage, I had Sam’s DNA analyzed through Embark.  The initial results provided were a bit confusing to me: 

·        50% Alaskan-type Husky

·        14.4% English Setter

·        12.5% Beauceron

·        11% English Toy Spaniel

·        5.1% Greenland Dog

·        4% Basenji

·        3% Gray Wolf 

With a couple of exceptions, these are all large dogs. Sam weighed 15 pounds.  A questioning email to Embark resulted in an immediate response that something had been transposed in the reporting, not the lab analysis, and a new report was sent in a few days. This report was much more in keeping with the dog I knew: 

55.8% Cocker Spaniel

12.5% Jindo

11.3% English Cocker Spaniel

20.4% Supermutt 

Embark says “Some dogs descend from other dogs that were themselves mixed breeds. These dogs can give small contributions to the ancestry of your dog, so small that they are no longer recognizable as any one particular breed”. They refer to this conglomeration as Supermutt. In Sam, they found some Yorkshire Terrier, Maltese, German Shepherd, and Pug. 

Yorkshire Terrier and Maltese! My generalized guess had some lucky basis to it! No poodle, though. The Jindo breed originated in Korea and so did Sam, so that seemed accurate, as well. In the Embark report, they provided pictures of dogs in their database that were related to Sam to some degree. One of them, a Cocker Spaniel named Moon Li, who was adopted from the meat trade industry in Korea, shared 21% DNA with Sam. 

The Korean connection is interesting, because that is where Sam’s life began. He lived in two countries, five cities, and at least five homes, that I know of. 

He came to live with me a roundabout way. He was born in Korea where his previous owners found him. Korean nationals who relocated to Pittsburgh years ago, they’d gone back to Korea about eight years before to visit family where they found this dog being abused, so they took him! They brought Sam (whom they had named Simba) back to their home in Gibsonia, a township outside of Pittsburgh. He lived there, doted on by his family. But about two years ago, he got out of the house and was missing for four months. His owners searched for him and posted around one thousand posters all around Gibsonia looking for him, but without success. Four months later he was found by a construction crew, collapsed from exhaustion and hunger, on the side of a road. Gibsonia is an upper middle-class area, with wooded areas giving it a rural feel, but with many busy highways leading into Pittsburgh. It’s a miracle Sam lived through the experience. If the wildlife didn’t kill him, cars and trucks should have. But somehow, he survived. 

My dad was keeping Sam for his neighbor, Laura, who was watching him for her former boss, who was having some health problems and unable to care for Sam. However, when Laura brought Sam home, her cat took one look at Sam and bit Laura! So, my dad took him in for what was supposed to be a short time but wound up being extended, as Sam’s owners were not recovered enough to take him back. 

At my dad’s home, Sam was safe, and well fed, but since he was a small dog, my 91-year-old father wasn’t able to bend down to interact with him, and Sam was too little to be able to jump up on the couch to be petted. So, Sam, still traumatized from his “walkabout” in the Pittsburgh Outback, spent his days laying on his bed in a corner of the living room. 

Eventually, Sam’s owners realized they would not be able to take him back, so I volunteered to adopt him.  He joined Lucy and my home on May 16, 2021. When first introduced, and Sam showed no interest in playing, Lucy pretty much ignored him. Sam. 

When he first entered the house, Sam was nervous and afraid. I placed his bed in a corner of the living room, opposite the couch, so he could be alone and not threatened by my presence, and he laid there quietly. But in a few hours, he got up and laid on the floor next to the couch, where I was sitting. I took this as a good sign that he trusted me, he felt safe with me. I moved his bed there, where it became his permanent space – downstairs, at least. As days went on, I noticed he no longer slept curled up in a tight ball but spread out a bit, feeling comfortable and relaxed. 

Upstairs, Sam had another bed, on the floor next to my bed; well, my and Lucy’s bed, to be accurate. He showed no interest in joining us on the Queen size pillow top mattress, preferring his inconspicuous, unobtrusive corner on the far side of the bedroom. After a few weeks, though, one evening he placed his paws on my side of the mattress, indicating he wanted to come up. He was too small to jump up himself, so I lifted him up and he settled in the bottom corner of the bed opposite my side; Lucy owned the top, next to my head. At first, he couldn’t jump down from the bed, either; but within a couple of weeks, Sam conquered his fear and figured out how to safely get from bed to floor by using the bed rail as a step. 

He didn’t especially enjoy walks and avoided grass and trees as much as possible. Which made sense when I think about it. During his homeless period grass and trees contained dangerous wildlife. There were squirrels bigger than him! He stayed on sidewalks and concrete as much as possible. 

Walks also presented another challenge. Sam’s little legs could not match the longer strides of Lucy and me. He took three steps to our one, so he wore out more quickly. He was carried home on a number of occasions, and I finally broke down and bought a dog front-pack carrier, and I even bought a baby stroller at a garage sale. He never got comfortable with the stroller, but he became more relaxed with carrier. I think he enjoyed experiencing the world from that vantage. 

Sam didn’t respond to commands at all. At first, I thought it was because he didn’t understand English, so I tried to learn a few Korean words like “sit” and “come”. He didn’t respond to those, either. I didn’t know if it was because I was pronouncing them badly or if he was just obstinate. I suspect it was more the latter than the former than the latter, though Korean is really hard to speak! 

A few months after he joined our home, Sam had some fainting episodes and was diagnosed with advanced Congestive Heart Failure. Even with medication, the veterinarians gently informed me the expected life after diagnosis was usually about six to nine months. He responded well to his medicines and because of his limited time I wanted to make sure his last months were pleasant; where he was comfortable and had fun. I took him camping (he didn’t think it was pleasant, comfortable, or fun). I took him for walks to the local Dairy Queen (I discovered he didn’t like ice cream). I got him a Halloween Costume and a Christmas sweater. I took him to a Valentines Party at the local Pet Supplies Plus store. I gave him lots of treats. Sam loved food. A very quiet dog by nature, he only barked when it was mealtime.  He practically did backflips!  A refined, continental dog, Sam was quite fond of apples and feta cheese. 

On a Saturday in March 2022, eight months after his diagnosis and within the expected timeline the vet had warned, Sam had an episode of some sort, and I knew his time with Lucy and me was quickly coming to an end. I called the veterinarians’ office and after talking it over, decided to have Sam euthanized. Having had times where his life was not so peaceful, I made sure his death was.  I held him, petted him, spoke to him, throughout the whole process. My brother was with me, and together we made sure Sam knew he was loved. 

Embark identified him as a Supermutt and they were right. But he was not a Supermutt because of his DNA. Sam was a Supermutt because of his heart. Despite abuse and homelessness, Sam was able to trust people. His trauma did not scar him with fear but gifted him with wisdom. He survived hunger and thirst, wildlife and vehicles, weather, and abuse. Still, he was able to give and receive affection. 

Biblical theology holds that animals do not have a soul. Only man was created in the image of God and man was instructed to have dominion over the earth and all that was in it (Genesis 1:26). I believe this and I hope demonstrated this well with Sam and all my pets.  But there is something about some animals that transcends mere survival instinct. It might not be a God-given soul, but it is a God-given something. Sam showed a heart and courage that is not common in beast or man. 

I was blessed to be given dominion over Sam. Dominion isn’t about domination or power. Dominion is the authority to be responsible for and care for another. And if you do it right, you can learn something from your charges as much as they learn from you. From Sam, and Lucy and all the other dogs that went before them, I’ve learned to walk in all sorts of weather. I’ve learned to gain control over my gag reflex while cleaning up from accidents and illness. I’ve learned to share my pizza. But most importantly I’ve learned that patience and love are investments with a high rate of return. Even though he was only with me for less than a year, I reaped great riches from having Sam in my life. 

Rest in peace, Sam the Supermutt. My Supermutt.

Homeless

My neighbor

Discovered evidence

Of some critter

Living behind his shed.

He blocked off

The space between

The house and the shed

With a piece of scrap lumber.

Tonight,

When I let Lucy out

We noticed a possum standing there

Where the space used to be.

She (I imagine it as a “she”)

Looked confused, puzzled

Wondering what had happened

To what had once been her home.

She was blocked,

No longer welcome.

And my heart ached for her.

I understood what she was feeling.

Photo by Eric Ward on Unsplash

Jesus, Trials, and the Art of S'mores

iStock Photo

A friend once told me about about a difficult few weeks she'd been having and how she'd experienced a "meltdown" of sorts.  I was aware of only some of what she'd been experiencing and a meltdown may have been warranted even for the little I knew.

Far too often we head to the extremes.  "Meltdowns are necessary; a means to decompress from extreme pressure." "Meltdowns are sinful response to God's discipline." I offer my own unique take.

As I told my friend, I did not condone any sinful response on her part. She needed to evaluate her heart and repent if necessary.  But I pointed out that things melt when subjected to heat. And the heat of God's discipline is meant to refine our heart and character.  The Word speaks of refining gold, subjecting it to high heat so to separate the dross, leaving behind pure gold.

However, metallurgy is beyond my scope of knowledge. And not to disparage the Word, but I think there's more to this than refining gold. What came to mind as my friend and I spoke was s'mores.

I like graham crackers. I like marshmallows. I like love chocolate. In a pinch, when a s'more emergency hits, you can place a cold marshmallow between the graham cracker and chocolate bar. I know; I've tried. It solved the immediate need, but it was not as tasty as the real thing.

A good s'more needs a toasted marshmallow (I prefer mine a bit burnt). The heat from the marshmallow softens the chocolate a bit, melding the flavor of all three ingredients and creating a much more satisfying experience.

Meltdowns of the non-sinful variety serve more than to decompress. They soften our hearts, melding our emotions and minds in to laments and submissive prayers. In return, God gives a heaping serving of His grace which nourishes and satisfies our souls.

Qavah

Wait expectantly?

I’ve been waiting

On pins and needles

For decades.

How many years

Did Sarah wait?

How many times

Did Hannah plead her case?

I’ve been waiting.

On pins and needles.

For decades.

The pins feel sharper now. 

The needles pierce my heart

To the point of shedding blood.

But you already know about that,

Don’t you?

Being pierced,

Shedding blood.

So, I’ll wait some more

On painful pins and needles.

On You will I wait

For You to keep Your promise.

Tension #1

I saw a picture of you today.
You wore a big smile and you looked genuinely happy.
And I was happy you were happy
(though a part of me wished you were unhappy and missing me).

That I was happy you are happy
just confirmed what I always knew;
that what I felt for you,
what I still feel for you
is,
was,
always will be
love.

True love.

And my hearts breaks all over again.

Definitions

Dedicated to my Pastor, Rev. H Leon Ben-Ezra on the occasion of his retirement

def·i·ni·tions

You taught us what those church words meant

Always pointing to the One He sent.

“Believe the gospel. First repent.”

You taught us definitions.

Through many sermons some of us wept

And I confess through some I slept

But even so, I did not forget

All those definitions.

Hope – waiting on God His promises to keep.

Joy is optimism

Glory – His beauty that runs so deep.

You taught us definitions.

“It always begins with prayer!”

You showed us to not despair

For when your life was not so fair

You lived those definitions.

And now it’s off to Illinois you go;

To Peoria and Chicago

But as you leave always know

You’ve left us with true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, praiseworthy

Definitions.

Her Name Was Dora - A Eulogy

Her name was Dora.

She first joined our household in October, 2004. The organization through which I'd adopted Grace just a few months before,  Because You Care had contacted me asking if I would be willing to foster a dog. She'd been found wandering the streets of Northern Millcreek Township and was only captured after she was too hungry to care. She was coaxed to come in with lunch meat.

She was so scared the volunteers called her Sissy.  When Sissy was brought to my home she was literally dragged in, wrestling and fighting the entire time. But she didn't bite or snap. She didn't want to hurt anyone, she just didn't want to be hurt herself.

I thought it was mean to call her Sissy, highlighting her fear so I renamed her. Initially I called her Cora, for courageous. But after a week I remembered I had a friend who had a daughter named Cora and I didn't think she'd appreciate me naming my dog the same so I tasked with changing her name once again. Because she'd already started to respond to "Cora" I looked for a name that sounded similar. Perhaps Nora? That didn't fit. Maybe Flora? Ick-NO. I tried Dora and she responded so the name stuck. People assume she was named for Dora the Explorer, but that wasn't the case.

Once in my house she backed away from Grace and me and barked. Eventually, when people came to visit she wouldn't run away, but stand behind me - possibly for protection...and bark. Finally, feeling a bit more comfortable in her surroundings she would stand in front of me - possibly to protect me(?)...and bark.

Dora barked at the mailman. She barked at the UPS driver. She barked at the neighbors when they sat on their porches. She barked at repairmen - at my home and the neighbors.  She barked at all the people who walked up and down my street, and I live on a street popular with walkers. When giving directions to my house I told people to not bother looking for the house number just listen for the house with the barking dogs. They always found the right house.

I have no idea of what she was trying to communicate. Sometimes to alert me. Sometimes because she was happy. But I think it was most often because she was afraid and anxious. I had her a few years before I could look in her eyes and see she trusted me. Years! I was only supposed to foster her, but I knew that in spite of her progress, relocating Dora would ruin her so I kept her. (Come to think of it, I don't think Because You Care ever charged me the adoption fee!)

Dora wasn't a particularly playful dog. She didn't chase a ball or catch a Frisbee. But she loved to run! Once I felt confident she wouldn't run away from me, I took her over to the GE softball fields and let her off leash.  She would run like a shot! Maybe she was part greyhound or maybe gazelle. She was beautiful to watch, the sun bouncing off her sleek black coat looked as if sparks were flying as she sped across the field. And she was happy! True joy shone from her face, her eyes, as she outran all the fear and that surrounded her.

Another activity she enjoyed was sliding down the slide at Napier Park. Many years ago, Olivia (Barbling #3) coaxed her up the slide steps and I stayed at the bottom to catch her. Dora loved it and kept running back to the steps to try it again.  Finally, on one trip down her claw got caught and she hurt her paw. She didn't enjoy the slide as much anymore, though every couple of years I could convince her to take a trip.

Finally, the years caught up to her, as they do all of us.  Her eyes clouded over, she slowed down quite a bit, and her anxiety was keeping her (and me) up many nights. At times her breathing was labored and I suspect she was concealing pain. I decided her time had come and the loving thing would be to put her down, so I made the vet appointment for Saturday, July 27.

On Friday night Dora, Lucy and I made a final walk to Dairy Queen, where they each got a Pet Cup - a cup of vanilla ice cream with a dog biscuit garnish. Normally, the three of us split a small cone, but the occasion warranted their own servings.

Saturday morning, before we left for the vet, Dora and I walked over to the softball fields, where I left her off leash. She didn't run, but she did walk at a faster clip than normal. We then stopped at Napier Park where she walked up to the slide and sniffed it, perhaps bringing back good memories. And then we left for the vet's. My friend, Brenda came with me so I didn't have to face this alone.

In just two days' time I already notice less dog hair around. And the house is quiet. Too quiet! Reflecting on our 15 years together I wondered if maybe I should have kept the name Cora.
Though she'd never conquered her fears Dora had lived a good life in spite of them. Isn't that the true meaning of courage?

Fifteen years and it only occurred to me today to look up the meaning of "Dora"! The name is from the Greek, meaning "gift". Dora is the diminutive of Theodora (or Dorothy) meaning "God's gift". In one of those spiritual ironies, "God's gift" came to live with me just a few months after I'd adopted "Sasha", who I had renamed "Grace". Grace and Dora were meant to be together. And they're together now, with the One who let me have them for a time.

Her name was most appropriately Dora.

Word of the Year 2018

Over the last few years I've seen people adopting a word; their personal focus or theme for the upcoming year. I never participated, not because I didn't find it interesting but because I found it too interesting.

Had I adopted a word for myself I would have had it tattooed on my body, stenciled on my walls, made it the screen saver AND wallpaper on ALL my devices. I would have made a totally unrealistic and unachievable list of goals and tasks which would embed and reinforce said theme in to my psyche for the rest of my days.

When I see articles on choosing a word, I hide.

Well, I used to until last year.

In the final months of 2017 I kept seeing a certain word pop up. I'd see it in books, articles, and posts. I'd hear it in sermons, interviews, and conversations It showed up in a crossword puzzle! This word came up enough that I finally took notice. I felt the Spirit's prompt that it was going to be my theme for the year.

The word? Vulnerable.

Now when I think of the word vulnerable, it's on an emotional level - accessible, open and even exposed to possible hurt. In fact, I began 2018 with a CS Lewis quote "To love is to be vulnerable".

God had other ideas.

At 12:01 am on January 1, 2018 I crawled in to bed to read. I looked up and saw a wet spot above my bedroom closet and window frame. Apparently there was an ice dam on the roof that caused a leak in my attic which worked it's way down to my bedroom. This wasn't a total surprise since this was happening all over town, caused by the massive snowfall (4 feet) that occurred Christmas day.

And so I began 2018 calling the insurance company and finding contractors to remove the ice dam and dry out my walls. Large loud heated fans were set up in my bedroom and attic, where a large portion of the plaster wall was removed to allow better access. Did I mention that the fans were loud? I like to sleep with the droning sound of a fan, but not these fans, so I slept on the recliner for a few days.

Then there was a bit of a thaw where all the ice on the roofs started to fell. This brought down electrical wires all over town. And gutters, too. And the gutters broke things on their trip down. Things like branches, and my fence, and my back porch window. And naturally, power was lost.

Within a few hours the electric company was putting wires back up and restoring power all over my neighborhood.

Except my house.

When they got to my wires they said they couldn't put them back up because they were worn and they appeared to be original to the house.

 My house was built in 1916.

Now I had to find an electrician to update the wires from the pole to the house, and replace the electrical box, which was also dreadfully outdated. I was without power for five days. With temperatures below freezing, the dogs and I had to relocate - me to my friend, Brenda's, and the dogs to a local kennel. I live in a row house so I get some residual heat from the neighbors on either side of me so there was no additional damage from the cold. I did, however, lose all the food in my refrigerator.

Then, my dryer and microwave stopped working, and I smelled gas from my stove. It took a few days, but I was able to track down a repairman who was able to repair the dryer, but the microwave and stove needed replaced.

My definition of vulnerable started to grow.

In April, Erie had a not so freek-ish but not all that common ice storm. The evening of April 14 I let the dogs out in the yard for "last call". After they performed the required tasks I opened the screen door to let them back in, only Lucy wanted to continue dancing in the freezing rain. I, dressed in pajamas and slippers, had to go out in to the dark yard to drag her back in. As Lucy entered the house, I slipped on the icy steps and fell backwards on to the cement walkway, landing on my
hand first, and then my butt.

I quickly assessed myself for damage and noted some pain in my left wrist and a bend that hadn't been there before. After a few moments of denial  ("It's just badly bruised. I'll ice it. No, it's probably dislocated. I'll find someone to help me get it back in place.") the painful truth hit me like....well, a hand coming in to hard contact with a piece of cement! My wrist was broken. After a circuitous call for assistance (thank you Brenda & Jim, Bekah & Jeff, and finally Fran) I was transported to the Emergency Room where they confirmed my diagnosis.

I sported this bright pink cast for four weeks, followed by a rigid brace (in basic black) for another four weeks. I was fortunate it was my non-dominant left hand that was affected, but I was surprised by how much I actually needed my left hand. I had neither the grip or strength to perform basic tasks like squeezing toothpaste on to my toothbrush, or blow dry my hair. One needs two hands to pull up one's pants or put on a bra (thank you Laura D for the handy hint on how to accomplish this one-handed). Cooking was physically challenging (the orthopedic surgeon's advice - ditch the cast iron and get aluminum pans).

 Everything took longer to do, if I could do it all. I was physically vulnerable.

 Once my wrist was freed from two months' confinement, I was looking forward to resuming my old life only to discover I'd lost a lot of strength and flexibility from the immobility and disuse. I faced three months of twice a week physical therapy which I had to fit in to my already tight schedule. Life was exhausting.

In June, on my way home from work one night, I zoned out at the wheel as I was turning in to a gas station. I hit a curb, blew a tire,  and bent a rim. Car repairs make me feel especially vulnerable.

The remainder of 2018 was (thankfully) uneventful, though there is still one day remaining! Before looking ahead to 2019 and putting My Year of Living Vulnerably behind me, I've been reflecting on the events of 2018.

First, I was wondering why I'd limited my definition of vulnerable to the emotional in the first place. I've concluded it's because I've always been relatively safe and protected. I've always had a warm home, ample food, supportive and loving family and friends. Even during times of unemployment I had some income that covered my expenses. I just presumed these would always be there. But as these events demonstrate, none of what we have can be taken for granted. We live as we do by the grace of God. Our homes, our health, our constitutional rights and form of government can all disappear at His will. As Job said (and he had some pretty extensive experience with vulnerability) "the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away" (Job 1:21).

Then I wondered what was the result of all this? What was accomplished through all these events? I recalled a FB discussion I had back in May about the "power of positive thinking". The other party had posted a meme quoting someone saying we make our own heaven and hell by our attitude. When I disagreed, she said my good reaction to my broken wrist supported her thoughts. Here is part of my response:

My broken arm is a good example. I’ve mentioned to you my many serious bouts with depression. I’m an emotional person. This broken wrist along with everything else that’s happened this year should have sent me in a downward spiral. It hasn’t. Not because of a “good attitude” or saccharin affirmations or the power of positive thinking but because of the power of God through the Gospel.

Joy and suffering are not mutually exclusive. Joy is not a peppy “joy joy joy joy down in my heart” camp tune. Joy is faithful optimism that God will make all things right some day, even if that day doesn’t come until the day I die. Joy is what Paul felt...in prison. Joy is what Jesus felt...in Gethsemane as he cried and sweated blood. Joy is what I’m feeling now...with an ice pack on my hurting hand wondering how I’m going to get laundry done.

Joy is not a choice. Obedience is the choice I made even when it’s made no sense or meant denying my own desires. Joy is fruit of the Spirit.

What was accomplished was a greater sense of God's sovereignty and a deeper joy; genuine joy. Joy comes from submitting to God, trusting His plans are good and perfect. Submitting makes one vulnerable, exposed.

All things considered, I feel the year was a good one, but I'm looking forward to putting it behind me! And I've chosen a word for 2019. That word is prayerful. Because when you're in a vulnerable position, you tend to cry out to God more. I won't have it tattooed on my body, though. I hope by the end of the year it's tattooed on my heart and soul.

Scripture to Meditate On

Periodically, my Pastor sends out to our congregation a thought he had on a particular portion of Scripture (he also posts them to his blog here). He's retiring next year so in his honor I'm posting some things I thought as I meditated on Psalm 144 today.

"Blessed be the LORD, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle; he is my steadfast love and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield and he in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me." Ps 144:1-2

There's a progression of protection here. Fortress to stronghold to shield... As I read this I imagined a conversation between a child and parent.

Child: What if a monster attacks me when I'm in the yard?
Parent: Just run inside the house. I'll protect you.
Child: What if the monster breaks in to the house?
Parent: We can lock ourselves in your bedroom.
Child: What if the monster bangs on the door until it breaks?
Parent: We'll hold up our shields and go to battle against it.
Child: What if it knocks the shield out of my hand?
Parent: I'll jump on it and beat it up and save you!

Our LORD is not just our trainer, but an active participant in the battle. In fact, he gave his life so we might live. Jesus didn't first give his life at the cross. He began the sacrifice 33 years prior when he laid aside his royal privilege to become man. Jesus voluntarily surrendered his dignity to become a baby who messed his diapers, and relied on others to feed and protect him. The very One who spoke creation in to being lowered himself to become a child who had to learn to talk.

I don't ever recall seeing a cross on a Christmas card or a manger on an Easter card. Maybe they should be.

I'm Baaack

It's been a while since I last blogged. It's not that I had writer's block or haven't written anything. I have hundreds of scraps of paper scribbled with all sorts of thoughts and ideas. I just never got around to publishing them here. 

But I'm feelin' the creative urges and plan on putting more out here.

In the meantime, here is a book review I sent out to my church family a few weeks ago.

Book Reviews

Yes, you read correctly. Book reviewS, plural. I've read (listened to, as well) a number of books that I thought would interest you all, but I've neglected writing reviews. I won't overwhelm you with all of them at once, but the two I will present here are by the same author, on basically the same topic, presented in the same format.  

They are Things Not Seen: A Fresh Look at Old Stories of TrustingGod's Promises and Not By Sight: A Fresh Look at Old Stories of Walking byFaith, both by Jon Bloom, co-founder and president of DesiringGod.org. Both books have 30+ short chapters presenting reenactments of various persons from Biblical history displaying trust and faith, or learning how to do so.

The pattern of each book is the same. Bloom presents a biblical passage, reenacts the narrative, and then explains how this person demonstrated trust or faith. In these portrayals, Bloom is faithful to the biblical story but fills in some of the blanks with church history, and artistic license, where appropriate.

Some of those presented were the more popular, better-known person like Abraham and Paul. But he also takes on lesser know characters, as well. In a chapter on disappointment, Bloom presents Joseph Barsabbas, the disciple NOT chosen to replace Judas. According to Church tradition, Joseph Barsabbas became Bishop of Eleutheropolis, where he died a martyr (NOTE: I listened to the audio versions so I had to source this from Wikipedia. There was no way I could remember Eleuth...whatever). In Bloom's story, the time is set during JB's tenure as Bishop, where he is counseling a young charge on how to deal with disappointment, as he had had to do when Matthias was chosen over him. In another chapter he takes on the after-story of the Woman at the Well, who in Eastern church tradition was a woman named Photine. 

There were a few reasons why I enjoyed these books. First, using biblical instead of more contemporary examples, we're reminded these men and women of old were real people, feeling and experiencing some of the same things we encounter. At a time when people are saying the Word is not relative to today, this type of handling shows otherwise.

Next, observing the manner is which the author handles and presents the Word gives us ideas on how we can do the same in our own reading. He asks questions of the text (hmmm...I've heard that somewhere before) like "whatever happened to Joseph Barsabbas?" and starts digging in to church history - or Wikipedia. He added color commentary, without straying from Biblical truth, by imagining what the various characters felt or thought; for example,after a day of fishing the disciples probably felt tired, sweaty, stinky, and maybe even grouchy. Reading the Word in this manner is more than just taking in information; it brings Scripture to life and allows the Spirit to transform us by renewing our minds!

As I mentioned before, I listened to the audio version of this book (free on the Hoopla app through the Erie County Library. If you need more info about Hoopla, let me know). Jon Bloom narrated his own book and did a good job of it. For non-fiction books, I usually enjoy it hen the author reads their own work. They best know the inflection and emphasis they intended. Though there are a lot of chapters, they are short and self-contained, so you can read them over time. I also thought these would be great for kids, maybe as young as five. There's nothing that would harm or scare a younger child if they happened to be in the room, but they probably wouldn't get much from them.

Qavah

Qavah

 

Wait expectantly?

I’ve been waiting

On pins and needles

For decades.

 

How many years

Did Sarah wait?

How many times

Did Hannah plead her case?

 

I’ve been waiting.

On pins and needles.

For decades.

 

The pins feel sharper now. 

The needles pierce my heart

To the point of shedding blood.

 

But you already know what that’s like,

Don’t you?

Being pierced,

Shedding blood.

 

So, I’ll wait some more

On painful pins and needles.

On You will I wait

For You to keep Your promise.

Memories

Running reminds me I can do difficult things.

-Marie Krueger-Miller

Helpless

"It's hard for the saints to believe they are helpless if preachers continually tell them 'Here are four things you need to apply to your life', and expect them to do it." - Rev H Leon Ben-Ezra
http://pastorbe.blogspot.com 

A Book Review: Nailed It by Anne Kennedy

A Book Review:

NAILED IT – 365 Sarcastic Devotions for Angry or Worn-Out People

by Anne Kennedy

I first discovered Anne Kennedy via Twitter.  Someone retweeted a tweet of hers that I found interesting, so I started following her.  Following her led me to her blog, which I also found interesting and edifying.  Following her blog led me to her book, this devotional. 

Though I’d found her tweets and blog posts thought provoking, I wasn’t sure about actually investing money in her work, especially a devotional.  There’s a certain vulnerability I give myself over to when reading a devotional versus a commentary or study book.  I don’t read them intellectually or critically but…devotionally. And so I worry my theology could be led astray. But I couldn’t resist the title or the cover. It depicts a woman, Jael from the Book of Judges, holding a mallet and a bloody spike. My warped sense of humor won out!

Anne Carlson Kennedy is an Anglican minister, wife of an Anglican pastor, and home-schooling mother of six, so her understanding of scripture and worn-out people is astute. She self-describes herself as sarcastic, but I only found her mildly so (which could be revealing my own level of sarcasm).

This not a typical devotional book, as I have found typical devotional books.  It is not filled with saccharine messages or trite moral teachings. Though seminary educated, Kennedy’s devotions are not academic lessons, either. Her writing displays scriptural and spiritual insight while her personal examples leave room for the Spirit to stimulate readers’ own personal application.  No cookie cutter answers are offered. What Kennedy describes as sarcastic and angry I call “real”. Her tone and style are a cross between Ann Voskamp and Dorothy Parker.

An excerpt from Day 331 (November 27) – I Cor 5:6 “Your boasting is not good. Do you not know that a little leaven leavens the whole lump?”

                A little sin goes a long way. It wraps itself around everything. It moves through the whole batch of dough leaving no single part unaffected. There isn’t any way to get rid of it. The people of Israel were supposed to get rid of all the leaven out of their houses before the Passover feast. They had to wash everything and scrub everything and clean and clean, almost to the point of exhaustion. They could satisfy themselves that no leaven was in the house. But what about the air? There can be invisible airborne leaven. I know this because of once trying to make sourdough bread.

                So with sin. A little goes a long way, and you can’t ever completely get rid of it. So why, this being the case, and its power being so immense and destructive, would you go out and find it and bring it in? Because it makes life taste better? Because you think you will overpower it with the good that you dredge up from somewhere inside you? Or maybe through the Spirit. Maybe you will overcome sin through the Spirit.

                No. Don’t think so highly of yourself and your abilities. Flee from sin. Confess your sins. Call out to Jesus for help. You can’t do anything at all without him.  Only blood will wash away the stain of the leaven.

This is a devotional that will allow the Spirit to prick your conscience, encourage your heart, and let you know your LORD and God better. And that’s really what a good devotional is supposed to do.

Year of Jubilee

November 28, 2017 marks my sixth anniversary at my current job. My employer treats me well and I enjoy the work I do. I look forward to working there for many years to come, as long as they'll have me.

 I have a 47 mile, 50-minute commute each way, which I've found amazingly pleasant. By the time I get to work I'm wide awake and by the time I get home, any stresses are miles behind me. I use my commute time for prayer and I listen to music, audio books, and podcasts. I used to regularly listen to talk radio, too; until the 2016 Election Cycle, that is!

My route is primarily on interstate highways and the roads are generally clear, harsh winter weather notwithstanding. My daily journey is scenic, taking me over Chautauqua Lake,  and most days I drive towards the sunrise and sunset.

But...each year there has been an "incident" that gave me cause to be alert, intensified my prayers, and made me humble. On this work anniversary, I take this time to recall these "events".

Year One - The fuel gauge on my car was malfunctioning so I had to keep close watch on the odometer to judge when  I needed to fill my tank.  One morning I had time to either gas up or grab a doughnut.  I looked at the mileage reading and figured I had enough fuel to get to work but would need to refuel on the ride home.  I bought the doughnut (Mighty Fine Angel Cream, if you were wondering). Two blocks from work my car died.  This was one of those humiliating  humbling experiences I'd mentioned.

Year Two - As I mentioned, the roads are generally clear. My issues are very rarely with winter road conditions. Visibility is another story!  One February evening, I hadn't been paying attention to the weather and even worked over, so I got a late start home and not a minute of my ride was in daylight. Not that it would have helped, since it was blizzard conditions.  My normal 50-minute commute took 150 minutes. A portion of the interstate was closed and the detour took me to an unfamiliar country road. It was a downhill route and I felt I was driving in to a dark tube with no end.  Slippery roads and white outs had me moving at 5 mph for much of the drive which caused snow and ice to build up on my windshield wipers, rendering them useless.  At one point I became keenly aware of my isolation, no lights in front of me, no lights behind me.  I pulled over under an overpass and called my brother who was about 35 miles away. He kindly listened to me but gently told me "Barb, I can't come get you".  "I know! I just needed to hear another voice!" I cried.  I hung up, put the car in gear, and slowly pulled out to continue my journey home.  About 6 miles from home, I was able to get off the highway and get on familiar roads. However, I wound up stopped in traffic on a hill.  I had come to a complete stop (really) when I felt my car start to slide.  I desperately pumped the brakes but didn't stop until I bumped in to the WalMart semi in front of me, cracking my bumper cover.  A bright spot to all this was that my boss texted me to make sure I'd gotten home safely.  I told you, they treat me well there!

Year Three - Do you remember that WKRP in Cincinnati episode "With God as my witness, I thought turkeys could fly."?  Well, turkeys CAN fly.  Not very high, but they can fly.  They can fly about the height of the windshield of a Ford Escape.  The turkey hit my driver side windshield, shattering it.  I want it on record that the turkey hit ME, I did not hit it. He misjudged his takeoff and flew in to me as I was driving my.  I was about 40 miles from home and (stupidly, I admit) tried to drive the rest of the way by leaning over to look out the passenger side windshield to navigate my way home.  That lasted about a mile before I realized the futility, pulled over and called some friends who lived not too far.  They came to my rescue, waited while the tow truck carted away my vehicle, fed me dinner, and loaned me a car to get home.  It's not just my employer who treats me well.

Year Four - I travel 47 miles to work each day.  My boss travels about 30 miles, much of it the same route I take.  On my way to work one day I noticed a State Police vehicle, lights flashing, had pulled over a vehicle that looked a lot like my boss's car.  I laughed and thought of ways I'd tease him when I got to work.  As I passed the vehicles I also noticed a couple of dead deer and felt sorry for the poor driver.  And the poor deer.  As I walked to my office I looked in to my boss's office and saw he was not there yet.  He could have been in a meeting, he could have had the day off. I figured I'd razz him later.  About 8:30 I heard him talking to someone outside my office.  "No, the air bag didn't deploy" I heard him say.  Air bag!!! I hurried to the hall and said "Was that you????" "Yeah, I saw you drive by."  Yes, folks I drove by my boss as he was stranded on the side of the road after hitting deer.  And it wasn't a couple of deer, but THREE deer he'd hit. I have job security just so he can hold this event over my head until the day I retire.

Year Five - Road crews still kept the highways clear, but there was still nothing to be done about that darned visibility.  On my way to work my wipers once again iced over and I couldn't see.  I needed to pull over to clear them but to do so on the interstate was too dangerous so I decided to pull off at the next exit to find a safe place.  Only I couldn't see the exit.  I traveled to the next exit, and missed that one, too.  The third exit was the charm. The blowing snow calmed down just long enough for me to see the exit and I was able to get off the highway.  The road was still busy, though so I pulled over as far as I could to a place where I could safely exit the car and clean off the wipers.  I pulled over too far, got caught in a couple of ruts that pulled me right in to a large, deep ditch.  How deep?  The snow came up to the hood of my SUV.  From my vehicle I called AAA and ninety minutes later they showed up to tow me out.  I texted work to tell them I would not be in.  In six years I've only missed two days due to snow, though I probably should have missed a few more.

Year Six - I hit a deer. I cried. I didn't cry for the turkey.  HE had it coming.  But the poor deer...

And so I'm entering Year Seven.  In Leviticus it describes the Year of Jubilee, seven cycles of seven Sabbaths.  I don't know where in the cycle we are officially but I'm hoping that this next year is the right seventh year and I get a year off.  My insurance company and the wildlife of Chautauqua County are hoping this, as well.