A 180-Degree Turn

In my post yesterday I wrote about how I witnessed the birth of baby goats. This morning I arrived at the barn earlier than usual to check on the three babies and I found them clean, warm, and well fed by their mama. When I went to another pen to feed the goats there I found one of the younger goats from that pen laying on her side, cold and seemingly not breathing. With trepidation, I entered the pen. I gently nudged the kid and felt her chest for any sign of life. There was none. I nudged her a few more times to make sure. The result was the same. She was dead.

It was a 180-degree turn from the amazement I'd felt yesterday. Still amazed today, it was because of the fragility of life. There was no sign of injury or illness. I guess it was just her time to leave this world. I messaged the couple who were handling the evening shift at the farm and they said there had been no sign of anything wrong the night before, so somewhere in the previous 12-14 hours death visited her and she followed.

Now came the hard part of informing my friends.  They are out of the country so when I messaged them I had to wait a bit for an answer. In the meantime, I had to move the dead goat out of the pen until I knew what to do with her permanently. I didn't want the other goats to do any damage to her body, and though I'm not sure about this, I think they understood that their pen-mate was gone.  I carried her small, limp body and gently laid her on the hay outside the pen. When they replied to my text I was instructed on where to place her, so once again I had to carry the dead body to the site until someone could come and take her to her final place.

I've witnessed death. I was with both my parents when they passed away and kissed each of them a final goodye. And I held each of my five dogs as they were put down. But I have never had to handle dead bodies. This was not my animal, and wasn't even a typical pet but "just" a farm animal. I had no emotional attachment to her so I don't feel any grief. But as I carried her - first from the pen and then to the porch area - I felt an immense sense of responsibility. As her caretaker, I was obliged to handle her with the respect due her as a being created by God and entrusted to me by her owners and her Creator.

In the Garden, God gave Adam and Eve, and by extension all of us, dominion over the all the animals of the earth; but dominion doesn't mean we have absolute control. Our authority over animals does not give us the right to abuse, disrespect, or dishonor their place as creatures of our mutual Creator. In having dominion over the animals, God delegated to us the right and the responsibility to care for his creation, just as he cares for us. In the gospels of Matthew and Luke, Jesus says the Father cares for the sparrows, so how much more does he care for us.  Psalm, 36:6 says "You, LORD, preserve both people and animals".

This week I've been tasked with dominion over my friends' animals. It has been my responsibilty to make sure they have food and water, and that they are secured in their pens. Yesterday I had the privilege to see some newborn kids only an hour or two old and to actually witness the birth of their youngest sibling. And this morning I had the responsibility and the privilege to escort this tiny goat, who's name I don't even know, towards her final resting place.  I gave her soft fur one last pet and a little scritch behind her ear. I appreciated the beauty of her coat, blocks of black and what looked to me like a latte-like brown with patches of white tossed in for good measure.

I've been caring for these animals for five days now and I don't recall noticing this little goat at all before; but I will notice her absence tomorrow. And now, I will remember her forever.

The G.O.A.T.

 

I'm helping some friends care for their various animals while they are out of town. They have dogs, cats, chickens, ducks, and goats.  One goat, Tilly was due to deliver  her kids on October 1, before they left; but apparently baby goats are just as hard to predict as human babies, and Tilly was still quite preganant as of October 6. 

When I arrived for this morning's feedings (10/7) my co-farmworker, Stacy and I saw that Tilly had delivered two kids sometime during the night and was in the process of delivering a third.  It was an amazing experience to witness the birth of this tiny being, and though goats have been delivering kids for many millenia, for me I felt as if I was witnessing a miracle. While delivering kid #3 she was simultaneously cleaning #2 while  #1 was trying to nurse. No one ever taught these animals how to give birth, clean or nurse. They knew instinctively what they wanted and needed to do. It was built in to how they were created. While only humans were made in the image of God, that doesn't mean we can't grow to know Him more through bits of His creation.

The heavens declare the glory of God, and the expanse proclaims the work of his hands. Day after day they pour out speech; night after night they communicate knowledge. There is no speech; there are no words; their voice is not heard. Their message has gone out to the whole earth, and their words to the ends of the world.

Psalm 19: 1-4  

There is much to be learned about God by "touching grass"; by spending time with and reflecting on His creation. Just as one can gain insight in to the minds of daVinci and Hemingway by pondering their works, we can get to know more of who God is by spending time with His creation.

I was born and raised in the inner city, but I am not so much a city girl as to not know that bacon comes from pigs, hamburger comes from cows, and the chicken I like so much comes from...well, chickens. I've visited farms and petting zoos, listened to farming friends talk about their animals. However, this was the first time I've ever cared for and interacted with farm animals to this extent.

As I've thought about the farm work I've been doing this week  I realized this was a taste of what Adam and Eve experienced in the Garden, and a bit of what life will be like on the New Earth. I've often thought about what work I will do on the New Earth once Jesus returns.  There won't be any need for healthcare so my occupation procuring medical supplies will not be needed. So what career options will I have? I've always  figured I'd work with dogs and cats; maybe work in the kitchen baking bread or pies. After this week, my options have expanded and I think I'd like to work with goats. In the process I will know even better that God is the One and only G.O.A.T.

Kid #1 I named Sunshine because I've been singing to Mama Tilly "You Are My Sunshine"

This is Kid #2 - "Skunk" named for his coloring and in keeping with the music theme, named after Guitarist Jeff "Skunk" Baxter who played with Steely Dan and the Doobie Brothers.

Kid #3 I named "Sloopy" for the song "Hang on Sloopy"

First and Lasts and Everything in Between: A Eulogy for My Dad

My dad died Februay 7, 2025. This is what I shared at his memorial service.

John "Ed" Best

September 9, 1929 - February 7, 2025

 In the Fall of 1957, my brother, Bruce entered first grade.  Determined to be the best father (no pun intended) and active in his son’s education, he attended his first PTA meeting.  When he arrived and saw how few fathers were in attendance, he went home and never attended another PTA meeting again.  UNTIL, Spring of 1979, the final PTA meeting of my Senior Year of High School.

That evening, my dad accompanied my mom because she was in charge of refreshments that night and he was there to help her. I was there because they were honoring the Seniors. My dad did the usual dad stuff of moving chairs, carrying trays. He did the heavy lifting. But he was being his most personable and charming self in the process.  At the end of the meeting he helped clean up and was in the kitchen with the nuns washing dishes, telling jokes. They were charmed. One remarked “Oh, Mr Best, if only we had more fathers like you who came to these meetings!”.  My mother did a slow burn!!! The ride home was very quiet.

Daddy was there for many firsts - first days of school, first lost teeth (which he probably yanked from our mouths), first birthdays, first communions.  He and my mom even drove 4 hours to be there for the birth of their first grandchild, Bruce’s son, Ed.  And there was the time of my first car accident. He drove my mom up from Pittsburgh to see for themselves that I was ok. They spent the night at my apartment, saw me off to work the next day, and drove back to Pittsburgh.  They were in Erie less than 12 hours!

He was there for some lasts, too. High School and College graduations for his children and grandchildren. Bruce and my retirement parties. And he was there for the last breath of his wife, our mom.

Firsts and lasts stand out; they frame a life like the easier pieces of a jigsaw puzzle; but really, it’s the thousands of moments that fall in between that fit together and display the complete and more accurate, a more beautiful picture of a person’s life. And when that person lives to be 95, its more like tens of thousands of puzzle pieces!  Moments like the whole family piled on the couch watching TV, family dinners, school picnics, backyard picnics, holiday celebrations, sitting on the side of the road while he changed a flat tire.  Trips to Dairy Queen, which were rare and so very special; walks around the Highland Park Reservoir, camping trips. For a rib-achingly funny story, afterwards go see my Aunt Joan, Uncle Tom, Aunt Nancy, or nephew Chris and ask them to tell you about a certain canoe trip during a camping vacation to Cook’s Forest!

A little over 2000 years ago a religious scholar tried to test Jesus. As relayed in the Gospel of Luke, the scholar tried to test Jesus by asking him who exactly was his neighbor that he had to love like himself. This scholar wanted to get it right but didn’t want to overextend himself. Jesus responded with the story of the Good Samaritan. Daddy understood the instructions. He was a Good Samaritan.

It didn’t matter to him your faith, your nationality, your education, your political affiliation - if you needed something he could provide, it was yours. He gave away countless homegrown vegetables, canned goods, paper products, coupons. Friends and neighbors would get strange refund checks in the mail for products they’d never purchased because he’d bought ten (on double coupon day, of course) and submitted ten separate refunds - but it was only one per household so he sent them to anyone he could think of.

We lived on your average Pittsburgh hills. I say I grew up on a hill on top of a hill. Bruce, Jean, Cassie, and I really DID walk uphill to school both ways!  Up Rosetta Street, down Rosetta Street, down Graham, over Broad Street to Saint Lawrence School - and then the reverse for the trip home. On rainy days my dad would pick us up and drive us home - us and 5 or six other neighborhood kids; all of us piled in to the car with our bookbags. He gave total strangers rides up the hill. One time I mentioned I was praying for him and he said “Barb, don’t bother. I was just blessed a hundred times over. I gave couple of ladies a ride up the hill with their groceries and all they kept saying was “Thank you Jesus! Bless this man! Thank you Jesus!’”

Having him here in Erie the past two years was a blessing. We were able to provide him with some of his firsts - his first taste of Mighty Fine donuts, his first Romolo’s Meltaway candy, his first trip to Panos’ and the White Turkey restaurants…hmmm, there’s a theme there.

He was there for the firsts, lasts, and thousands of in betweens. And I feel I can speak for my siblings when I say we were honored to be able to care for him in his final months. We were able to give back to him what he had demonstrated for us. And we thank you for being here for us as we say goodbye this last time.

Marcellus and Micah

Marcellus Williams was executed in Missouri yesterday. For those unfamiliar with the story, Williams was convicted in 2001 for a murder for which he said he was innocent.  The current St Louis prosecuting attorney sought to have Williams death sentence vacated on grounds of potential "ineffective assistance of counsel", apparent bias in jury selection, and potential weakness of the police investigation. He asked the Court for a hearing to consider the new evidence and other aspects of the investigation and trial." The victim's family also thought Williams should not be executed, given doubts about Williams' guilt. Yet, multiple courts, including the Supreme Court of the United States denied to stay the execution, and the governor of Missouri refused clemency.

I don't know of the religious leanings of the various judges who denied the stay of execution; but the person with the final earthly authority over Williams' life, the Governor of Missouri, Mike Parsons is a professing Christian. 

As I was thinking about Marellus this morning, the verse Micah 6:8 came to mind:

He has told you, O man, what is good;

And what does the Lord require of you

But to do justice, to love mercy,

And to walk humbly with your God?

In fact, some of the themes of the book of Micah are ones of judgement and forgiveness, and the accountability of leaders for their injustice.

This post is not meant to provoke a discussion on opposition or support of the death penalty in general. This addresses one case, one person - Marcellus Williams, and how his treatment by leaders was not in accordance with this Scripture.

It seems the judges and justices who opposed the stay of execution, and Governor Mike Parson in particular did not heed God's instruction "He has told you, O man, what is good...". Micah made a pretty direct statement! Everyone had the same information - the questionable evidence, the prosecutor's concerns regarding the original case, Felicia Gayle's family's doubts; yet, they still proceeded with the execution. They did not do what was required of them. Their decison was not merciful, and while I cannot peer in to their hearts, I do not think they demonstrated humility. There did not seem to be any question in their minds that the original verdict could be wrong.

More importantly, justice was not served for Marcellus; and definietely not for Felicia Gayle or her family who have to live with the thought Felicia's killer is still free. 

Judges and jurors have a huge burden, especially in death penalty cases. They literally hold life and death in their hands drafting opinions or completing juror ballots. It is not something I would ever want to face; these people deserve our prayers for wisdom. But beyond wisdom, they need humility.  The jurors in the original case did their jobs based on the evidence they were presented. But in subsequent appeals, judges had many opportunites and much time to reevaluate the original case and review new evidence but it seems humility never entered the picture. They seemed to just rubber stamp the prior conviction. Certainly it is a serious matter to overturn a conviction, but when the prosecutor and the victim's family support commutation of the sentence, that should be strongly considered.

Missouri Governor Mike Parson had more time than anyone else to consider the details of the case. And as a professing Chrisitan he had the Holy Spirit to advise him. He still came to a concusion that lacked humilty, mercy, and justice. 

Micah had stern warning for the leaders of Israel that they risked God ignoring them if they ignored justice and mercy. While Governor Parson is not a leader of Israel, he is a Christian leader, and I believe Christians are held to a higher moral standard. Micah says God requires justice, mercy, and humility of Believers. Certainly, there is grace for our failures, but grace also enables us to do the right thing. 

Despite the grace of God, the legal system and the State of Missouri failed Marcellus Williams and Felicia Gayle. May God have mercy on their souls that they may realize their error and seek His forgiveness.  

 Right now, Black Cake is my favorite book of the year.  Considering its only mid-March, that’s not saying much; except I’ve read 8 book so far this year so #1 of 8 carries some weight. Black Cake is also the best novel I’ve read in the last six months (#1 of 13) and the second-best book of all books from the last six months (#2 of 17).

Without revealing any spoilers, Black Cake is the story of a young woman, estranged from her family, reunited with her brother at her mother’s funeral and at the hearing of their mother’s oral will. In her statements, mom reveals a lot of her family history, with many surprises for her children. A story like many others; yet there are some things that set it apart from the standard fare.

The plot was good, the characters interesting, the dialogue well-written.  Overall, I enjoyed the book. But it was after I’d finished the book and thought a bit about it that I came to appreciate its excellence and it quickly rose to the top of my Favorites list.

Black cake is essentially a Caribbean fruit cake. Its ingredients include some Caribbean staples like sugar from sugar cane, allspice, nutmeg, and rum. However, it also includes items with European origin, like currants and port wine, and cinnamon from Asia. Some of these ingredients found their way to the Caribbean through immigration, slavery, and colonization.

Wilkerson’s story covers multiple continents and countries; multiple cultures, races, and generations; multiple timelines. Upon reflection, I realized the author had concocted her own Black Cake with her novel. And that is very skillful writing! Combining all these elements could have easily resulted in an unpalatable mush. But in Wilkerson’s hands, all these elements blended into an extraordinary dessert.

I’m not a fan of fruit cake, so it’s doubtful I would like to eat Black Cake, but I devoured the novel and recommend you taste it, as well.

BOOK REVIEW: Where the Crawdads Sing

 

Photo by Mikołaj on Unsplash

I had heard much about Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens since it was first published in 2018, and even more so recently, as the movie was released. Many people whose opinions I respect highly recommended this book, so I moved it to the top of my “To Read” list and invested an Audible credit.

Set in the North Carolina tidal marshes, Owens’ description of the area and its flora and fauna are beautifully written. I was transported to the region, my senses engaged by her lush descriptions. From her Wikipedia biography I learned Owens is originally from Georgia and North Carolina, and has a degree in zoology, so she was obviously in her element when describing the setting.

The rest of the story, however, left me wanting. The characters had potential, but never fully developed past flat “teen romance” stereotypes. The story shifts between time periods, from when the principal characters are young children to their young adulthood. However, their dialogue does not really change. It is formal, stilted, and not consistent with the age and education of the characters.

I found the plot nothing more than average, with certain aspects not believable. Authors more skilled in plot development might have been able to advance the story better, but Owens was never able to suspend my disbelief or develop any interest or concern for the characters.

Sense of Direction

                                                                                Photo by David Marcu on Unsplash

If I followed my heart, I would be hopelessly lost. I would be adrift on a sea of emotion; impossibly off course in a dense forest of overthinking; stranded on a mountaintop of daydreams and unfinished projects.

Much has been written in Christian publishing and the blogosphere about the dangers of following your heart. I suspect this was in response to the common advice from best-selling authors, Instagram influencers, and trite memes to do just that - follow your heart. But this advice swung the pendulum far to the opposite side instead of encouraging the equilibrium position, the balance of thought and feeling.

Though operating purely on emotion is dangerous, the heart itself is not all bad. Mine has led me to some beautiful vistas – treasured friendships, a job I enjoy, and some mighty fine dogs. On the other hand, my heart has also led me to some not so wise decisions - a broken heart, poor financial and health choices, and more than a few bad haircuts!

The heart is a good travelling companion, but a lousy compass.

Still, our hearts and emotions are God-given. They are a part of His image which He breathed into us at Creation. Throughout His Word, there are instances of how God governs with mind and His heart.

Examples of His anger and wrath come quickly to mind, such as Jesus upsetting tables and driving the moneychangers from the temple in John 2:15-16, or God's wrath turned upon Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis 19.

There are also a number of images of God's tender care for His people:

"As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you..." (Isaiah 66:13) 

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!" (Isaiah 29:15)

Jesus said "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" (Matthew 23:37) 

Song of Solomon is filled with passion as example of the love Christ has for his church!

And let us not forget "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." (John 3:16). And of course, "Jesus wept" (Johns 11:35).

We have the same emotions as God. They are not a part of our humanity separate from God, but a part of Him that He has given to us! The difference is when He follows His heart, it is always wise, judicious, and with perfect control. One need only follow news reports and social media to see that is not the case with man.

So, how can a person follow their heart within godly parameters? 

Following are a few suggestions:

1.     Pray for wisdom

This might seem obvious, but it is often overlooked. We tend to pray for God to get us out of a tough situation after we have made a poor decision. But we might avoid the unwise decision entirely if we pray first.

 James 1:5 says, “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him.”

2.     Look to God’s Word for direction

If your heart is leading you somewhere that does not line up with the Bible, do not follow it! Your decisions should not contradict Scripture. Martin Luther said, “You should not believe your conscience and your feelings more than the word which the Lord who receives sinners preaches to you.”

3.     Seek advice of friends and family

Proverbs advises “Without counsel plans fail, but with many advisers they succeed.”  (Prov 15:22) Seeking advice from others draws on their knowledge, wisdom, and experience, so we do not have to go it alone. These are also people who know you and can encourage you or help you avoid some pitfalls. We were created to live in community, and this includes seeking help.

Following our hearts based solely on our own desires and “gut feelings” is like following a GPS that has not had its maps updated in a few years. It can lead us to unknown and unseen dangers and heartaches. Using the resources God has given us – His wisdom, His Word, His people – we can travel life with confidence He is leading us in the right direction.

 

 

 

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.