He Ain't Nothin' But a HOUND Dog

He may be nothing but a hound dog, barking all the time. And if he’s never caught a rabbit, he’s surely caught plenty of mice, come close to a lot of squirrels, and has cornered more raccoons, possums and cats in our fenced back yard than I care to count.

Like so many boys have done before him, there came a day when my middle son, Mark, asked if he could bring a puppy home. A friend’s dog had given birth to beagle pups and she was looking to place them. Although we already had a household of dog and cat inhabitants, we told him that if he paid all the pet‘s expenses, he could take one. And so the friendship between Mark and Clayton began.

Quickly the two became the best of buddies. Whenever Mark was home they could be found cuddled on the living room couch watching SportsCenter together on TV. Apparently Mark had picked a puppy that loved sports of all kinds as much as he did…or perhaps Clayton quickly learned that the way to this boy’s heart was through the TV remote, and so he became a fan on the spot.

Through the years they have shared a lot more than just their spot on the sofa. Microwaved meals, romps around the living room, movie nights and video game marathons with visiting friends, as well as trips to the local state park to swim in the lake have filled their stomachs and their days…and also their hearts with love for one another.

But men of Mark’s age rarely stay home for long. His life in recent years has been filled with transitions to first college and then jobs in different states, interspersed with periods of living at home for varied lengths of time. Clayton has handled the separations with amazing grace, hanging with his canine buddy in his homosapien’s absence, and rarely leaving Mark’s side whenever he happens to walk through the door once more.

Because pictures are the best way to hold memories of loved ones near, I have tried to capture his dog in funny or heartwarming poses to include in my letters to my son, but Clayton is as uncooperative as they come. Apparently traumatized early on in life by a camera’s flash, he now runs for the door the minute so much as a cell phone is pointed in his direction. Even the recent singing of the Happy Birthday song at a celebration for a family member had him running for the basement, as he seemed to know that a photo session was sure to follow.

That’s why the picture above of these two guys I love makes me smile so, and why it graces the side of my fridge, to keep those smiles coming in Mark’s absence. He had just walked in the door on a recent visit, and while Clayton was distracted with the welcome-home love fest, Mark quickly pulled out his phone and aimed, the unvoiced “Gotcha!” expressed in the quick click of the camera.

The message from his heart was clear: You may be nothing but a hound dog…but you’re a very good friend of mine.

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances. If there is any reaction, both are transformed.
- Carl Jung

GOODBYE, GENTLE GIANT

The first time I saw him walking through the grocery store in which I work, I recognized him immediately from the pictures I saw posted next to his stories or weekly football picks in the sports section of our local newspaper. A sports journalist and eventual editor of a small town press, my only introduction to Pete Conrad came through the pages of the papers that published his work, so I never spoke to him, even though his profession intrigued me.

That changed the day he wrote a story about the death of a local sports figure that moved me to tears, not because of my devotion to the person who had passed but because he told the man’s story in a way that touched my heart. A big bear of a man physically, his real power was exhibited in the way he arranged words on a page, a craft that to that point I had simply admired from afar. But the next time he happened to come through my line to pay for his purchases I took courage in hand and told him how moved I was by that particular piece he wrote. He accepted my praise as unassumingly as he lived his life, simply thanking me for telling him so. And thus our friendship was born.

I talked to him often after that, especially when he became a father late in life and was seen pushing a shopping cart or stroller with his babies inside. His love for his daughters evident in the way he spoke of their most recent accomplishments, as they grew before my eyes I noticed that they had inherited the gentle spirit that emanated from their dad.

Surprisingly it was the sight of his picture in the paper once more, this time on the front page rather than hidden in the sports section somewhere, that notified me of his death. A victim of Guillain-Barre syndrome, a disorder that affects the muscles and nervous system, causing paralysis and in this case, death, he died with his spirit apparently undaunted by his disease, ever planning to recover and resume the life he loved that his illness had interrupted. The people who spoke about him mentioned that while never angry himself, he had a special ability to turn the frustration of others into a surprisingly friendly accord.

It was not the name of the man who had passed that I remember from the story that initially caught my attention, nor the details of the life he lived, but rather the glimpse into the heart of the one who wrote about him so movingly. Perhaps Pete's greatest byline came not from well-crafted words so much as living his life in such a way that it left its mark on all those he left behind.

“A gentle answer turns away wrath…”
(Proverbs 15:1 NIV)

Savor the FLAVOR

Calorie counting opened my eyes to a lot more than just the sheer volume of food I was consuming each day. It gave me a new appreciation for the little things in life that are so often overlooked in the rush of each day and the constant pressure to get things done.

A friend’s comment about a diet tracking app she was using stirred my interest at a time when my ever-increasing weight was becoming a concern.  Once downloaded on my phone it made the job of recording the calories in the food I ate easy and even somewhat fun, and by the time the novelty wore off, the weight loss I was experiencing convinced me to continue, so excited and encouraged was I with the initial success. Four months farther down the road I had reached my weight goal as well as the conclusion that I would be a calorie counter forever!

One thing I loved about this method of dieting was that I was still allowed to eat whatever I wanted, just not all on the same day! Based on personal data I entered initially, the program determined how many calories I should consume each day to lose weight at the pace I desired; the allotment of those calories was up to me. I loved the freedom of choice involved, and the feeling that I was the one in control.

The initial allotment was alarmingly small, however, and portion sizes were so greatly reduced from what I was used to that in order to make the mealtime last long enough to satisfy me emotionally, I ate what was before me in ridiculously small bites. And perhaps because I was eating so much less, I appreciated every morsel more; everything I ate seemed to be packed with flavor that I had never noticed before. Dining became more of a delight than ever before.

The process applies to the way we live life, as well. We are each given the same number of minutes per day, and how we spend them is up to us. We are in control. The problem is that we don’t know how many days we have; all we know is that we have less of them today than we did a day ago.  And so it’s good when something stops us from rushing through the moments that fill them and reminds us to slice them up into tiny bites of joy that we savor for as long as we can before swallowing and moving on to the next one. Like small bites of food, little moments of time and the tiniest indications of God’s presence all make a huge difference in the enjoyment I find in each day.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good…”
(Psalms 34:8 NIV)

EMPTY on Easter

When the word “empty” is associated with Easter, we naturally think of the tomb. But the vacancy I struggled with this holiday just past was in my home. This spring marked the first year that all three of my sons were living out on their own, and it was pretty quiet around the place last Sunday as a result.

To be honest, there was a bit of relief to be free from the stress of years past. With little family around in town to cook for, we made plans to meet the son who lived closest at a nearby restaurant. Thus there was no humongous dinner to prepare, no fighting the crowds and long lines in the grocery store, no rising extra early to get the meal partially prepared before the church service. The leisure on early Sunday morning was something I had never experienced on previous Easters, and part of me had to admit it was nice.

But, oh, the fun of years past! Everything seemed to trigger a memory. A photo of multi-colored plastic eggshells waiting to be stuffed with treats and then hidden about the house or yard made me remember the years when that was an early morning task. The sight of a toddler at church tugging on the tie at his neckline made me smile at the thought of how I learned to take a photo first thing before my own three sons dismantled the Easter outfits I had so carefully dressed them in just minutes before.

The Easter baskets were the one tradition that seemed to follow my boys as they grew through adolescence into adulthood. As long as they lived at home, they always woke to one on Easter morning. But what to do about them now? Should I mail one to each of my kids, or would they think that was that just another apron string I needed to cut? Would their roommates laugh at them as a result? Initially I thought so, and resolutely ignored the hollow chocolate bunnies, jelly beans and marshmallow animals that peeped at me from every grocery shelf I seemed to walk by. But the farther we progressed through Holy Week , the more I agonized over the question until I finally put it to my husband as to whether he thought I should send Easter candy greetings in the mail. His quick response in the affirmative made me realize it wasn’t the boys’ basket status he was worried about, so much as his own. If theirs were history, his likely was, too!

And so I did find myself pushing my way through the Easter aisles of the grocery store after all, joyfully joining the crowds grabbing candy of all makes and kinds before the traditional favorites were all gone, then packing and mailing them away so that they’d arrive at least close to the desired day. I smiled when my husband came poking around the kitchen early Easter morning to see if the Easter bunny had come through as in years past. And after sneaking a basket hidden in grocery bags to the one son we joined for lunch that day, I sighed in relief when his roommate expressed disgust over the absence of any edible celebrations of the day from his own folks! Enthusiastic text messages from the boys who received post office packages later confirmed that the right choice was made; traditions were honored and this mother’s heart was satisfied.

The empty tomb is a reminder of the days of sorrow that were replaced with overwhelming joy farther on down the road.. An empty house on Easter simply reminds me to expect the same.

“See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come…”
(Song of Songs 2:11-12 NIV)

Dare to DREAM Again

When I think of dreams for the future, I picture them as clouds of white in a spacious sky, the possibilities before me as wide and open as the boundless blue in which they float. Just as clouds are continually forming, changing, and merging, so my hopes and aspirations for the future have as well as I’ve moved through my years.

When I was young, I used to fill the future with dreams as surely all kids do. By the time I got to college, my imaginations, hopes and plans had narrowed in scope until they could be pictured in a magazine photo that I kept taped above my dorm room desk to maintain my focus during those often distracting times. Meeting the man I was to eventually marry caused them to change in scope and direction again. And then came the kids!!! In the ensuing years of diapers and dishes, school and soccer, cars and jobs, any plans beyond making it through the next day, week or year gradually evaporated like the morning mist, unnoticed and unmissed once they were gone. I was simply happy in my life the way it was.

The lack became apparent to me during multiple church services in which I was encouraged to share my dreams with God. I suddenly realized I hadn’t any! Perhaps I had become so focused on the present that I had shut down my ability to ponder the future and fill it with ideas of what it might contain.

I had also changed radically in the years that had passed, a commitment to Christ gradually focusing my thoughts and desires on God and who He knew me to be. Jeremiah 29:11 assures us that God has good plans for our lives, a future filled with hope and prosperity, a destiny and purpose decided before while we were yet in our mothers’ wombs. And yet my spiritual vision has still been limited in scope.

And so He has encouraged me to allow Him to fill the vacuum in that area with possibilities that are present within my relationship with Him. When I heard the phrase “dream journal” in twice in the last couple of days, the repetition caught my attention, and the journaling idea caught my interest. I’m a huge fan of detailing what God’s doing in my life in a prayer journal I use on a daily basis. Reminding me that He is as present in my future as He is in my day-to-day, He suggested that I let Him fill my thoughts and the pages of that book with what that future might contain.

I now scan the spiritual horizon for signs of rain, as did Elijah’s servant physically at his command on Mt. Carmel so long ago. For the longest time the servant saw nothing but empty blue skies. Encouraged to keep looking, he eventually saw a cloud the size of a man’s hand off in the distance. Soon the sky filled with the same and the promised rain came pouring down.

I’m simply believing the same can happen again to me.

“For with God nothing is ever impossible and no word from God shall be without power or impossible of fulfillment.”
(Luke 1:37 AMP)

A Casual COMMUNION

When two friends mentioned in a short span of time that they had begun taking communion before God by themselves each morning as part of their personal devotional times, I began to wonder what a difference the practice could make in my own spiritual life. I decided to devote a month to giving it a try.

It was easy enough to do. A single red grape in place of the wine and a tiny oyster cracker for the bread began to take their place beside whatever morning munchie I had placed on the napkin beside my coffee. I began by simply thanking God for the blessings of the day before. Then I’d review my actions of the previous twenty-four hours, examining myself before taking the bread or drinking the cup as the Bible instructs. Once the missteps were repented of and forgiveness received, I focused on the meaning of the emblems before me, the actions they symbolized, and the freedoms they purchased for me…as well as what they mean to my life today.

The difficult word in that sentence is focused. Too often I simply am not, and perhaps that was the point of this whole month-long exercise - to point out to me that my inattention to what I am doing deprives my actions of the power they might otherwise contain and keeps me from being as effective as I could be in whatever I undertake, whether that be the household chores on my ever-present to-do list, the demands of my job, or in developing the relationships with people around me.

One morning in particular I began my devotional time with a million other things on my mind. Sitting down at the table, I forgot to first check those thoughts at the kitchen door, and was soon munching down the communion emblems as causally as I normally do the Girl Scout Thin Mints they shared the napkin with!

Checked in my spirit, I got another set of emblems and began again. I remained attentive while eating the bread, but my mind was already wandering again by the time I got to the grape!

Stop! Backup! Refocus. Begin again. These are the words that are currently making a difference, not just in my devotional times, but in all that I do.

Twice recently I’ve heard people speak of the ability to “live in the moment”, being fully involved in whatever activity they are currently undertaking. Too easily do I pass through my life only vaguely aware at times of what is going on around me, so distracted am I by thoughts on what I need to do next or what activity is just around the corner, waiting for my input. The increasingly hectic lifestyles we live today feed into our distraction and actually rob our lives of the intensity each moment should contain. Yet we’re not here to live a purposeless existence. We each have a destiny to fulfill, a reason we’re here. If our communion is casual with Him, it’s likely to be that way with everybody else…and God knows there is simply too much at stake in the short time we have left to live any way except fully involved in however moments and interactions with His people we may have left.

“Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might…”
(Ecclesiastes 9:10 MKJV)

The Elusive Easter BUNNY

I very nearly killed the Easter Bunny.

Following a detour off the main highway that took me along a dark and deserted road on my way home from work, we met when he hopped onto the roadway in front of me, his mind clearly preoccupied with the business of hiding Easter eggs in the rural neighborhood I was passing through. Thankfully he lifted his eyes in time to see the headlights rapidly approaching him and bounded away in the nick of time. The children scouring the yards in that area on the following Sunday morning would find their bunny bounty after all.

I smiled in relief that he had escaped the crush of my oncoming wheels when a friend and coworker told me the next morning that her little sister was determined to catch him in a trap in her backyard. Using an old cage from her sister’s days raising rabbits in 4-H, the little girl baited her trap nightly… with jelly beans, of course!…surely the Easter Bunny’s food item of choice. Every morning of the week before the holiday the little girl had gone out to check for success before catching the bus for school, only to go to bed with hope in her heart once more that night.

Her big sister couldn’t bear her daily disappointment and so, with her mother’s permission,  planned to visit a local farm market for a long-eared fuzzy version of the same to put in the trap early Easter morning. The thought of her surprise and excitement delighted us as we discussed the joy of her sister’s discovery days ahead of the fact.

I remember trying to catch an Easter feeling years ago that seemed to be as elusive as that holiday rabbit. For some, Easter is simply about bunnies and baskets, pretty dresses and big dinners with family and friends. But having been raised in church, I knew there was more to the day than that. For me the holiday was about an empty tomb, a risen Savior, and a heavenly hope restored. Each year during Holy Week I would focus on the events leading up to the Cross and hope that by Easter morning I would find the spiritual joy I was increasingly desperately looking for.

Thankfully there was an amazing moment of discovery during the intervening years in which I learned that the peace I was seeking was not a feeling I had to conjure up, but rather existed in the form of the Savior Himself. While I was right to seek Him, He came in response to the invitation in my heart, rather than the baited promises I put out in the hopes of luring Him in. Once inside He simply remained, changing everything about me and making every day a joyous celebration of His presence within me.

Perhaps that was why an elderly lady’s comment this past week caught my attention. She said that for her, Easter was just another day. She understood and loved the meaning behind it, but that the day itself meant nothing more than the one before or the one that would come after it.

That bothered me at the time; I thought it sad that she found nothing to celebrate in the day itself. But when Easter is a mindset, not single day of celebration, then every day can be filled with resurrection power, joy, and wonder that He lives within your heart.

“[May you know] his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of his mighty strength, which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead.”
(Ephesians 1:19-20)