Monthly Archives: August 2010

Doggie Defender (by Jack)

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After reading yesterday’s post, I feel the need to make a case for myself in reference to the issue of protecting Midge. In last night’s blog about fear, she glossed over the idea of me playing a key role in looking out for her. Although I’ve always been aware of her needs, during these last nine months since Pidge died, I’ve made that JOB ONE.

But lest you think I’m all “give” and no “get”, I want to set the record straight. My doggie pals and I agree that food is of utmost importance, but immediately after that comes affection. And Midge gives me plenty of that. Every head-pat, back-stroke and tummy-scratch puts heaven on earth for me.

And speaking of heaven, that brings me to the subject of God. I am a deeply spiritual animal, and I do agree with Midge that God is in charge of us both. However, if she experiences fear for any reason, I believe God has put me next to her to leap into action. If she is in need, the Creator will prompt me to tend to it. So don’t think he and I aren’t working in tandem on a regular basis.

Another “get” for me is Midge’s voice. All of us dogs thrive on happy talk. She speaks to me often, and I hang on her every word. Knowing I’m her only audience doesn’t mitigate my pleasure, and I eagerly expend wag-energy letting her know this.

Last night she sat down next to me on the floor, and we had a lengthy conversation. She cooed about how much she loved me and instructed me to live a long time. I’ll be eight in October and am feeling my age, but I promised I’d do my best. As we conversed, she used words; I used my eyes and tail. We understood each other perfectly.

Once in a while Midge is displeased with me, and it breaks my heart when I mess up. For example, last week I got nature’s call after she’d gone to bed. Even though we’d taken our regular midnight walk, several hours later an unexpected urgency came over me.

The next morning I heard her talking loudly to me from the basement corner where I had tried to hide my mess. Since then, I’ve been too embarrassed to go down there, even when Midge does. But I do wait for her at the top of the stairs.

As for protecting her during a break-in? I faithfully demonstrate my ever-readiness each time someone approaches our front door, using my loudest voice (which otherwise is quiet) as a sample of what I’d do in an emergency. If I sensed a smidgen of fear in Midge, I’d be all over an intruder. Some people say I look like a bear. That suits me fine, especially if it would terrorize someone threatening my Midge.

I’m a fortunate canine. Many of my buddies lead aimless lives without direction or purpose, but I’ve been given a calling. So, in conclusion, no one needs to worry about my mistress. Until God takes me to heaven, I’ll protect her like a ferocious, intimidating bear protects its cubs.

“Love always protects. Love never fails.” (1 Corinthians 13:7a,8a)

Afraid of the Dark

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As a young child, I remember being afraid of the dark — not exactly the dark, but of what might be hidden in it. One night I cried with gusto from the upstairs bedroom, hollering for Dad to come and save me. When he appeared in the doorway, I wailed out my problem. “A big bear’s in my closet!” I said, pointing to the half-open door and the darkness inside.

He confidently walked toward the closet, calmly telling me there was no bear in there. “I’ll prove it to you,” he said.

Although I wanted to believe him and he’d never lied to me before, I was trembling as he reached for the door knob. Scooting into my covers till they were up to my eyes, I shouted, “Watch out!”

He bravely reached into the darkness, pulled the string to turn on the light and said, “See? There’s no bear.”

Squinting from my twin bed, I inspected the closet from a distance. And there was the clothes bar with all my familiar-looking dresses hanging on it, and no bear. He was right, and I could relax. With Daddy in the house, I felt safe.

Several of my own children have gone through periods of fear, virtually always at night. As a three year old, Klaus wouldn’t sleep in his room alone but insisted on bunking with seven year old Linnea. Then, when Hans was three, he wanted to sleep face-to-face with Klaus, who had grown into a fearless four year old.

Some of my widowed friends have struggled with fear too, after their husbands died. Although most men would be no match for a robber with a gun, most wives feel secure anyway when sleeping next to them. But once a mate has died, imagination alone can be fear’s invitation to come on in.

On several occasions since Nate has been gone, fear has crept into my bedroom with me. Climbing onto the bed at night is still the loneliest moment of every day and sometimes produces fear. “Did I just hear something? Is someone coming?” (It took a while to get used to acorns thumping on the roof or cracking on the gutters.)

But what’s a widow to do? She can get a big dog like Jack, but far superior to that is to call on the God from whose eyes nothing is hidden. Scripture tells us fear doesn’t come to us from the Lord but is an emotion from our enemy, Satan. Bringing the Heavenly Husband into a mental confrontation with fear is to replace anxiety with peace, just as my earthly Daddy did for me years ago.

Having confidence in God’s ready presence is a definite help during fearful moments. And being certain he is with me when it’s dark outside the windows or just dark inside my emotions is even better than owning a big, barking, protective, snarling, attack dog.

”For you are my lamp, O Lord, and the Lord will lighten my darkness.” (2 Samuel 22:29)

What were the odds?

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Nate and I were born ten days apart but grew up not knowing each other, and our families didn’t meet until after we did. Our childhoods unfolded in similar ways, though, starting with wild tales told by our mothers of what it was like to labor and deliver in hospitals without air conditioning, in August. (My mother’s quote: “A trip to hell’s door.”)

This week, while looking through Nate’s old photographs, I came across a childhood parallel I’d never noticed before. I found a picture I knew I’d seen someplace else. Paging through one of Mom’s old albums, there it was. Her photo mirrors Nate’s.

The pictures were taken of each family vacationing in Silver Springs, Florida, about to take a ride on a glass-bottom boat, popular entertainment back then. They would view brightly colored fish, sunken ships and scuba divers who were busy finding treasure. In my picture, (the one on top) Dad and Mom with us kids sit in the first seats on the left side of the boat. In the other picture, Nate’s family also sits in the first seats on the left side of a boat.

So we had the same family vacation in what looks like the same old boat at the same attraction, some time in the 1950’s. Our fathers both succumbed to buying the photographs, which wasn’t typical for either of them, and both families managed to keep track of them for 50 years. What were the odds?

Mom used to tell of a similar coincidence from her past. When she was an infant, her mother would “air the baby” in a buggy each afternoon, believing children needed sunshine and fresh air. Because they lived in a Chicago neighborhood, an alley ran behind their house, across from which lived another family with children. The two families never met, but after Mom and Dad were married three decades later, the connection was made.

Dad was 13 years older than Mom so had clear memories of living in the house across the alley. He told us of seeing a woman (our grandmother) rolling her baby out into the yard each day to nap. That baby was Mom. Although her family moved away before the two could meet, once Mom and Dad compared childhood addresses and dates, they put it together. What were the odds?

I believe God puts unlikely circumstances like these together continually, around the world. He’s arranging happy “coincidences” by the millions, and is probably doing it just for his own pleasure. When he opens our eyes to “get” even one of these unlikely connections (like the glass-bottom boat or the baby carriage), we all get a big charge out of it. And as we move through the eons of life in glory with the Lord, I have no doubt he’ll reveal every instance of “chance” he orchestrated, and we will be in awe.

We’ll have plenty of “time” to listen to his cleverly executed arrangements and will be mouths-hanging-open-stunned by his ingenuity. Maybe he’ll even let us watch ourselves on a cosmic video of some sort.

But best of all, we’ll be shown it had nothing to do with chance. What were the odds?

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”Come and see what God has done, how awesome his works on man’s behalf!” (Psalm 66:5)