Missy-Moo

I think the Humane Society miscalculated our dog’s age. Or she has found a fountain of youth in our backyard. Perhaps there is some magic in the kudzu after all? We adopted her almost 8 years ago. According to her “records”, she was 7 to 10 years old then. Her history included “years of neglect” and abandonment, escaping from a fenced-in yard with 3 other comrades. After the fourth escape, the family could no longer afford the fine so they gave them up for adoption. She sat alone in her cell, big brown eyes pleading for comfort. When I walked by, she stood up which was comical since her legs are so short. There isn’t much difference between her stand and sit.
She’s always been timid, frantic during thunderstorms. So I was surprised to find out from the vet, that she was the culprit for the escapes from her former family. Apparently, the marks on her teeth told the story of her holding up the bottom of the fence for her friends to go under. I was away when she escaped from our backyard a few years ago. It was the only time. My husband found her at the front door. She likes to be inside: on the sofa or under the bed.
A month after her adoption, a neighbor asked us to take in a puppy. We’re softies, so we did. Now eight years later, the “puppy” acts older than our supposed 15-year-old dog. She does this two step dance when we come home, with her tail bobbing like a plume [as my hubby calls it]. Have you ever seen a dog smile? This one does. Her whole face lights up. We can tell because her face falls when a storm is brewing.
So I’ve been contemplating what keeps her so young? Is it the short legs? Or could it be the grateful smile? As if we rescued her from death, which I suppose we did.
A bible teacher, who lived a century ago, says that Christians should become younger with age, more carefree. As we grow in Christ, our stressful lives should become less and less important as our eternal perspective expands. We become more and more grateful to the One who saved us. He must increase, but I must decrease. John 3:30 KJV

Quitting

“Mom, call my teacher and tell her I quit,” a kindergartner firmly stated after seven days of school. He had begun excited and eager, waking his mom on Saturday morning to head off to the bus stop.
His older brother had been going to school for “years,” his mom and dad were now home alone. Somebody had to keep an eye on them. And so the journey began, reasoning with a five-year-old that he could not “quit” going to school.
We laugh because we can relate. How often we have started a new job or project and wanted to quit because it was too hard, boring or just-not-what-we-expected. Maybe we just missed the old life. It was comfortable.
In the second book of the Bible, Exodus, the Israelis miraculous journey from Egyptian slavery to freedom is very similar to our resistance to change. This book recounts God’s intervention in their freedom and the reader wonders at the children of Israel’s stubbornness. They continually distort the truth to justify quitting the journey.
I wonder how many times you and I have done that?
Within the thread of this story is the truth of the Gospel. Christ came to save us from being afraid. Specifically, we are afraid of changing, the very thing that is key to our freedom.
Like our little friend who wanted to quit, we need to be reasoned with. God has that covered too. "Come now, let us reason together," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.” Isaiah 1:18 NIV

Baby-Land

I’ve gone back in time this past few weeks. It’s as if, thirty years melted away. I had the privilege of helping our kids with their kids after the birth of their second son, Ansel William. What a ride. Young moms know what I am talking about. Diapers, naps, baths, toys, play-times, schedules, dishes, car seats, strollers, cribs, dirty clothes, clean clothes, lack of sleep, what-day-is-it? and what-is-my-name?
Ahh, he is a cutie though. One look into those big blue eyes: the tired muscles and frazzled nerves melt away into a big grin. You cannot help but laugh out loud as he puckers up his little mouth into what my husband calls a perfect “hens hole.”
What cannot be more beautiful than the serenity of a sleeping infant? One that is not sleeping serenely, that is for sure. And there is nothing wrong with Mr. Ansel’s lungs. It’s like the old saying, a bit revised: if Ansel ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. The good news is, he only “yells” between 6pm and 11pm. As the clock strikes an hour before midnight, he turns over and goes to sleep. Go figure.
Motherhood is not for wimps. Nor is fatherhood for that matter. I was grateful to enter baby-land again but knew that “my” time for this kind of marathon was finished. God in His wisdom speaks to us through our children and grandchildren, through times and seasons. We learn to be content in whatever circumstance we are in. I thank Him that He is sufficient.