Abandoned Animals

 

A few weeks ago, I got a text from a friend who had just picked up a puppy front the side of the road.

Someone had abandoned it.

She sent me a  picture. 

I immediately oohed and ahed at how cute he was

And then quickly began to wonder who would abandon such a cute little thing. 

Thankfully, my friend was able to adopt the puppy into her pack, 

and so Puppy, now known as Eddie,

Has a safe and loving home.

 

Last night, on my way home from game night, I stopped for gas.

As I was cleaning the trash out of my car,

A beautiful black pitbull mix with cute white socks came prancing up to me.

I looked to see if he had an owner, but he didn’t.

Then I noticed that he had a companion who was a little more shy.

She stayed back. 

I immediately knew that someone had dropped them at the gas station.

 

My heart sank. 

As much as my dad would love a dog,

We are not able to have a dog right now, 

Much less two,

And so I knew there was nothing I could do to help. 

 

As I drove away with tears in my eyes,

I heard the dogs crying.

They didn’t know what was going on,

Why they had been abandoned,

Or where their people were.

I could only pray that someone would pick them up and take them to be part of their pack.

I could only pray that they would have a happy ending.

 

I don’t understand how people can do it.

I don’t understand how someone can abandon a pet and go home and live with themselves.

I suppose it could be food insecurity.

I suppose there could be health issues.

I suppose there could be a crisis and they feel like they can’t take care of anything else.

But to just abandon the animal.

To just leave it behind.

To just throw it out the car door so callously.

I can’t fathom it.

Surrendering an animal is hard.

But throwing it away?

I will never understand.

 

God calls us to be good stewards of our time, resources, and the animals of the Earth.

God is not in abandoning animals on the side of the road or at a gas station. 

 

I am sad. 

I am mad. 

And I am more thankful than ever that when 

Annie Mae was abandoned with her babies and 

Siggy Ray was abandoned with two broken legs,

They both made their way to my house so that we could give them good lives. 

 

God, forgive humanity

For screwing so much up. 

And thank you for those who are fighting to fix what’s been broken. 

 

Amen. 

Grief

 

I was scrolling FB the other day when I came to a post that stopped me. 

Singer/Songwriter Sara Bareilles is coming out with a new album called, “Good Grief.”

As the title indicates, 

The album explores grief. 

Believing that, “Healing often begins when we share our experiences of loss, and that grief will not overcome us if we have a community that's willing to listen,”

Sara gave a phone number to call to leave a story of grief. 

I called. 

I left a story. 

And then I received a text that shared some behind the scenes commentary on the album and a space to share another story. 

So I did. 

I shared four stories, 

The most poignant of which was inspired by observing a friend’s grief. 

 

“I have a friend who grieves powdered donuts.

 

I suppose it’s not the donuts themselves that she grieves

But what the donuts represent.

 

They represent loss and heartache and what could have been if sickness and disease had not sent in. 

 

My friend married for a second time midlife. She had hopes and dreams of retiring with her new husband.  

Of traveling.

Of having a companion to do life with.

Shortly after they married, he began having health problems. 

The problems have only grown and he is now losing capacity to make decisions for himself.

 

My friend works in the helping professions full-time. 

She is also a full-time caretaker for her husband.

She does her best to provide what he needs,

Including good, healthy meals.

Yet he very often refuses the food she cooks,

Only to eat powdered donuts.

 

This is grief. 

This is heartbreak.

This is watching dreams die and doing the hard work of living. 

And it’s difficult. 

And it’s not so sweet 

Like powdered donuts.”

 

I’m not Sara Bareilles.

I don’t have a national platform on which to share stories of community.

But I do have this little space,

And as hard as it is, I offer it to you,

To share your story of grief,

To have your voice be heard,

And now you’re not alone.

 

Grief goes beyond losing a loved one.

Grief happens with every loss  or disappointment, however small it may seem.

Sometimes we deal with the grief without having to name it.

But sometimes we must pause to recognize and mourn what has been lost. 

 

You are invited to pause to name and mourn now. 

 

Amen. 

Retired Shirt

 

 

I got it for my 17th birthday. 

The map of NC was so detailed that it included both Tabor City and Bunnlevel. 

I was proud to have come from both.

 

I wore the shirt a lot in my youth. 

Naturally, over time, 

The text faded,

Holes grew, and 

The collar frayed. 

 

For the past couple of years,

I’d relegated the shirt as my birthday shirt. 

It could only handle being worn and washed once a year. 

 

Last night, though,

After one last appearance,

On its 32nd birthday, 

I officially retired it. 

 

The Walmart special Native North Carolinian shirt lived a good life as a t-shirt. 

Now it’s time for it to serve as part of a quilt. 

 

Thank you to everyone who puts up with quirky me—

Who wished me a happy birthday—

Who reads these notes—

Who rides the waves of life with me. 

 

I count it a blessing to have friends older than my now retired birthday shirt, 

And friends from all the years in between.

Friendships take work. 

They take time and effort and forgiveness and letting go and coming back and closeness and distance and love and growth 

But it’s all worth it in the end. 

 

Amen. 

Sacred Moments

 

I had the opportunity to fill in for Pastor Ann yesterday. 

Not only did I get to lead worship,

But I also got to lead Bible Study, 

Which is something I haven’t done in quite some time. 

 

The Bible study outline was very sparse. 

It was on the second of the listed fruits of the Spirit:

Joy. 

 

The outline listed one or two verses of scripture and then asked four questions on those verses. 

It gave three sections like this.

And that’s it.

The rest was up to me.

 

And so I talked the fruit of the spirit song

Because how can you not teach the fruit of the spirit song when doing a study on the fruit of the spirit?! :-)

And then I asked a very simple question:

What is the difference between joy and happiness?

And that was the springboard for our conversation.

 

We studied Philippians 4 and John 15, 

Both passages of which I have the majority underlined. 

We talked about the real life application of those passages

And how it’s not always easy to rejoice.

We talked about complicated things like war and grief and death and heartache and rugged individualism and narcissism and divorce and caretaking 

And how sometimes God doesn’t seem to answer our prayers

Yet how there is almost always something good and right and noble to find,

Especially in friends.

And Jesus has called us friend.

 

We talked about how sometimes we feel happiness and joy, but sometimes we don’t.

But we agreed that, in Christ, there is a peace that passes understanding—

There is a joy that runs deeper than happiness—

And there is something that we just can’t explain,

Even in the midst of hardship. 

 

There were a couple of moments that I felt like I was in a grief support group

Or an AA meeting

More than a Bible study.

We didn’t go into the historical relevance of Philippians or John.

We didn’t get into the original language of the text or talk about the context to which each passage was written.

We simply opened God’s word,

Read it aloud,

Created the space for the spirit to bring up what she would, 

And then we held space for one another to share and to be heard. 

 

Friends,

Life is hard.

We cannot pretend that it is anything different.

Yeah, we get to walk this journey together

And we get to live it with glimpses of happiness 

And joy that cannot be described

And peace that carries us through at all.

I don’t begin to know how it works.

I don’t begin to try to explain prayer and God’s intervention in this world.

I just know that there’s something there

And that in holy, sacred moments like yesterday,

We get to share it together. 

 

And for that,

I am grateful.

 

Amen. 

The Notebook

 

When we went to the merchandise table before the show,

They were selling little boxes of tissues.

I asked Jes the Doctor if she thought we needed to buy some tissues

But she said no, 

That we would be OK.

At intermission, she confessed that we should’ve bought the tissues! :-)

 

Jes used her hand to wipe away her tears.

I just let them stream down my face, onto my chest and my shirt,

And I didn’t bother to even try wiping them away as they were flowing.

There were a few moments when I felt like I couldn’t breathe,

My chest was tight and I felt like I just needed to make some noise as Heidi the Librarian says, 

But I couldn’t make any noise because I was in the middle of watching The Notebook Musical. 

I could hear sniffles from all over the auditorium and I could hear Jes struggling to pull herself together. 

It’s not uncommon for the tears to come with me,

But it’s rare for Jes to cry. 

She’s a doctor.

She sees a lot.

But in this case, it was the seeing that hooked her in a powerful way.

 

If you’ve never read the book or seen the movie or stage show,

The Notebook is a love story that centers around a wife with Alzheimer’s.

The husband, deeply devoted to his wife, reads their story to her from a notebook every day in hopes that she will “come back.”

The musical does a superb job portraying the confusion and heartbreak that one with Alzheimer’s must feel.

Some of the scenes are gutwrenchingly powerful.

Just thinking about them now, and the challenges that people with Alzheimer’s and their caretakers must face, makes me teary-eyed.

 

I’ve been talking a lot about caretaking over the past couple of weeks since I’ve been helping take care of my aunt who was visiting NC and got very sick.

I have been thrown into a world of people who tend to suffer quietly, 

Doing what they can and must do to take care of those they love.

Short-term disabilities, long-term disabilities, terminal illnesses, children with special needs, people with dementia or Alzheimer’s, people struggling to overcome addiction, people whose bodies are just getting old…

There are so many levels of caretaking. 

They are all hard.

They all present their own challenges.

But it seems to me that people dealing with Alzheimer’s might just have it the hardest, 

Their loved ones being stuck in their bodies and memories,

Not knowing who they are or remembering their lives, 

Oftentimes showing an angry side to themselves that no one ever expected to see. 

 

And so we cry. 

We cry for those stuck in their bodies and we cry for those who so desperately want to help them out. 

We cry for hurt and pain and exhaustion  and shattered dreams and lost hopes and heartbreak. 

We cry for patients and families and caregivers and workers who try to provide dignity in life.

We cry for those suffering in mental and emotional pain and we cry for those who feel that they are alone. 

We cry for beautiful harmonies and memories and the fabric that weaves together our lives. 

And we cry for ourselves, our insecurities, our helplessness, and our fears. 

 

The next time I go to a show that sells tissues as a souvenir, 

I will certainly be buying them! 

And I think that Jes the Doctor will, too, 

Because some stories are just too powerful not to cry.

 

Amen. 

Rehab Lamp

 

JG’s room at rehab is at least twice the size of the hospital room where she spent eight days; 

However, the lighting is such that it can’t be turned on or off by the one confined to bed. 

(We’re working on that confinement. 

Physical therapy will come five times a week to get JG back on her feet.)

 

When I arrived on Saturday night, JG was sitting in the dark, 

Her only light that of her phone. 

I quickly plugged in a mystery lamp that I had found in our attic, 

But the light wasn’t pleasant. 

It was bright, fluorescent, and not homey at all. 

 

Knowing that my sister, who travels with her own twinkly lights just in case she needs them, would be appalled at the ambiance of the room, 

I went to Dollar Gentrald last night to look for a bedside lamp. 

I found one. 

It was cute. 

I actually liked it and wasn’t just settling for it. 

So I bought it. 

 

I promptly took it to JG’s room, 

Where she was sitting in the dark again,

But this time with the off-putting light from the mystery lamp. 

 

I quickly unpacked the lamp,

Screwed in the light bulb,

And tried to uncurl the cord. 

It wouldn’t uncurl. 

It was zip tied to the shade. 

 

Being in rehab for less than three days, 

We hadn’t yet moved in the scissors, 

So I tried to find some scissors at the facility but had no luck. 

 

So I walked to my car, 

In the rain,

Carrying the deconstructed lamp, 

Only to realize I didn’t have my keys. 

 

So I walked back inside to get my keys

Returned to my car again, 

In the rain, 

And opened the pocket knife that I got for super cheap at an auction many years ago. 

 

Very carefully, I cut the zip tie off the Dollar Gentrald lamp, 

Walked back to JG’s room, 

Plugged it in,

Screwed in the light bulb and had light. 

 

But. 

I hadn’t put the shade on. 

 

So unscrewed the bulb, 

Put on the shade, 

Screwed back in the bulb, 

And finally, we had soft, welcoming light!

 

Friends:

Sometimes things are a lot harder than they should be! 

But through creativity, breath, patience however thin, perseverance, and determination,

Most things can be done,

Most trials can be overcome, 

And most lights can be shown. 

 

May you have that creativity, breath, patience, perseverance, and determination today. 

And may your light shine bright, 

Albeit a soft white brightness that creates proper ambiance, 

Because we don’t want fluorescent lights in our home. 

 

Amen.