Animal Rescue Videos

 

I can’t decide whether animal rescue videos are good or bad for me.

Sometimes, they make me feel warm and fuzzy.

Other times, they make me sob uncontrollably.

Sometimes, I watch with calm anticipation.

Other times, I watch with agitated worry.

 

In one particular video,

A woman dumps her dog out of the car,

Which, unfortunately, is a common practice.

But instead of leaving the dog,

She goes a short distance away and films what the dog does in response.

He runs back and forth, frantically looking for his owner,

Getting more and more frenzied as he can’t find her.

Here is this dog who knows nothing but being taken care of by his owner,

Left in the middle of nowhere,

With no warning, explanation, or understanding,

Scared, and

Alone.

Thankfully, because the video is meant to be educational,

The dog is reunited with his owner in the end.

But how many animals aren’t?

And how many animals suffer because of the abandonment?

 

So that’s a video that makes me weep.

I actually talked about it in therapy to understand why it was so emotional for me—

Blindsides, cut offs, broken trust, and feeling scared and alone were a few themes that emerged.

 

But then there are those who make me smile…

 

Like the one where a very pregnant stray dog has 15 puppies and they’re each labeled with a different colored collar to keep them straight and they all find forever homes,

Or the one where a dog with disabilities gets a wheelchair,

Or the one where a stray dog goes to the groomer and comes out looking like a different dog all together,

Or the one where a kitten is rescued and grows up to be a champion biscuit maker and cuddler,

Or the one where an eel is relieved of three hooks stuck in its mouth,

Or the one where a black goldfish is rescued from a sickly tank and transforms into a happy orange fish,

Or the one where a wayward sheep is shorn and is released from an 80 pound burden.

I actually really like the wayward sheep videos because the sheep are so trusting of the people who help them.

They’re flipped over and turned around and worked on for a long time because their wool is so matted and full of dirt and sticks,

Yet underneath the outer coat of filth,

They are beautifully soft and white.

 

There’s a lesson in there on that one.

I’ll let you figure it out.

 

So yeh.

I can’t determine whether animal rescue videos are good or bad for me.

I blame Facebook for putting them in my algorithm.

And I blame Annie the Cat for being a real-life rescue story that has caused me to put all kinds of human emotions on animals!

 

God: Thank you for animals. And help us, God, to take care of them. Forgive us when we neglect your creation and abandon your creatures, and help us, as a whole, to be more responsible stewards and to do better. Amen.

And Then I Cried

 Shortly after finishing Monday’s note,

I realized that I didn’t have a picture of Kay.

As any good 21^st-centurian would do,

I took to the Interwebs to look for a picture of this woman who had come to mean so much.

The thing is?

I found obituaries and old scholarship information,

But I couldn’t find a picture.

As I continued to search,

I came across an article honoring Kay.

At the end of the article,

Kay was quoted as saying:

 

“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through…I trust that you already know that my heart just aches for you…I know that all things work together for good to those who serve God. So I trust that as I act moment by moment to follow God’s leading, God will work through my decisions. In any event, I know with assurance that God is already working. God’s action is to bring about good things for you and for the body of Christ. There’s no doubt. We just have to wait. As we’ve all figured out for one reason or another, life isn’t fair and justice is hard to find. Mostly I’d like for you to get through it. It happened and requires you to work in order to get through it—but I pray that you get THROUGH rather than remain in it. So I hope you’ll spend exactly the right amount of time processing it all and doing what it takes to attend to it so that it will be well and truly over. I love you very much! You take my love and respect and appreciation with you where you go…I’m proud of you, you’ve been faithful.”

 

I screen-shotted her words.

And then I cried.

 

God: Thank you that our hearts and words live on long after we’re gone. May Kay’s words, today, bless and encourage someone who needs to hear them…seventeen years after they were written. Thank you, God, that you are already working and that your action is to bring about good in a world that seems to celebrate evil. You ARE good. And we ARE trying to be faithful. Amen.  

 

Oh! And by the way—

After thirty minutes of tears and searching,

I found Kay’s picture in a PDF brochure.

It’s not the best quality in the world.

But it will do.

😊

Sometimes We Just Need To Cry

It’s no secret that I’m a crier. In fact, I have very talented tear ducts. They cry in joy and in sorrow, and they cry prayers and allow release. They cry over meaningful stories and they cry over ridiculous jokes. They cry when I’m full of energy and they cry when I’m exhausted from life. They cry if someone talks about putting in contact lenses and they cry for other people when those people cannot cry for themselves. Yet. Seldom do they cry raw, flowing tears when I’m around anyone else. Those tears—those deeply hurting, lonely, sad, frustrated, agonizing, almost-full-body tears—are usually reserved for God alone.

I remember one specific time, though, when I cried those tears in front of a dear friend, and she pulled me into her arms and let me weep. I burrowed my head into her shoulder and sobbed—for mean words and heartbreak and failed plans and misunderstanding and the work-dementors that were sucking life from me at the time. She held me as I cried and she didn’t flinch when my tears literally wet her shoulder. In that moment, I was so broken that I couldn’t even apologize for falling apart. All I could do was let someone support my weight and…cry.

…

As my first class approached the doorway today, I heard someone crying—and these were not petty, passing, she skipped me in line, tears—these were those deeply hurting, almost-full-body tears. By sheer good fortune, the guidance counselor was in my room at that moment, so she got the rest of the class settled while I held the crying kid. Literally. I wrapped my arms around his sobbing little body and held him to my heart. “Breathe, sweetie,” I said. “Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Breathe with me. In and out.” After a few moments, I noticed that I had started rocking him back and forth, still gently whispering, “In and out. Breathe in and out.” After another few moments, I felt the fight leave his body and his breathing fall into rhythm with mine. After another few moments, I gave him the option of going to his seat or going to lie down in the back of the room until he was ready to join class. He chose the latter. Then he did join class and had a wonderful time.

I have no idea why he came to music class sobbing. Had something bad happened at home? Had something bad already happened at school? Had he been blamed for something he didn’t do? Had he gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing? Had he eaten breakfast? Had he gotten enough sleep? I have no idea. But what I do know that is that he needed to cry.

…

A student on Tuesday needed to cry, too. He went from his normal attitude of “I hate music” to a place of deeply sad tears in a matter of minutes. One moment, he and his friends were defiantly choosing to sit at the back of the room under the refocus table so that they could talk and be silly, but the next minute all three of them were covering their heads with their shirts and crying. Not wanting to stop the rest of class from a strangely productive and focused music lesson, I went on with the lesson. After class, on my way into the building for lunch, I was bombarded by other students telling me that the three were crying because one of them was moving and the friendship posse was going to be separated.

As I stood in the class’s classroom, waiting for their supervision to arrive, thinking about how I wasn’t going to have time to eat lunch, wondering what in the world I was supposed to do with the kids for the next however long I had them, I felt someone come from behind on the right and latch on for a side hug. This particular class has a couple of huggers, so I didn’t think anything of it. Until I looked down. And I saw the top of “I hate music”’s hoodie. And I realized that a kid who ordinarily doesn’t even acknowledge that I exist was burrowed into my right shoulder, sobbing.

One of his classmates said, “Ms. Deaton, you’re going to miss lunch.”
I said, “No worries. I’ll be fine. I’ll stand here for a few more minutes.”
So I did. Holding “I hate music.”
He cried. He didn’t say a word. Then he wiped his tears and walked away.
I left the room with a tear-soaked shirt, wondering what in the world had just happened.
I guess “I hate music” needed to cry. And I guess maybe “I hate music” knew that music didn’t hate him.

…

Sometimes, friends, we all just need to cry.
And sometimes the safety of loving arms is exactly where we need to land.
My arms are open.
I often imagine God’s arms open as well.
Are yours?

Being Human Is Hard

The next time I volunteer to sing a solo, ask me if I can sing it without having an emotional breakdown. Okay?

I woke up yesterday morning feeling sick. Not head cold sick. Not stomach sick. But back quivering, I’m-going-to-be-vulnerable-and-lay-my-life-on-the-line-for-people-to-examine-it sick.

And rightfully so.

I sang one of the most emotional and guarded songs in my repertoire yesterday. And I sang it twice. (The words are at the bottom of this post.)

The first time I sang I was fine. But the second time…well…I got choked up at the end of my singing and found myself in tears after the song was over.

And these weren’t quiet, little tears. They were loud, big tears…only I was sitting in church during a prayer, so I couldn’t really be loud…so my face turned bright red and my veins popped out and I pressed my fingers into my eyelids to hold in the tears…which I’ve never really understood because it really doesn’t work…but I did it anyway because I didn’t know what else to do.

Then my mom gave me a tissue and Patrick said amen and I somehow managed to stop crying…but I started again when a friend hugged me after church…and then I came home so emotionally spent that I had absolutely no trouble falling asleep for my Sunday afternoon nap.

“And what were those tears for?” you might ask.

Broken relationships.
Loss.
Betrayal.
The difficult realities of being human because, as I said yesterday, “Being human is hard.”

Yet being human is exactly what we are...and being human is exactly what Jesus was when he was handed over to be tried, convicted, and punished for crimes he did not commit.

So Jesus understands this being human.
And Jesus cried.
So it must be okay for me to cry, too.

Although… the next time I volunteer to sing a solo, ask me if I can sing it without bursting into tears and having an emotional breakdown. Okay?

Thanks.


--------

You came into my life and you gave me a new song
We were very best of friends but then something went wrong
I compromised what’s right, didn’t always stand for Christ
And it hurts, life without you hurts

But without you I see what true love is meant to be
Not a game we have win, but a path we have to walk
Just like the father of the son, who waited with open arms
To embrace the hurt, he embraced the hurt

So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in silence, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and bless your name
Give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust His hand, to take your hand
Because I can’t

If I’ve had a thousand friends, I’m lucky to have one
Whose light won’t fade away with the setting of the sun
But as the days come and go, we change as we grow
Though it hurts, growing apart hurts

But grasping to a string in the cold, dark, stale air
Won’t get you very far, it won’t get you anywhere
It’s crying out in the night and standing for what is right
That’ll heal the hurt, it’ll heal the hurt

So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in silence, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and bless your name
Give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust His hand, to take your hand
Because I can’t

In Solidarity With Love

Sitting on the couch, stinky white dog beside me, mismatched black socks warming my feet, brown shorts and black t-shirt demonstrating an outfit the fashion police would arrest, I must jot down the things that I learned or pondered during my first on-call at the hospital on Wednesday:

1) The residents and Spiritual Care staff at the hospital are wonderful. They willingly and graciously helped me through the daytime portion of my duty, patiently guiding and mentoring me through a vast field of ignorance. To see them using their gifts and passions to minister not only to patients and family members but also to me was a humbling and inspiring experience.

Each day when I worked for SC WMU, we’d pray for missionaries who had birthdays on that day. We’d call the International and North American Missionaries by name but we would lump the chaplains and volunteers together by category because there are so many chaplains and volunteers sharing Christ’s love. Yesterday, that prayer for chaplains and volunteers took on new meaning as I observed and experienced firsthand the peace-giving work of the chaplain. I’m going to try to start praying for the chaplains that I know by name every day, and I’m going to start with the wonderful people that I’m working with now.

2) It is super important to have at least one or two emergency contact numbers memorized! Thanks to the speed dial on my cell phone, I don’t know many telephone numbers at all. But. If I’m ever in a trauma situation where I can speak and the chaplain asks me if there is anyone that I want them to call for me then I need to know the number. You do, too. Contrary to popular opinion, the wallet, purse, and/or phone don’t always stay with you when you enter the Emergency Department.

3) Badge holders with retractable elastic come in very handy when the name tag includes cheat sheets of vital information. While emergency contact numbers should be memorized, all information in the world shouldn’t…especially when it can be easily accessed via said badge.

4) Although I’m not a fan of wearing them myself, I think that everyone should wear a name tag. Names are important. Being called by name is important. Looking someone in the eye and calling him/her by name instills a sense of dignity that too often gets lost. It also provides incentive not to act out or do anything that would shame a person’s name. I’m terrible with names. I want to get better at remembering them. In the meantime, I’ll start lobbying for embracing the name tag.

5) I don’t want to eat barbeque or a salad in the middle of the night. The idea of heavy dinner food and/or a salad in the wee hours of the morning feels wrong to me. Yet. I think it’s great that the hospital cafeteria serves these foods to those who otherwise wouldn’t get them because they are sleeping during the day so they can work at night.

6) It’s okay to cry. To weep actually.

[Selah]

7) Sometimes permission can set us free. I went into yesterday terrified of doing something wrong. My old script of needing to perfect—to please everyone—to do the “right” thing—had been screaming at me for two weeks, trying to convince me that I was going to fail with chaplaincy. After shadowing the residents and talking to my supervisor, however, I was able to soften that loud voice and remember what I know to be true: no one is perfect, I am my own worst enemy, and life is about much more than right or wrong. My supervisor told me that she trusted me—that I wouldn’t have been accepted into the program if she didn’t think I could do it. She encouraged me to trust my gut and to minister out of my gifts and abilities—because they are vast. The residents showed me that it’s okay to get turned around in the hospital, that I didn’t need to panic when I hear the pager go off, that it’s okay to touch people on the shoulder, that it’s okay to laugh, that it’s okay to ask questions, that it’s essential to remain hydrated. One resident told me that I had a naturally calming presence and a patient said the exact same thing at 2am.

[Selah]

For yesterday’s spiritual care office devotion, we read Psalm 46 and focused on verse 10: “Be still and know that I am God.” As we sat together in the holy and sacred silence that is God, I breathed in the breath of life that is the Spirit and prayed to represent the love and peace that are Christ.

I made it through my first on-call because those around me must have prayed the same thing.

[Selah]

I will rest now. I can barely keep my eyes open. The dog, my mismatched socks, and my lovely outfit are ready to rest, too…and fall asleep thanking God for the communion of saints and the prayers of a people standing in solidarity with Love.

Could Crying Be A Spiritual Gift?

As I squirmed in my bed and wept for over thirty minutes last night, I suddenly began to wonder: Could crying be a spiritual gift?

As I wrote in an e-mail to a dear friend this morning:

I had a really hard time falling asleep last night. I suppose that I finally fell asleep because I exhausted myself...although I do remember sitting up so that I could breathe and rocking myself gently back and forth.

I had a conversation about spiritual gifts yesterday. I've always taken Paul's list of spiritual gifts as the exhaustive list. Like...I really don't think that music is a spiritual gift, rather music is a talent that must be expressed through another spiritual gift if it is to be used to glorify God and build up others in the body of Christ. Think about it: how much music does NOT honor God and/or build others up?

BUT...let's say that the list isn't exhaustive--which it's likely not. COULD crying be a spiritual gift? I know it sounds silly. But when I start crying like I was crying last night, it's like it's from the very deepest part of my being. It's from this place that's way way way down deep--a place that I don't normally feel--very gutteral--very connected to my humanity--and I wonder if it's connected to all of humanity.

I know a lot of people who can't cry--or who don't cry--for whatever reason. So I wonder if maybe I'm crying out all of the angst and hurt and emotion that other people can't. I remembered Tonglen last night on one of my trips to the bathroom to blow my nose. I remembered that I wasn't the only person in the world feeling the sadness and grief and heartache that I was feeling last night. So I tried to feel it for everyone else feeling it--and those who couldn't--and then to breathe out peace...although my breathing was very ragged. And that's when I began to wonder if crying could be a spiritual gift...

Maybe it IS compassion or empathy or sympathy or something else. BUT. Other people feel those things, too, right? And they don't weep with the intensity and force with which I was weeping. You know?

So...COULD crying be a spiritual gift? I guess I'll sit with that thought and see.