Sunday, December 29, 2013


The Gift of Dogs
 I received my first dog when I was four years of age – I didn’t know what a priceless gift and companion I had been given.  She was a tiny brown Chihuahua. Her bed was cardboard box stuffed with towels – okay it was the 1960’s … and it was she was used to when she came to us. Actually, she  usually snuck into bed with my parents at night --- Little Bit was her name.  I think she reminded my dad of his Chihuahuas – Tiny and Boots.  I loved Little Bit but from a distance; the problem was she wasn’t overly fond of children. I remember, though, crying when she died; it wasn’t a natural death she had to be put down because of illness. Little Bit taught me about the joys of having a dog – beyond the stories of Spot in the basal readers.
Bo ambled into our lives – he was more or less a mongrel dog, belonging to our next-door neighbors. This relationship began a pattern of unabashed thievery – yes I’m afraid we stole the hearts of our neighbors’ dogs. It was never intentional – it just happened. Bo got us all through a dark winter – we had just moved from suburbia to a more rural area to a house we had designed and now weren’t all that happy with.  We were able to move, but that’s an amazing and different story.
Bamboo – a mix of cocker and something else came into my life on a dark day.  I was hurting, and the tan cocker-mix helped ease the angst that had arisen in my heart. Bamboo had separation issues – we left on vacation. Bamboo was placed in a kennel, but after two days of not eating, we contacted a teenager from the church who would retrieve her, take her home, walk and feed her twice a day; however, there was thunderstorm. I believe it is well known that most dogs and thunderstorms do not mix. Bamboo was no different – she was so distraught that she decimated the carpet. Poor dog! As we were contemplating moving into a new house (again!), we felt it best to find a new home for the dog – and what a home!  Bamboo landed in a home where she was even more of a top dog than she been with us--- she even went to college!
Years passed and dogs would amble in for a week or two – the Chatmon dog hotel. We would feed and  shelter them and then pass them off.  Then in the 1980’s Max came on the scene – he was a German shepherd mix.  Yes, he really lived next door, but he captured our hearts and we apparently captured his. He kept a guest hostage in his vehicle for most of the afternoon even though he had a key to our house. He was big, but as gentle as a lamb – I remember when friends with small children visited. Their young son climbed on the dog’s back and walked back and forth, and there was nary a peep out of Max.  I think before our neighbors acquired Max, he was food-deprived – as soon as we presented him with a dog biscuit – he would bury it in the woods. Max disappeared one day – he was found dead, presumably of heart worms the killer of dogs.  He left and missed his meds --- how I mourned his passing. I loved that dog!
Then my neighbor acquired Prince – another Shepherd mix – who really loved no one except himself.  He would invade our kitchen almost knocking us down in the process, stand on his hind legs, place his front paws on the counter as if to say --- “Where’s the beef? (Or any other food)?” Prince didn’t last long – he attacked the son of his owner – an unprovoked attack – an unpardonable sin for any dog. I did not mourn Prince.
Then we met Sarge, also the dog of my neighbor –a lively Golden Retriever—who knew dogs could love so much?  Sarge, however had one bad habit – he couldn’t or wouldn’t stay away from the road and it cost him his life.  Princess followed Sarge – it broke my heart to move and leave her behind, even though she wasn’t my dog.  Neither retriever could be fully convinced that they were too big to be lap dogs.  They loved to  enter our house and jump on my dad’s lap – by this time my mom was in Heaven.  These goldens were a great source of comfort – I remember talking to my Mom as she as dying about the antics of Sarge. (I didn’t realize at the time it was her last hours.)
Now there is Jaguar --- the miniature Schnauzer – she lives two doors down.  She visits frequently for sleepovers.  She spent two summers with us while her owners travelled.  I think she still grieves his passing. She visited him in Palliative care . She allowed us to dress her a bumblebee and take her trick or treating – to amuse an ailing neighbor. We think of her as the joy bringer.  She is around 12 with a heart condition, but super energetic at times. She loves squirrels or the thought of chasing them -- Jaguar is a great dog—she also enjoys showing off as I eat (and does the same thing for her owners or so I am told).  Jaguar is  truly a joy- bringer.

So what do I have from the gift of these dogs – Little Bit taught us --- it’s only for a time.  Bo taught us that sometimes love is just being there.  Bamboo taught us – when life is too much – just tear up the carpet – (just kidding --- at least let someone know how you feel). Max taught us that a gentle spirit works while Prince showed us that belligerence never pays. Sarge reminds us that you need to obey – stay out of the road.  Princess taught us that you’re never too big to be loved.  Jaguar says it’s about bringing joy to other people.   The gift of dogs – even though most of them did not really belong to us; each canine brought its own unique gift to my heart.  I am so thankful for dogs and those who were willing to share them. 

Thursday, December 26, 2013






Christmas Cognitions


Christmas 2013 has come and gone – it was a great celebration of the birth of the Savior. I read Ann Voskamp’s book  The Greatest Gift during the Advent Season --- I became re-acquainted with  those who were connected in some way – directly or indirectly to the Christmas story. I decorated a Christmas tree.  I made a very sad attempt at baking cookies as gifts. I spent the day with close friends and even laughed a little.  This was my second Christmas with Mom and Dad in Heaven; with no siblings this can be a little tough.

As I thought on this, I realized we really established no Christmas traditions – every Christmas took on its own unique flavor. For this I am grateful—I don’t miss traditions I miss people, namely my parents. Pardon my reminiscing, but I would like to share a few thoughts from Christmases past.

I remember the year I was 11 and Grandpa was seriously ill in the hospital; Two of my cousins and I wanted to cheer our parents up so we put on a pageant of the Christmas story.  As Tim belted out “We Three Kings,” I led them to the manger, but we halted dead in our tracks with the words... Stop … they didn’t go the manger!”  The entire family burst out laughing. That same year we had lunch with my cousins’ family before venturing back to the hospital.

Some years we attended Moravian love feasts—a tender commemoration of the birth of Christ—pure tradition, but it is comfortable and I enjoyed it.

Other years we had a variety of people in our living room or around our Christmas table. It seemed each Christmas took on its own unique flavor. Our main traditions were the trimming of the tree and the exchanging of gifts.  In later years we would get up early and go the breakfast at church before we did anything.

Once Mom went to Heaven, Dad and I felt our way along.  Grief does strange things to people especially at the holidays.  Today, I am grateful that each Christmas had its own flavor.  I try to put up a tree ---I enjoy touching the ornaments that link me with my parents --- life goes on.


We remember, because He came.  We rejoice because He is coming.  I celebrate for Him. 

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Coming Home


 

 

When I first started taking trips by plane, homecomings were exciting. My parents were there to meet right as I got off the plane.  There was something exhilarating in walking off the plane and right the arms of my Mom and Dad.  Then came 9-11 and security measures tightened. Loved ones had to wait awhile longer. Shortly before 9-11, my Mom went to Heaven, and it was my Dad who would meet me at the terminal.  There was still that same sense of anticipation … long trip … how I long to see a familiar face and the lights of home. Now, he has left for Heaven and I still travel and am still met by familiar friends and faces; however I miss being greeted by my family.  I am not looking for commiseration – I write this to make a point. As these thoughts went through my mind on a recent plane trip, my mind drifted to the portals of glory where I know they await. As I walk down the runway of death in God’s timing (whenever that maybe) or if Jesus raptures us all,  Mom and Dad may well be standing there at the portals of glory to help welcome me home – not ahead of Jesus—He must be first, because He’s the only reason I can even think of making it to Heaven.  I can sense and feel the excitement and the love.  God is good!