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!

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

August 21, 2012 ...


                                        My devotional thoughts were directed to Psalm 42 this morning, and the questions were pointed.  “Why ARE you cast down oh my soul?”  and the directive to hope in God , given twice.  In the middle of the Psalmist reminds himself of the love Yahweh …the one who keeps covenants:  giving love by day and songs by night.  No matter how much I hurt … no matter how messy I feel like this is… no matter how much I still miss my parents even at my age, Jesus is here.  I think that may be one implication of deep calling to deep … when we think we’re drowning in grief and sadness, God is deeper and He is there to catch us … “deep calls to deep” (vs. 7).  As an unknown author said, “there is no pit so deep, but God is not deeper still.”  And maybe it’s time I asked the Father to sing me a song or two.  I hear He has  a lovely voice.

Sunday, August 5, 2012


August 5, 2012

Today was a hard day. I can’t explain why.  It just was. I woke up wanting to cry and it went downhill from there. God graciously gave control where it was needed.   I’ve had a good weekend overall.  I don’t understand the sadness.  This evening Pastor Wilburn spoke from Psalm 73. There was a quote from Spurgeon, that in essence said, “God permits sometimes permits  difficult things in our lives not so much to burn out the dross, but to burn in the promises.” That resonated with me … I know I’m not perfect, but in these days of loss, I faced so much guilt … that promises have become foreign. I pray that in these hours promises can be burned into my heart and mind.  Whenever I’ve faced trials in the past, it never occurred to me that God was trying to burn his promises into this chronic worrier.  Pastor went onto quote George Matheson , a blind preacher of Scotland, giving another take on pain and loss,

"My God, I have never thanked Thee for my thorn. I have thanked Thee a thousand times for my roses, but not once for my thorn. I have been looking forward to a world where I shall get compensation for my cross; but I have never thought of my cross as itself a present glory. Teach me the glory of my cross; teach me the value of my thorn. Show me that I have climbed to Thee by the path of pain. Show me that my tears have made my rainbows."Amen. (Wilburn, Salem Baptist, 8/5/2012)

God meets us at when we need Him … when we seek Him …He is there.

Saturday, August 4, 2012


August 4, 2012

Two entries today since I missed yesterday …

Grandpa’s Candy Cabinet

Memories are funny things. They can evoke both laughter  and tears; more often than not I have been experiencing the latter.  I guess it’s the nature of grief and the way healing goes. I have been reading books dealing with grief lately and one of the points made is that often the more deeply we loved, the more deeply we will grieve. It’s how things are.  I had the privilege of spending some time with a friend today.  Being with her recalled some memories from childhood.  One of those memories was Grandpa’s candy cabinet.  My maternal grandfather had an insatiable sweet tooth. To satisfy that sweet tooth, he kept an assortment of candy readily available... orange slices, chocolates, hard candy, bucket candy at Christmas... you name it, it was likely there.  It was, however, locked away in a china cabinet.  We grandchildren would often ask, usually after Sunday lunch, ”Grandpa, can we have some candy? “ He would take his keys, unlock the cabinet, and into our outstretched, expectant hands, drop a few morsels. There was one Saturday, when I was too sick to leave the house.  I was spending the day languishing on couch in our den.  Grandpa was over at the house for a meeting related to the church.  He brought me some of his treasured chocolate stars from his cabinet, because he thought they would soothe my throat.  I was touched by this gesture of kindness by my otherwise reserved grandfather.   Why this memory today?  Maybe God knew that I needed to be reminded once again of the love that surrounded my family so that my heart be not overwhelmed with sorrow.  Love is of God.  The love that has existed in my family trans- generationally is a gift that only He can give. May I rest in His embrace and its blanket of memories during these days of grieving. 

So Run

I was watching the Olympics this evening and the utter elation with which the winners received and embraced their medals.  I was reminded of these words by the Apostle Paul  in I Corinthians 9: 24 Don’t you realize that in a race everyone runs, but only one person gets the prize? So run to win! 25 All athletes are disciplined in their training. They do it to win a prize that will fade away, but we do it for an eternal prize.” (NLT).  There have been times in recent days that I have been tempted to despair of life itself., but watching those athletes just now reminded me that I am running a race … for an eternal prize … I want the gold in that day.  Even though we say we live for an audience of One, Hebrews 11 plainly tells us that we have an audience in the heavenlies cheering us on.  I can’t disappoint them either.  To the finish line! Sola Deo Gloria!

Thursday, August 2, 2012


August 2, 2012

I’m beginning to understand why the man from Gadara dwelt among the tombs.  After work today, I needed to run an errand that took me by the cemetery where Mom and Dad are buried. We opted for traditional burials, because when making the choice the mausoleum reminded me too much of a filing cabinet.  There was a purpose to my visit … I wanted to be sure the marker was done to my satisfaction.  The aura of graveyard is hopelessness … that must have been why the man spent his life among the tombs … until Jesus came.  The cool thing about where my parents are buried is that there is a huge cross …. They are essentially resting in the shadow of the cross until the trumpet sounds and we are once again reunited to be with our Savior. Our Moravian brethren have sought to redeem the idea of death and the grave by calling their graveyards “God’s Acre.”   Over many Moravian cemeteries are arches with the inscription “Till the day breaks and the shadows flee away” Song of Solomon 2:17.  I’ve often remarked that I’m thankful that I was reared in the Christian and Missionary Alliance … I learned to love Missions and developed a passion for God’s work worldwide in that small denomination. I’m glad I spent my adult years in Baptist ("with a lower case b") circles, it was there I developed the theology to solidify my assurance of salvation and develop my own walk with God.  For some crazy reason I want to die a Moravian …because they seem to die with the praises of Jesus on their lips.

 Here is one of the standard Moravian Hymns:

Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness
my beauty are, my glorious dress;
'Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed,
with joy shall I lift up my head.

Bold shall I stand in Thy great day,
For who ought to my charge shall lay?
Fully absolved through these I am,
From sin and fear, from guilt and shame.

Lord, I believe Thy precious blood,
Which, at the mercy seat of God,
Forever doth for sinners plead,
For me, e'en for my soul, was shed.

When from the dust of death I rise
To claim my mansion in the skies,
E'en then shall this be all my plea,
Jesus hath lived, hath died for me!

O let the dead now hear Thy voice!
Now bid Thy ransomed ones rejoice!
Their beauty this, their glorious dress,
Jesus, the Lord our Righteousness.

By: Count  Nicolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf

Trans: John Wesley