At The End Of The World by Bob Jones

 

Three words rocked our world. They weren’t unexpected.

 

She has cancer.

 

“It’s in her spleen, stomach, kidneys, and it looks like some spots on her lungs. I’m so sorry.” The ultrasound confirmed our worst fears. Jocelyn and I couldn’t look at each other. The drive  home was in heavy silence. We knew the next 24 hours would change everything. What are we going to do? How do we tell our boys? Why did it have to come to this? Again.

 

Anyone who never allowed a dog to become a part of the family won’t understand or appreciate the devastation of a terminal diagnosis. Lord knows, it’s just a dog. I mean no disrespect to those who suffered the loss of a loved one or face a terminal diagnosis. 

Anne Lamott is one of my favourite writers. Her dog died on October 4th. She wrote, "My beautiful pal passed away yesterday at home. She had (somehow) gotten old. She was the perfect person and had the most beautiful smile. It is the end of the world and I feel that I will never have a moment’s happiness again. You may know the feeling. Sigh."

 

"The end of the world."  Couldn't say it better. This was the third time with the exact same diagnosis. All were Golden Retrievers. They had names - Tammy. Sprite. Silver. Each one had a unique personality. All were love on four legs.

 

Ironically, when Jocelyn was diagnosed with cancer her despair wasn’t nearly as intense as when three of our dogs were stricken with cancer. We had to put each one down. The drive to the clinic was like walking down death row. Meeting with a vet drove up the anxiety level in each of our dogs and they were never happier than when we left a clinic to go home. Silver had no idea she was not coming out of the clinic alive. 

A few last moments alone with her in the vet’s treatment room allowed all the memories to flood in. The puppy training, balls to fetch, leashes, cuddling on the floor, the first time leaping into a lake, road trips, dog slobber. Just a few months before Silver's life came to an end, she travelled with us from Edmonton to cottage country in Ontario. A family vacation in the truest sense of the word.

 

The night before Silver’s last day was spent in the living room together. The leather couch was off limits for her except that night. There wasn’t much sleeping. With first light, she got her favourite treats. The struggle to get them down assured us we were making the right decision on her behalf. That didn’t make the decision any easier.

 

We didn’t get another puppy. That’s not a choice for everyone, but for us we couldn’t and still can’t bring ourselves to face the same outcome. We find our joy in other people’s dogs for now.

 

When a parent, spouse, child or someone close to us dies, our loss is usually met with sympathy, comfort, and sincere condolences. We are allowed to grieve. We are allowed to cry. We are encouraged to experience our emotions.

 

But pet owners who had a terminally ill dog euthanized, hear quite a different story. Many will tell you that most people did not understand the depth of their grief. Some even experienced the gross insensitivity of a comment like, “Why don’t you just get another pet?”

 

We didn’t just lose a pet. We lost unconditional love. Our Goldens gave us emotional responses that were uninhibited by concern for how their expression appeared to others. They did not judge insecurity or imperfection. They were all-accepting in ways few humans can achieve.

 

In many ways, Jocelyn lost a confidante. Silver allowed Jocelyn to express parts of herself that she never let friends see. During a period of upheaval and trauma, Silver provided Jocelyn with security, stability and comfort. Her neck was a safe place to shed tears.

 

Our Goldens were gifts from God. Creatures made in the Creator’s image and in many ways, reflective of the unconditional love and grace of God. Don't tell my pastoral superiors, but I believe all dogs go to heaven. We were guarded in talking about pet grief. Now, we share our gratitude for the love we experienced and a listening ear for those going  through a similar grief.

 

How about you?  Has your world been rocked by the death of a four-legged family member?  Lean into the grief. Reach out for comfort. Bob.pb.jones@gmail.com

 I write to grow hope, inspire people to be real, forge an authentic faith in Jesus, and discover their life purpose.

Please follow my writing at REVwords.com

I would love to hear from you.

Bad Breath and Bravery by Connie Inglis

"Breathings of your heart." There's a warmth to that phrase. It is beautiful and gentle but honestly, not always realistic. We have all had morning breath, or garlic breath. Sometimes we snore. Sometimes we belch. Admittedly, sometimes our breathings are not pleasant. The physical solution is to brush our teeth, have a mint, chew some gum. But what about our internal breathings, when they are not gentle but ugly? What do we as writers do with that?

At the end of last year our family went through a tumultuous time (see my Dec. 2014 post). So much uncertainty. Yet through it all, God was faithful. We continue to work through things and He has brought abundant healing. Still, fear seems to be dying a slow death. Every now and then it lifts its moribund head and points its enfeebled finger at me. And to my surprise, I cringe.

Can I write about that? When life is foul? When human fears niggle at my heart and mind? I have found that it is especially in those dark times that I NEED to write in order to process. Last fall a writer friend gave me the book, Writing as a Way of Healing by Louise DeSalvo. This book has helped me write with the purpose to heal and I recommend it to anyone who needs a guide to be able to do that. I journalled my way through those months, kept my sanity, and clung to God. Many of the poems I wrote for November's NaNoWriMo (I did the Writer's Digest Poem-a-Day prompts) voiced my pain--some hope but mostly pain. It was therapy--Holy Spirit-driven therapy. I knew God's presence as I breathed out my fears, my anger, my angst, my questions. And I also knew that God did not condemn my vulnerability--that He loves me ALL the time and accepts me, bad breath and all. 

So, can I, should I, share these breathings with others? I am learning that if I truly DO believe that my worth is found in God and that He loves me unconditionally (Jeremiah 31:3), then I can be vulnerable with others. I can be brave in sharing who I really am in my writing. In her book, The Gifts of Imperfection, Brene Brown says it this way: "Courage is telling our story, not being immune to criticism. Staying vulnerable is a risk we have to take if we want to experience connection." 

Last November, in the thick of a long list of unexpected events, something especially painful happened. A group of people that we felt safe with came alongside us in all our questions of what to do. But instead of showing grace and love with a listening ear, they bombarded us with questions, gave us advice, and then shunned us when all we needed was support. I was so hurt and angered by the experience that for a while I couldn't even voice my pain. But I found I could write my pain and it helped me heal. 

Since then, I've had two opportunities to come alongside someone struggling in the same way. God gave me the courage to be vulnerable and share a specific poem--an ugly poem that expressed my pain. My breathings did not offer answers but they did offer connection and comfort. They knew that I understood their pain and anger and that they weren't alone. And both these people thanked me for my honesty. 

And now God is asking me to be brave right now and share this poem here. My prayer is that it will resonate with someone who has felt rejection and offer comfort. I must also add: I am SO thankful that God never rejects me, never rejects you--that His love is unlimited and relentless.

Rejection

Those sorries said are whitewashed tombs,

A cultured, hollow word,

A sorry here, a sorry there,

So heartless, dead, absurd.

You speak of care so tenderly,

With arms so stiff and cold,

In corpse-like form you shut the door,

And toss me from the fold.

Sepulchre of hypocrisy,

Rejection’s work is done,

For actions are the tell-tale sign,

And yours—they count for none.

Thankful - Glynis Belec

  

A+ Nice poem, Susan!

An acrostic poem is always the one my students pick if given a choice. An acrostic is easy to write because it doesn't need to rhyme. Often a name is the focus. "Easy-peasy," Susan utters as she scratches out a few words on the paper. No need to worry about the rhythm of the lines either. Each line can be as long or as short as Susan, the creator, wants it to be.

As I was contemplating my post and how thankful I am for each waking moment, I wondered if I might dare present my thoughts today, in a form I will brazenly dub - an extended-acrostic! Here we go:

On Being Thankful...

Time after time I mess up. I really did mean to send that card, make that call, send that donation, God. I know I sometimes must seem all talk and no action. I don't know why that is. I murmur about not having enough hours, enough money, enough strength. Then I feel shame-faced as I see those who have less than me doing what I should be doing. Forgive me, Lord. I will try harder. I truly am appreciative of Divine Grace.

Harmony in a home is what you desire. I know that. Sometimes I instigate and toss my patience out the back door. I forget the world doesn't revolve around me and I want my own voice to resonate. Thank you for reminding me to stop and think before I speak and for letting me know that sometimes I can say it best by saying nothing at all.

Abba, Father. I surely am grateful that you know my heart. I play the game, don't I? I pretend to have it all together on the outside. Especially on Sunday where I gather with others to worship. Someone says, "How are you?" I lie and say, "Fine." I really am dying on the inside but I don't want to reveal my heart and seem weak. So I smile and move on. Why do I see the church as a haven for saints instead of an emergency room for sinners?

Normal. Whatever is that? I keep waiting. Maybe when I make it to that magic five year number being cancer free. But my happy hubby - recently diagnosed with leukaemia - does that mean I need to wait another five years for normal? "Be still, my child," You say. "I have it all under control." Thank you, Jesus. I needed to hear that.

Michael Bull Roberts speaks in Drayton. What a message! 

Kindness, "...is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see." Mark Twain once wrote. Teach me not to attach strings to those times when I can offer a hand to someone. Let me never feel obliged because of religion but, rather, let the blessings pour out of me because of the blessings that you have poured into my life. I learned that from Michael Bull Roberts last week. He spoke about horror and the consequences of poor choices but he didn't stop there. He shared how You, Lord, showed the greatest kindness of all and extended your Grace to him. Thanks for teaching me, through that big, tattooed, former drug lord, turned crusader for Christ, how a heart can be changed because of kindness.

Forgiveness is that final form of love. For God so loved me and everybody else, that He gave Jesus to die on the cross for sin. That is pretty sickening when I really stop and think about it. Not the part that I am forgiven. (That's the truly amazing part) but I mean the part where it was because of my selfishness and because I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn't even think. And I still do things that I shouldn't - that are sinful. Yet the blood of Christ covers it all. Precious Lord, how I am beholden to you.

Unconditional love? Do I exhibit that in my day to day? I like to think so, but what is that rumbling? I want to strike out; point out error; announce that I was right. Then if someone won't listen to me or criticizes my judgement, then I want to retaliate; react; even the score. Then I remember how you forgive and love me anyway. I need that example. I need to daily consume Your Word. It's funny...when I do read your precious words, I feel somehow rejuvenated and more able to love. Thank you for teaching me and loving me consistently and without condition [just like you do.]

Love - and the greatest of these [Fruits of the Spirit] is love. If it wasn't for the love of God, I may as well believe that this world was created in a big bang or something crazy like that? But how can that be? God loves His creation. He perfectly made everything and everyone for a purpose. I want to keep trying my best to please God as I journey on. It saddens me to think I break God's heart. I think that is because I love Him so. If I didn't, would I care? As I gather with my family for a Thanksgiving meal, I will look into the faces of each one of my relatives - young and old, and I will say 'Thank you." Love brings us together. Love brought us into being. God is love. and for that, I am truly thankful...

T-H-A-N-K-F-U-L!