Dogged Through Life

Posted on October 22, 2013 by Margaret

I come from a long line of dog-lovers. Both of my folks grew up with dogs and told stories of how difficult it was to eventually say goodbye. Dad liked the trustworthiness of dogs, and Mom saw them as good examples of unconditional love. (She returned the favor by keeping Milk Bones in her purse.)

Our childhood dog, Toby, lived 16 pampered years with us, but cancer eventually took over. One day while we were all away at college, Mom and Aunt Agnes made the excruciating decision to have Toby put to sleep. It was the kind thing to do, since he was in constant pain. But the minute Mom got home she changed her mind and called the vet. “Don’t do it! I’m coming to get him!”

The vet was one step ahead of her, though. “You’re not the first one to call me back,” he said. “Your Toby is already gone.”

As hard as that was, Mom knew he’d done her a favor. Making that decision once was hard enough. Twice would have been impossible.

She wasn’t dog-lonely for long, however. Through the years, her doggie-desires were abundantly satisfied with lots of grand-dogs, since she and Dad raised a family of dog-lovers, too.

(Montego, Pepper, Gunnar, Wrigley, Sydney, Wilbur, Jack, Strider, Blue)

I think God is pleased when we love the creatures he’s made. That includes dogs, cats, gerbils, canaries, and every other animal people give a name to and care for as family members. Appreciating animals is to appreciate the One who originally gave them to us.

And if that’s true, then valuing the pinnacle of his creation (people) is even more important, more dear to him. We might say, “But animals are easy to love, because they always love you back. People can be downright unlovable. God doesn’t expect us to love that kind.”

Then we read the Bible:“This is the message that you have heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.” (1 John 3:11) God’s instruction has always been (and always will be) to love each other and act accordingly. He doesn’t say, “I know it’s hard to love those who make your life miserable, so just love the ones you ‘click’ with.”

Why do we have to love everybody? He gives a two-part answer: (1) “Love them because I love them,” (John 3:16) and (2) “Love the not-so-good-ones because I love you.” (Romans 5:8)

And there’s one more reason. Scripture tells us no one can see God and live afterwards, but if we consistently show love to others, especially to the unlovables, people will see God-in-us, which is exactly the reason he wants us to do it.

So when we’re ready to try loving unconditionally, we know where to go for our first lesson: to our doggie friends, because they model it really well.

“If God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us.” (1 John 4:11-12)

Where is it?

Posted on October 16, 2013 by Margaret

The past 5 days I’ve had one happy experience after another. It began last Thursday with a flight to Albuquerque, New Mexico, for 24 hours with Susan, a prayer partner from our church in Illinois. We made the most of our time together, including an hour of prayer while sitting next to her swimming pool in the warm desert sunshine.

After leaving New Mexico, I flew to Colorado, to connect with 7 close friends from our years together at Wheaton College: Junior, Pam, Leslie, Cheryl, Carolyn, LeeAnn, and Julie. We enjoyed school memories, did some sightseeing, and caught up on each other’s families, making sure to lay the groundwork for our next meeting in a couple of years.

I caught a ride to the airport in the “early” car, several hours ahead of my departure time, to connect with Sue (another sister in Christ) at the Denver airport. Our 4 hours together were a lovely grand finale’ to 5 days of memorable re-connections with won- derful women.

There was only one flaw. Somewhere along the way I lost my camera, a trusty tool I’ve used for years to take pictures for this blog, among other things. On Day #2 I emptied my purse and suitcase, carry-on and computer bag, pockets and gift bags, but it was nowhere.

Though I could take pictures with my iPhone, the camera card contained important photo files and was easier to use. But after 4 days of searching, I concluded it must have been in my coat pocket and slipped out during travel. The only thing to do was let it go.

I thought I’d mastered that after our 2009 move from a big house in Illinois to a small one in Michigan, paring down our possessions by two-thirds. But releasing my camera was a letting-go I couldn’t master. What was God trying to teach me?

My “girlfriends” and I joked about my inability to stop looking for (and complaining about) my camera. But one of them said, “Release it into God, and he’ll probably bring it back to you.”

That sounded like, “Let’s make a deal, Lord. I’ll let it go, if you make it reappear.” I couldn’t do that.

Finally, after stewing all the way to Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, I surrendered. “Ok, Father,” I said. “I know you want me to let go of my camera, so here and now, I do. It’s gone, and I accept that.” It was a weight lifted.

By the time Louisa and I pulled into our Michigan driveway, I’d completely stopped thinking about it. It had simply been God’s refresher course in holding possessions lightly, a “skill” he wants me to practice regularly.

Several hours later, while kneeling on my bedroom floor pulling things out of my carry-on bag (looking for my phone charger), I gasped as the camera plopped onto the carpet in front of me.

I’d emptied that bag 100% – twice – while searching in Colorado, and it absolutely had not been there.

“You are great, O Lord God. For there is none like You.” (2 Samuel 7:22)

Try, Try, and Try Again

Posted on October 14, 2013 by Margaret

Back in the sixties, Elvis Presley recorded a love song called, “Trying to Get to You.”

I’ve been traveling over mountains,
Even through the valleys, too.
I’ve been traveling night and day;
I’ve been running all the way,
Baby, trying to get to you.

When someone is in love, nothing can dissuade him from wanting to be with his beloved. A great illustration of this was when my friend Carole was engaged to her Reggie in 1969. She was in Florida, preparing their first apartment, and he was finishing a job 1400 miles away, in Chicago

Being separated was torture, and they spent hours on the phone. Then one day Reggie couldn’t wait another minute and jumped into his orange VW Beetle, pointing it south. Except for gasoline stops, he put pedal to the metal, “trying to get to Carole.”

While in England recently I experienced another version of the same thing. Early each morning as Katy and Hans supervised the waking, dressing, and bed-making of their 4 children, I was “hiding out” in the next room, taking advantage of a few minutes devotional time. They facilitated my efforts by telling the children, “No one disturbs MeeMee when her door is closed.”

One morning while sitting on the bed praying, I heard whispers in the hall. “She’s in there!” Suddenly 10 little fingertips appeared under my door trying to get as close to me as possible without violating the parental edict. Soon a second and third set of fingertips appeared, “trying to get to me.” I felt very loved.

All of us will make a major effort to get close to who (or what) we love. That includes both appropriate love (such as between engaged couples) and inappropriate (like drugs, for example). When love is strong, we work hard “trying to get to” whoever or whatever it is.

I’ve wondered if I am that passionate toward the Father, Son, and Spirit. Am I “trying to get to them?” Or do I succumb to excuses not to try:

I’ll do my Bible study lesson after my work is done.
There will be other seasons of life when I can pray, but not now.
I can’t manage a spiritual life because I keep getting interrupted.

Our “get to you” factor is a good chance to see where we stand with the Lord. If we never get there, we probably should reassess.

On the flip side, anything I do to get to him can’t possibly compare with the effort he made to get to me. Jesus did it in two ways, first by setting aside divinity to put on humanity, and then by willingly suffering through death. His actions said, “I’ll do anything to get to you.”

When I remember Reggie’s race to Carole or my grandchildren’s fingertips under the door, I can ask myself, “Am I trying to get to God like that?”