Category Archives: Life’s disappointments

Adjusting

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One week ago, Birgitta, Emerald, and I left our Michigan home well before dawn in a car loaded with five bulging pieces of luggage and a sense that God was nudging us to the starting line of a unique adventure. We figured it wouldn’t be easy, but knew it would be significant, because he had been the one to initiate and then facilitate it.

IMG_4871After a grueling travel day of 22 hours, we reached our destination – the University of the Nations, YWAM’s global headquarters in Kona, Hawaii. Welcome baskets and hugs awaited, along with freshly made beds, bubble-stuff for Emerald, and even rice cakes with peanut butter for me. School leaders let us know they’d been praying for us individually for many weeks and that they were “so glad” to finally meet us.

Though our adjustments have been hampered by exhaustion, sickness for Emerald (a violent, 48 hour stomach flu), and steep learning curves on the how-where-when details, we are gradually learning who’s who and what needs to be done. Though the week was dotted with quite a few “lows,” veteran YWAM-ers advised us to delay judgment until the end of the first week.

FullSizeRender (3)So here we are, and they were right. We’ve all adjusted to the change of 5 time zones, everyone is healthy, and we’re functioning successfully within a well-structured schedule. But other categories have needed adjust- ment, too, some by God himself. I think back to that first morning on the YWAM playground, sitting in the warm sunshine with a cranky, sick Emerald as I complained to another nanny about our long travel day.

“Twenty-two hours and three airplanes!” I said, knowing she’d be impressed.

“Thirty-six for us.” she said, “Six planes. Three little kids.”

That two-line conversation taught me two things: (1) There’s no benefit to complaining, and (2) every person on this campus has a fascinating story of how they got here – logistically, yes, but also by way of God’s call.

IMG_1447Our best adjustment, though is the joy we’ve found living in a thoroughly Christian atmosphere — many cultures but only one God. With few exceptions, those on this campus (1200 in all) are here because they either love the Lord and want to know him better, or are sincerely seeking him for the first time. All ages are represented, and young children are everywhere.

So, after this first week, our expectations are high that God will make himself known in new ways – not just to student-Birgitta, but to nanny-Margaret, pre-schooler Emerald, and everyone else on campus.

Let the nations be glad and sing for joy, for you judge the peoples with equity and guide the nations upon earth. (Psalm 67:4)

 

What about Jack?

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Our good buddy Jackie-Boy has written his last blog. On January 5th his gentle heart stopped beating, and he fell to sleep. All of us began grieving the minute we made the appointment, but no one suggested we reverse the decision.

Snow dog, usedEarlier, Jack and I had shared a last walk, crunching our way around the neighborhood on icy snow, taking our time. For once I didn’t hurry him with, “C’mon, Jack. Let’s keep moving.” He stopped and sniffed to his heart’s content, though his heavy limp revealed a shoulder that was more painful than ever. But the frosty cold and 21 degrees was his dream weather.

Once at the vet’s office with Birgitta, Emerald, Louisa and her boyfriend Teddy, Mary, and me, he sniffed his way around, wagging happily and returning to each of us repeatedly for loving pats. Even after we moved to a private room, Jack continued to do well. The rest of us, though, deteriorated fast. It was hard to see the white blanket lying on the floor, though we were told he didn’t have to lie on it — his choice.

After that, our tears began to fall, and an invisible blanket of sadness wrapped around all of us. Dr. Mike, Jack’s vet, is exceptionally gentle and had been Jack’s friend for years. He’d given him an overall assessment several months ago and hinted back then that this day wasn’t too far off.

IMG_1422The scale indicated Jack had lost seven pounds, down to 72. None of us revealed, though, that just before coming to Dr. Mike’s he’d eaten two lamb shanks, a gift from his ever-thoughtful “Aunt” Mary. His tummy had never been happier — and there wouldn’t be time for an upset stomach.

Patiently Dr. Mike took us through the details of what was ahead and answered our questions. And then it was time… one injection to coax him to sleep and a second to stop his heart.

Jack, always a patient patient, didn’t even flinch as the first one was administered, but within a few short minutes his steps began to wobble like someone who’d had too much to drink. He walked over to the white blanket and plopped down right in the center of it, a wise choice. Kneeling in front of him, I petted, hugged, kissed, and loved my pal in every way I could, as the others did, too. Then, fully relaxed and feeling no pain, he slowly closed his pretty brown eyes.

“Take all the time you need,” Dr. Mike said. “I’ll come back when you’re ready.”

Wetting his fur with our tears, we loved on Jack and hung onto our last moments with him. But then it was time for the doctor to come back for the final step. Jack didn’t move when an IV line was inserted into his leg and the last drug put in. Though we’d been warned he might open his mouth, gasp for air, shudder, pant, or lose his bowels, none of that happened. He just slipped away without any movement at all – a good dog, even in death.

As for the rest of us, we couldn’t stop crying. Leaving the room while Jack remained on the white blanket was awful. Carrying his collar out without him in it hurt terribly. And as we arrived home to his footprints in the snow, my sobbing just wouldn’t stop. But that was only the beginning.

All the next day I stayed in my pajamas, something I haven’t done in 70 years. Unable to deal with dismantling Jack’s bed, washing his bowls, or putting his leash away, I just cried and cried. I’m fairly sure part of it was the history Jack and I shared with Nate. Six years ago when he died, Jack had moved in close with cuddly comfort. Though I still can’t explain it, my tears that day were somehow linked with fresh sadness about Nate, too.

The second day after was better, probably because it had to be. Birgitta, Emerald, and I boarded three consecutive flights on a 20-hour travel day that took us to Kona, Hawaii, and the University of the Nations there. [ Next post…. I promise.]

IMG_1427In the mean time, we’re thanking God for our dear pal Jack and the gentle way he left us. As we said goodbye to Dr. Mike that day, he hugged both Mary and I and said, “You’ve just given the kindest gift of all to your dog.” And though it still hurts, I know that’s the truth.

For everything there is a season… a time to be born, and a time to die. (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

When All the Choices Are Bad

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Everyday life forces decisions on all of us, some of them lightweight, others very heavy. But what’s the best way to make a decision when every choice is bad?

Tired JackieOur canine friend Jack is nearing the end of his life, handing us a heavy question. What’s the most loving way to deal with him, now that he’s old and infirm? In other words, when is pet-euthanasia kind, and when is it not?

Though technically Jack belongs to Louisa and Birgitta, they grew up and left home, which is when he became “mine.” God’s timing was perfect in that, since it happened simultaneously with Nate’s going to heaven. But for Jack, that was half-a-lifetime ago, and much has changed for both of us since then.

As my pain has calmed, his has climbed, which is why the girls and I are sensing we’re coming up against this rough decision. And we’re having lots of trouble making it.

Is there ever a right time to schedule that last appointment with a vet? Or should we wait? But then, wait for what? for one more thing to go wrong? for Jack to stop eating? or go into hiding? or fall down the stairs (again) and do damage this time?

In one week Birgitta, Emerald, and I will be leaving home for an extended period of time, me for about a month, she much longer. [Next blog] Though we’ve worked diligently to find daily care for Jack, we’ve been unsuccessful. But even if we had succeeded, we know being alone at all is very difficult for him right now. He claws at doors and howls to get close to us, new signs of his decline.

Besides, what if he had a crisis with no one nearby to help him? Would it be fair to abandon him while he’s so needy? And even if we could find good care, would we wrongly be transferring our difficult decision to someone else?

Though I’m filled with joy as I share this week with our daughter and her family in Florida, my pal Jack back home (with Birgitta caring for him) is constantly on my mind.

IMG_0801Yesterday I called Jack’s vet to talk about end-of-life issues for him. If we decided on euthanasia, exactly how would it go for him? For us? Though she patiently answered my questions, she couldn’t help me with the timing problem. The pressure of our upcoming trip makes us think no decision should be made right now. But simultaneously that same trip is forcing one.

Yesterday someone suggested God might have lined up these exact circumstances for just that reason – knowing we’d be unable to make this decision for Jack any other way.

As the Creator (of Jack and us) often does, He sent wise counsel through others who have had to make this same “bad” decision. And each of their stories has helped lighten our heavy thoughts. Most have ended their comments with the same advice: “Don’t wait too long.”

Before I hung up with the vet, I made an appointment – Jack’s last. In my heart I know it’s the best of our bad choices, but it still felt pretty bad. The only thing that made it tolerable was knowing we do have an option to cancel….

The righteous care for the needs of their animals. Proverbs 2:10