Category Archives: Thankfulness

No Bones About It

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My dog Jack has his own following, and we frequently run into members of his fan club as we take our walks around the neighborhood. It’s not unusual for an oncoming car to stop just ahead of us, its driver hopping out to make contact. “Oh, Jack! I’m so glad to see you!”

The list of those who love him doesn’t end at the gate to our neighborhood, either. If I take him to the bank, tellers Ann and Cathy always have treats ready, even if we’re in the drive-through. When they spot his profile in the back seat, the tube-traveling canister quickly brings a bone right out to him.

Like most dogs, Jack shows appreciation by tail-wagging. We’ve learned to read his wags and have them categorized: high, medium, and low. Maybe it’s because he’s got a thick tail, but most of his wags are mediums and lows. Whatever the reason, a high wag is saved for only the best of friends.

One of Jack’s many fans stands above the rest, someone who receives lots of high wags. Her name is Karen, and she lives just around the corner from us. Karen loves dogs and often babysits for other people’s canines. But she keeps a special box of Milk Bones in her kitchen just for Jack.

Every time we walk near Karen’s house, Jack begins watching for her, his head turned and eyes glued to the front door, even after we’ve passed. If Karen sees us going by, she comes outside ready to give hugs, back rubs, kisses, and a bone to her furry friend. He loves her back with enthusiasm.

But Karen does even better than that. She faithfully leaves a bone on her front step for him. From the street Jack looks, wags, and strains at his leash, pleading to “go to Karen’s.” When I unclick him, he runs to her front door, stepping over the treat, in hopes of getting to her. If she doesn’t appear, he heads back for his treat. What he really wants, though, is Karen.

Jack has never doubted the strength of her love for him. If he didn’t know how to wag, she’d love him anyway, and he knows that. If he was hot and tired, unable to head for her porch, she’d come to the street to greet him. It doesn’t matter to her how Jack behaves. She loves him no matter what.

This relationship is a sterling example of exactly how the Lord loves all of us. It’s a no-matter-what kind of love that never wavers, regardless of what we do. The question is, do we love him back as enthusiastically as Jack loves Karen?

After a few minutes with her, I re-leash Jack and tug him toward home. But he always looks back longingly for just one more glimpse of the one who loves him so well, the one he enthusiastically loves back in return.

“Let your unfailing love surround us, Lord, for our hope is in you alone.” (Psalm 33:22)

Wait-and-See

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Between my sister’s family and mine, we’ve racked up 25 trips to local emergency rooms. Admittedly, most were a result of raising 14 adventurous children, but we adults have to take credit for some of them. Yesterday it was my turn.

One week ago a searing pain took over my left side so powerfully I couldn’t move to reach my phone or get enough breath to yell for Birgitta in the next room. It raged for nearly an hour before subsiding but eventually went away completely.

Later that day I told Louisa and Birgitta about it but asked them to keep it quiet. Although they honored my request, they pressured me to tell my sister Mary, our family nurse. I knew if I did, she’d insist I take immediate medical action, so I decided instead to just wait-and-see.

As the week progressed, other curious symptoms popped up: two sharp pains in the upper back, occasional dizziness, achy feelings in my chest, extra fatigue. Were these warnings about an approaching heart event? I didn’t want to risk damage by waiting, but didn’t want to over-react either. So I did what I always do when I don’t know what to do.

I asked God, then decided to just wait-and-see.

A short while later, I was catching up on emails and among them was a friend’s description of an adult daughter’s new heart problem. She also shared about her husband’s unexpected heart procedure at age 70. All I could think was, “Lord, you’ve answered my prayer, and now I know what to do.”

I told Mary.

Although I wasn’t in severe pain, within 90 minutes I was packed and driving from Michigan to Chicago where the two of us walked into the E.R. at Rush Medical Center. Approaching the check-in desk I casually said, “I’m having mild chest pain and…”

In seconds I was tucked into a wheelchair and whisked toward multiple blood tests, a chest x-ray, a rolling EKG, an IV line, and hospital admittance. I didn’t even have time to notify my children. My medical adventure culminated in this morning’s treadmill stress test, monitored by a doctor, a nurse, and a tech.

The upshot of the whole episode? I’m 100% heart-healthy with less than a 1% chance of ever having a heart attack.

So what was that all about? Maybe it was to prompt gratitude for the days I’m not in an ER. It could have been to get educated about heart-health, which we did. Maybe it was to newly appreciate my sister’s love and concern. Possibly it was a dress rehearsal for what’s coming, or a test of whether or not I really trust God when trouble hits. I guess I’ll just wait-and-see.

The whole thing leaves me with several questions, but I may never get the answers. Though ER docs suggested I follow-up with my regular internist this week, I think I’ll just…

wait-and-see.

“Keep watch over me and keep me out of trouble; don’t let me down when I run to you.” (Psalm 25:20, The Message)

Hand-crafted

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These are the developing hands of a 14 weeks-along baby, Birgitta’s little him-or-her. During the ultrasound picture-taking session, this tiny child whose hands had been against his/her cheeks for the first photos suddenly reached toward the camera, fingers splayed, as if to say, “Mama! Look what I have!”

Birgitta said that when these miniature hands flashed on the screen she began giggling so hard the baby joined in on the fun with an enthusiastic wiggle-dance. I like to think it was God’s uncontainable joy bubbling within Birgitta and flooding into her little one.

Being allowed to take a peek at what the Creator is doing inside my daughter’s womb is to get a glimpse of the wonder that God is. It was his idea to design hands as he did, making them useful tools we usually take for granted.

Hands are pretty remarkable. They’re flexible but can be stiffened to hold up something heavy. They can swing a hammer with force or caress a loved one with gentleness. Hands can shake each other in greeting or lend-a-hand as needed. They can cheer someone by clapping approval or reach toward heaven in prayer.

When God gave us hands, he also provided a hand-book. Scripture cautions us to be careful with our hands, to use them as he instructs. Jesus used his hands to touch the untouchable, the diseased, the contaminated. And he allowed his hands to be nailed to a cross for our benefit. One day we’ll get to see evidence of that when he shows us his hands and the scars he wears.

But what are regular people supposed to do with their hands? Birgitta’s child has hands that can’t do much of anything right now, though they’ve already gifted a young mama with joy. One day, though, they may play the piano or paint a picture. Maybe they’ll mold clay or repair computers, perform surgery, write books. We don’t know, but the Lord does, so he’ll help Birgitta coax her little one in the right direction.

But what about the rest of us? In response to God’s profound love, we ought to follow his hand-book to a T. It says we should “do good… be rich in good deeds… generous and willing to share.” (1 Timothy 6:18) He gave us hands to facilitate accomplishing this, and even told us how to handle those deeds: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” (Ecclesiastes 9:10)

In October our family will get to touch the dimpled, feather-soft hands of a new baby. We may just all start giggling in a fresh outburst of joy at what God has done.

“Can a mother… feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands.” (Isaiah 49:15-16)