A Week Off

I'm going to be in hiding for the next four days. I have a paper to write and present for a women's group I'm in. Monday is the big day. I am also hosting the group so have to plan and prepare a luncheon for twelve. I have put off writing the paper because I am waiting for a library book from Oregon that I want to use. Sadly, it hasn't arrived yet. That means I have to find other resources on-line. It's doable, but the pressure mounts. I am beginning to feel the crunch.

Lunch is another challenge since some ladies are lactose or gluten intolerant. I have to find some good recipes for us. I don't know why I have put this off too, but I have.

So, after I sign off until next week, I will start looking at recipes, making a list of groceries, and hitting the internet for info. Wish me well.

Relying on the Lord's strength even though I got myself into this situation.

Jan

God's Secrets in Our Secret Places

Here is another question generated by the Sacred Secrets Bible study I am part of. Has God ever revealed secrets to me in our secret place, wherever that is? After contemplating the question, struggling with the question, and racking my brain over the question all week, Beth Moore's video this morning shouted out, "Of course he has!"

As we discovered today, the things we already know, that even the world knows, can become the secrets God whispers into our hearts when they are what we need most. Oh, how well I knew it, yet didn't know it. The video took me back to 2008, weeks after my husband entered the county jail. I have shared this story before, but today put it an a different context.

I once again recalled worshiping with my entire family at my son's church. It was an evening service. The sanctuary was filled. The music was loud, yet powerful. Voices, guitars and drums, rattled the rafters as the congregation sang a song they obviously loved, but the song was new to me. I just read the words on the power-point at first, then I began to sing. Finally I raised my hands and let the tears flow. The words of Matt Redman's song You Never Let Go had pierced right through me.

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?
Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me

This song had no new truths in it. I knew my God was with me. I knew he was holding me through the highs and lows, the calms and the storms. I knew he would never let go. That is just part of my faith as a believer. Most worshipers probably knew that too; however, as I stood there that evening, surrounded by family members as well as complete strangers, God told me a secret--something between just the two of us. In the intimacy of a secret place he whispered, "Jan, you have nothing to fear. No matter what happens, I'll never let go of you."

In that moment, Holy Spirit changed my long-confessed belief into our intimate secret.

So, to answer my question about God telling me secrets--yes, He does. I just wasn't recognizing them as such.

This secret remained secret for a season. Then He opened the door to the rooftop so I could loudly proclaim,

OH NO, HE NEVER LET GO. 

JUST AS HE PROMISED, 

HE NEVER LET GO OF ME!

 "Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you." Deut. 31:6

 Living in his grasp,
Jan and Licorice Kitty

Fighting Those Kerplop Days

Monday Tuesday noon, February 25, 2014

The days of the week all seem to blend together around here. At least for me they do. Monday drifted off somewhere without even saying goodbye, and Tuesday arrived unannounced sometime during the night. This is Tuesday isn't it?

Days keeps falling from the branches of 2014--week after week, one day at a time, like leaves. Some spin dizzily, some soar beautifully, some drift peacefully, and some just go kerplop. I seem to be in a kerplop season that has spinning or soaring or drifting days interspersed, but not often.

Spinning days with a full schedule of events or a minute-by-minute to-do list are fun. Although both energizing and tiring at the same time, they are days well spent. At least for me they are.

Soaring days consist of deep breaths of fresh air, no matter how much moisture it has. They are days of sensing the beauty of creation, the colors and shapes and aromas and textures. They bring awe of life, everything from slugs and elk to the people on the street and my grand-kids. Soaring days bring time with family and close friends. Those days I experience God at work around me.

Drifting days are sleeping in and/or staying up late, reading a book, thinking and wondering, eating whenever and whatever, even taking a nap if I so choose. I enjoy every minute of the peace and quiet.

Then there are the kerplop days: my humdrum state of mind days. Those are the times I withdraw from the world. Nothing is planned or scheduled. My senses shut down to the world around me. I do nothing at all, and feel guilty the entire time. It is the guilty feeling that makes my kerplop days different from from the rest. Those are the days I realize that depression still wants me in its strangle hold.

Kerplop days are existing days, not living days.They are days spent alone because they weren't started with God. Every means of communication he attempts are ignored. His quiet voice of reassurance and comfort, his plans for the day, his teaching and correction all are for naught. So, the days go kerplop.

That is not in God's plan. Days like that need to be fought until the breath of the Spirit picks them up and sends them spinning (even if just a single twist), sends them soaring (even if for a short time) or lets them drift peacefully (without any feelings of guilt on my part).

I don't want a kerplop-day existence. I desire spinning and soaring days of life as well as drifting, quiet, rest-filled, guilt-free days.

Breathe on Me, Breath of God

1. Breathe on me, Breath of God,

1. Fill me with life anew,

1. That I may love what Thou dost love,

1. And do what Thou wouldst do.

Edwin Hatch, 1878  

Jan and Licorice Kitty (She has gone from being a house guest to thinking she runs the place)

With or For Jesus

Finally, I have finished this post. It has taken me a week, but here it is.

As I thought about different sections of my Bible study last week, I kept coming back to a question generated by Beth Moore's video study Sacred Secrets. It wasn't a question she asked us, but one I asked myself. I wondered when I secretly help others, whether financially or by actions, am I doing them for Jesus or with Jesus? With or for? For or with?

What is the difference between the two?

Why this was such a difficult question to answer, I have no idea, but it was? I finally had to ask myself what it means to do something FOR someone. I finally came up with two answers. One reason is to aid someone who is having trouble doing something for himself--pay a bill, fix a meal, clean a home, teach a child. The other reason is to act on behalf of another, in their place. That is what a bond-servant does, acts in behalf of his master, and in his authority. That's you and me, bond-servants of Christ. As we walk out our Christian walk, live our lives with renewed hearts and minds, we act and speak for Christ, and pray we serve Him well.

One day when I stopped by my daughter's house and ended up helping her sort socks, I acted for Jesus without knowing it. I just did what I do--help out.

But acting WITH Jesus goes beyond that. It is a step beyond being a "good Christian". It is more than doing what I think is the right thing to do at the time.  It is not thinking back over my day and thinking, Wow, God was definitely in that encounter this afternoon. It is knowing, even before anything happens, that Jesus is about to touch someone through you.

Acting WITH Christ is rejoicing with Him and saying, Wow, Lord, you were awesome. Thanks for letting me come along. It is intentionally living each day with Him. It is spending time each day listening to what Jesus wants us to do together, then going out the door together, answering the phone together, reading together.  It is walking hand-in-hand with Jesus, and blessing people who cross our path. It is not "me" doing anything. It is "us" doing everything He desires.

Here is the irony of the original question as to doing something for or with Jesus. There is not only a "with" answer or a "for" answer. There is a "yes" answer.

A 'yes' answer to a two part question used to drive me crazy. My husband was great at it. "Would you like orange or grape juice for breakfast?"

"Yes!" What kind of an answer it that?

Or consider this example, "The kids need to be picked up from track practice. Were you planning to get them, or do you want me to go?"

"Yes!"

For some reason or other, I never broke myself of the habit of asking two part questions, and he never quit answering with his standard answer that told me nothing. It became a standing joke between us. So I had to chuckle to myself when I decided that there was a third answer to the Jesus question. That answer was, YES.

Let me explain my answer. Upon leaving the house for a basketball game the other evening, I prayed that I would do what Jesus would do in the coming events. You see, I had a car full of giggling teenagers on board. We made a quick stop at Burger King to pick up BOGO burgers before leaving town. As I stood in line waiting to order, I struck up a conversation with a grungy guy behind me. He was getting a cup of coffee and trying to warm up (it was freezing outside).

He got his coffee and seated himself in a booth while the kids and I headed out to the car with our food. As I looked at my burger, fries, and drink I thought, I don't need all this food. I ate something before leaving the house. So I picked up the burger, got out of the car, and headed back inside while the kids yelled, "Where ya goin' Nana?"

I hurried to the coffee-drinking gentleman's table, handed him the food, and said, "Enjoy." As I turned away, he grabbed my hand, thanked me, stood up, and kissed my cheek. I said, "Be blessed." Then I ran back to the car.

Giving food to a thankful man, was not only doing something WITH Jesus, it was also doing something FOR Jesus.

Matthew 25:40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me’."

After I returned to the car, I had to make a tough decision. Do I tell the kids what I had done? Part of our Bible study had dealt with doing things quietly, without recognition, in secret. 

“Take heed that you do not do your charitable deeds before men, to be seen by them. Otherwise you have no reward from your Father in heaven. 2 Therefore, when you do a charitable deed, do not sound a trumpet before you as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory from men. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward. 3 But when you do a charitable deed, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 that your charitable deed may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will Himself reward you openly.[a] Matthew 6:1-4 says.New King James Version (NKJV)

The joy of blessing someone with a burger was a great high-five Jesus moment. The amazement on the man's face was my reward in the open. But do I answer my passengers' question. I did--not for reward or praise, but because it was a teaching moment. I told them about praying to do what Jesus wanted me to do. I told them I felt a deep urging to give my burger away. I told them I really wanted to eat it, but needed to give it away out of obedience.

"Cool, Nana" a granddaughter said.

Did I do it with Jesus or for Jesus?  YES!

My you day be filled with JESUS YESES.

Jan and Licorice Kitty

A Post in The Works is No Post at All

I have a post written (more or less), but am having trouble saying what I want to say in a manner that makes sense to someone other than myself. So far I have not been successful. Maybe tomorrow.

Until then, I will sit out the present storm. The rain is coming down in buckets and the wind is roaring. According to a weather site, we are having sustained winds of 35 mph with gusts up to 60 mph. I have several jugs of water on the counter and a small flashlight in my pocket. I am ready if we lose power.

Tomorrow morning I am headed to my son's house for my birthday breakfast celebration. That should be fun. It will be followed by a noon luncheon meeting and a 3:30 basketball game. Oh what a busy schedule!!!

The blog post that isn't posted yet deals with the question, "Are the acts we do in secret, i.e. giving, helping, etc., done for Jesus or with Jesus?" I'll let you think about that while I do the same.

Have a great evening.

Jan and Licorice Kitty, who hasn't ventured outside at all today--truly a fair weather cat. She knows a good thing when she has it.

How Worn is Too Worn?

Writing this post is the last item to be crossed off my to-do list today. I still need to work on my Bible study, but since I didn't put it on my list in the first place, I can't cross it off. Guess that means I need to add it if I want to cross one it off. But if I add it and then don't do it, I will not have accomplished all I set out to do today. Oh the complications of a simple life. (If I were into emoto-cons, I would add a smiley face here. But I'm not, so I won't.)

I have been busy most of the day doing those things I don't like to do. If I had vocalized all my work-a-day thoughts, I would not have a voice left. First there was the inner debate about which of the clothes cluttering up my closet and drawers were necessary and which were not. What do I wear? What do I not wear? What will I never wear or sometimes wear or occasionally wear? What will I never fit into again? After the long inner debate was finally settled, I crammed the rejects into two plastic bags and plopped them outside my bedroom door. They are going to a special place tomorrow--the women's shelter.

But the other clothing debate was more difficult. How frayed can a sleeve cuff be before it is too frayed? How big a rip across a pant leg or shirt elbow is too big? These are well worn clothes I am talking about--painting, yard working, driving on the mower clothes. They are soft, baggy, comfortable, and taking up room on my closet floor clothes. Well, they were. They are now dumped just outside the bedroom door next to the shelter-bound plastic bags. 

But my discussion with my self  about how ratty is too ratty isn't over yet. The pants with the torn leg are probably going to stay out of the closet, but the denim shirt with the elbow ripped out will probably come back in.  This particular discussion won't be over until the dreaded plastic bag appears.

Don't worry, the ratty stuff won't be going anywhere special unless the rag-bag is special place to go. 

There is another discussion that needs to be held sometime soon. It has been at least five years since it has come up, so it is time for another go-round. I need to know what plastic storage containers in the kitchen have lids? Which don't? Which lids without containers, and containers without lids, are at my kids' homes and will turn up later? Does it even matter? 

There is also a sixteen-year-old debate that must be revisited; how many cottage cheese and yogurt containers are too many? I know I have mentioned this before, but my collection is still growing. I added one cottage cheese and four yogurt ones just this evening. Sorry, I don't like throwing out plastic containers that I can't recycle. Maybe I should fill them with rocks and dirt and start building a fence or wind break or, if I am ambitious, a cabin for visitors. There must be something I can do with them. 

In the midst of today's 'whats, ifs, and whens' came moments of thanking God that no matter how worn out, ripped apart, used up, or frayed I get, I'm never thrown out or given away. I get recycled into something better. 

Just to be absolutely clear here, I am not talking about reincarnation. I am talking about being a child of the Loving, Living God who continually remolds, reshapes, renews, restores, and redeems until I am what I was meant to be--a woman living totally as Christ did.

I still need much work.

With love,

Jan and Licorice Kitty

Snow Attack Cat

SNOW! Not much fell over night, maybe an inch or so. That might not have been much compared to what other parts of the state received, but everything I could see was certainly beautiful. The porch, the steps, and the concrete area between the house and garage were covered with untouched whiteness. So were the trees, the roofs, crocuses, and roads.

To be totally accurate, everything was not untouched. A couple cars had driven down the road, and some critter, probably a neighborhood cat, had jumped onto the porch, walked across it, then exited down the steps, across the concrete and into the great white beyond. Defiled snow makes me sad.

Then I let Licorice out. She wasn't so sure about anything at first, stepping gingerly with one little foot, then the other. After each step she would turn and look at me as if to say, "Stay right there. I might want back in real soon." I obliged.

Once all four feet of her feet were acclimated to the cold, fluffy snow, and her paw prints were intermingled with the intruder's, she started batting the snow around--a little here, a little there. Then, all at once, she jumped a couple feet into the air and came down in attack mode. Snow went here. Snow went there. Snow was a-flying as she jumped, rolled, flicked, and batted. Once every single flake was rearranged, she trotted back up the steps with tail held high, crossed the porch, and meowed a very clear, "OK, I'm done playing. Let me in now." I did. (I don't think she even said, "Please.")

I had no idea that one little Licorice Kitty could mess up so much pristine snow in a matter of seconds. The initial sadness caused by the defilement of  MY snow quickly turned to glee as Licorice played with complete abandonment. Another cat's paw prints are nothing compared to the utter chaos created by my cat's snow attack. What a great way to start a day.

It is now three in the afternoon. It is warming up outside, and a gentle rain has begun. The only snow in sight is on the lawn and in the fields. The rest has melted and soaked into the ground: God's way of preparing his world for spring,

Enjoy your day,

Jan and Licorice Kitty.

My Ideas Morphed

As I said Tuesday, I had a couple ideas ricocheting around in my head, ideas for the blog. That's when I tearfully wrote, "Saying Goodbye to A Heart Thief". I needed to talk my thoughts and feelings through instead of ignoring the fact that Big Dog's tumor had been a death sentence.

But the second group of ideas refused to land anywhere for very long. Just when I thought I knew where to go with the thoughts, they would take flight, and reveal new plumage in the process. What began as a simple sparrow on Monday morphed into something else altogether by today.

The 'sparrow' arose from the aftermath of the Super Bowl and the Seahawks' emphasis that the victory was because of the TEAM, not the individuals. Even the sports analysts felt that the entire defensive team could have been the Most Valuable Player--they all played that well.

From all the game-day hype came the image of the church functioning to perfection--each person doing their very best. There are no super stars, just the team.

That idea had barely formed when I began reading comments by Coach Pete Carroll about knowing the players as people, recognizing their individual abilities, seeing their heart and enthusiasm for the game, and encouraging them to be the best they can with what they have,

My flitting 'sparrow' immediately began changing from team-shaped to coach-shaped as I considered his words. Then, my bird became parent-shaped as I recalled all the crayons, markers, glue, tape, and paper our family consumed. I remembered the trumpet practices and concerts, the sporting events and special shoes, I remember the elementary school musical, and the church's children's choir and programs. They all flooded back as I remembered the abilities we recognized during our children's earliest years and the ways we encouraged them to grow.

Before long, the team-coach- parent shaped bird landed. I could see it much more closely. I could see that it was really God shaped. God knows us more intimately than anyone. He knows our abilities and our heart. He knows who and what we are to be, and does everything he can to help us become that person.

Then came yesterday and the Bible Study, 'Sacred Secrets' by Beth Moore. Once again the bird took flight and changed shapes--twice. As Beth encouraged the confession of our sins, transgressions, and iniquities, she talked of the freedom and happiness that results, Then came the statement, "Our exterior life must match our interior life."  If it doesn't, the area between our secrets in the interior and the visible of our exterior becomes the devil's playground. Sooner or later the interior, whether addictions, behaviors, harbored ill-will, etc., will be exposed.

This is the point my team-coach-parent-God bird resembled Russell Wilson, the Seahawk quarterback. (Do birds have dimples?) Everything I have read or heard about Russell says the same thing--what you see is what you get. From his profession of faith to his level head, from his compassion to his supportive nature, from his positivity to his joy, what your see on the outside is who he is on the inside. As some writers have said, he is squeaky clean and the advertising industries' dream spokesman.

While I was thinking about my interior and exterior, and whether or not I was a dream spokesman for the Lord, Beth had moved on. She was saying we should have:
Authenticity with all
Transparency with most
Intimacy with few

Out of this came the topic of social media and people (mostly younger folks) revealing anything and everything to the world, Nothing is held back. Their angers, disappointments, resentments, and indiscretions are proclaimed. Thoughts are spoken without filters. Things that were at one time shared only with one or two very close friends (intimacy with few) are now shared with all.

This transparency/intimacy issue also included sexuality.

As our ladies later discussed social media we recalled the days of face-to-face conversations around a dinner table, of visiting the neighbors, and of playing with peers. Much of that is gone today. I have read teens' posts in which they put themselves down as well as their classmates, friends, parents, and teachers. Then I  see the 'likes', and read the comments: words of encouragement and affirmation.

"I feel so ugly and fat today. LOL"
"U R always beautiful."
"Awww. ty"

"I'm so stupid. Wish I was like JJ"
"Your as smart as anyone. Besides, JJs a jerk."   (intentional misspelling)
"Yah, I know she is but I'm still dumb. LOL."
"Don't say that. You are smart."
"AWWWW. ty

"U R not dumb. U past the algebra test!!
"Aaaawwwwww. ty. Love ya

So it goes for 20 or more posts

It breaks my heart to see the pain and the search for love and acceptance these girls seek, not from a close, trusted friend, but from anyone on the friends list, whether they are friends or not.

But here is the scary part. According to one lady who had read a research paper on the topic, many young people today have lost the ability to read facial expressions and body language. When they spout off in a tweet or face book post, they can't see the hurt, disappointment, anger, or shock their vitriol might bring. On the other hand, they also can't see the joy, hope, encouragement, and appreciation their loving words put of the readers' faces. Because they have communicated electronically for so long, they don't see that  their words are having an effect, good or bad. They are blind: therefore, comments that were once considered rude and inconsiderate are becoming the norm.

Personally, I feel that Holy Spirit uses facial expressions and body language to cue my next actions. Do I shut up or speak up? Do I reveal something personal or not? Do I touch or keep my distance? Is the person lonely, happy, frustrated, etc. If I can't read the people, how can I minister to them?

The same goes for vocal inflections.

I won't say the birdie has landed for good. Ideas from the Seahawk's Super Bowl win continue bubbling up. But at this point I have a team-coach-parent-God-Holy Spirit shaped bird with Russell Wilson dimples. My mind's journey through Morph-land was good. At least I enjoyed it.

Well, I am off to town to get a balloon and flowers. My daughter and I are giving them to our senior basketball player. Tonight is her last game. A season of lasts and firsts is upon us again.

With love,

Jan and Licorice Kitty (Sleeping on top of the piano so she can watch her Welcome Mat mouse remains)

Saying Goodbye to A Heart Thief

What does one do with a couple small heads of old broccoli, a gallon of unopened milk that is quickly approaching its 'sell by date', some old, drying-up cheddar cheese, and an onion? Make soup, of course.

The above words were what greeted me when I opened my blog this morning because that was the way I started it last week. At that time I still wasn't feeling very well, hadn't purchased any groceries for a week, and didn't want to rack my brain figuring out anything, including what to eat.

Almost a week has passed since I wrote that.

The soup, by the way, was delicious. I added some potatoes to it the next day. Then yesterday, I poured left-over sausage gravy into what was left. That made it even more delicious. Now there are a couple 16 oz containers of broccoli-potato-sausage soup in the freezer for later this month.

I know milk products don't freeze well, but I am not picky.

Also in the freezer are several containers of lasagna left over from the Super Bowl Party Sunday (Yeah Seattle Seahawks), several 32 oz containers of turkey-vegetable soup from Christmas, and a couple 16 oz containers of navy bean and ham soup from a ham hock that was given to me the first week in January. Today, I am taking a large package of hamburger and making meat balls, meat loaf, and spaghetti sauce. With all that in the freezer, I'm set for the month, and need only buy fresh fruit and vegetables.  NICE!

So, now that I am feeling much better, football season is over, and there is food in the freezer, I can concentrate on writing, but what? There are two ideas chasing themselves around my skull, bouncing between my ears, and making my eyes cross. They are...I am not telling you what they both are--just one. Drum roll, please.

Saying Goodbye

Goodbyes are never easy, especially when it is a wonderful, loving, devoted friend you are saying goodbye to. Yesterday's goodbye was harder than ever because it was a final one. Since I compartmentalize so well, I can handle tough times without showing any emotions. Observant folks think I have ice water running through my veins. That is not true. It just looks that way. Behind the calm, unemotional voice, dry eyes, and encouraging attitude beats a breaking heart.

That was my yesterday.

I pulled into my son's driveway at 7:30 am, spread a blanket over the back seat of the car, and let Big Dog jump in. She loves going in the car. As we made an hour long trip, I listened to radio recaps of Sunday's Super Bowl, marveled at the beautiful scenery along the coast, talked to Big Dog, and told her what a fantastic girl she was. She slept most of the way, but did sit up and look around with an "Are we there yet?" look on her face whenever we slowed down. 

It looked like a normal, everyday, beautiful day in the neighbor hood. It wasn't.

At 8:30 am, we reached our destination. Big Dog was sitting up, wagging her tail, and eager to make her escape from the back seat. After I attached her leash and said Let's go, she seemed to know exactly what to do. She trotted around the car, sniffed the nearby landscaping, and then headed directly for the steps, bypassing the ramp, turned right toward the front door, and paused for me to "Pull" just as the sign said. The other sign said "Veterinary Hospital."

She had been there just two days earlier. 

While I signed paperwork for the upcoming exploratory surgery, Big Dog checked out the magazines, the pet food, and another dog. As Big Dog's leash was exchanged for the vet's leash, I gave her a big hug, told her I loved her, and let her go. She hesitantly wagged her tail, turned away, and followed the lady in the pink top into the bowels of the clinic.

I turned away too, took a deep breath, and said silently, "Is this goodbye, Big Dog?" At 8:45 a.m. I headed back home. This time my only company was the radio and another unspoken question, "Would Big Dog ever nap on my messed-up, dog-haired blanket again?" A long wait faced not only me, but also Big Dog's family. It would take five long hours before we knew whether Big Dog would ever come home.

Fifteen minutes after the 2:00 p.m. surgery began, the Dr. called saying he had found the expected tumor. It was the size of two fists, and surrounded the junction of the major blood vessels to the intestines. There was also a large pus-filled cyst that was leaking into the abdominal cavity (the reason for Big Dog's high white count). He could drain the cyst and continue with high-powered antibiotic, but removal of the tumor wasn't really possible because it would result in the loss of too much intestine, as well as blood. And if the tumor weren't removed, it would continue consuming protein (which translates to muscle mass) at a high rate. (She had already lost so much muscle). It was a lose-lose situation for Big Dog.

She wouldn't be coming home. 

As I said at the beginning, I compartmentalize well. My trip to the vet was little different than a trip to a basketball game, or the grocery store--same-old, same-old. I treated the vet visit as if I were merely picking up some pills, and brought the dog along for the ride. I refused to let myself think about what was to come. We all knew deep down that Big Dog was terminal, but wanted it not to be true--wishful thinking at its finest. 

Wishful thinking can only go so far. The breaking heart can't be ignored forever.  Once I let the reality sink in I realized that, No, she won't be coming home, but that isn't all.

She won't be running down the driveway to greet my car when I visited.

She won't be jumping into the back seat for the rides she loved.

She won't be retrieving the tennis balls I throw. She didn't care that I couldn't throw them very far.

She won't be running with her funny little skip every few steps. They made me smile every time.

She won't be putting her head on my knee for a pet-down, then pawing at my hand when I stop.

She won't be swimming the river to my house to escape the sound of fireworks or thunder.

She won't be sleeping on my sofa, head on my lap, when her family is out of town.

She won't be...

No, she won't be all those things and more, but she was a wonderful, beautiful, loving, devoted friend while she was here. The Lord blessed us all when Big Dog entered our lives.

Thank you, Lord. 

Thank you, Big Dog, you big ol', lovable, ball of fur. Love ya.

Saying goodbye to a heart thief is so hard.

Jan