Destination Discipline

I rescued her from the pound when she was around 10 weeks old. We could only guess her age because the person who left her there didn’t leave specifics. She was the only puppy that wasn’t bopping around like a bouncy ball. Maybe that’s why I loved her. She just sat there with this sad look that said, “Save me!” And so I did.

The animal shelter told me she was very sick and so I took her to the veterinarian closest to my home. I met Dr. Dan Wentz of Ferguson Animal Hospital under less than idea circumstances. Some of his first words to me included:

“Your puppy has Parvo Virus and will die if you don’t treat her. I believe I can save her.”

And he did.

He told me she was probably a Mastiff and would grow to be around 80 pounds. I thought she looked more like a little Golden/Shar Pei mix. She grew into her body and personified a golden retriever with impetuous manners and a heart as golden as her fur. Although I’ll never know her exact heritage, it matters not. She was just Gwen(short for Guinevere) and I loved her.

Gwen loved to wander. Maybe it was the retriever in her. I used to think she would sneak off on purpose but now I believe she just got distracted by the beauty around her and liked to follow her nose. But she always came home. Today is the first day she didn’t. We made our final trip to see Dr. Dan, the only place Gwen truly hated to go(probably because of all those needles and tubes and bad smells). I said goodbye to my first dog after 16 and a half years of friendship.

I have a lot of memories and I suppose I could bore the reader with all of them, but I won’t. But as I process through the fresh grief, I’d like to put a few here, if for no other reason than I may forget them later.

Gwen loved me most of all, even though she was initially a gift to my eldest son on his 3rd birthday. She hated to be away from me and would refuse to eat when I left her to travel. This was especially evident today. Her body was tired but her iron will remained. She held on as I sat next to her and recited the 23rd Psalm. I could tell that even in death, though her body was old and sick and very, very tired, she was afraid to leave me. I told her it was okay to go. I told her I would be okay. And I will.

Gwen was happiest in the country. She loved walking along the river bank. She had this wise gaze she employed that said she was making sure everything was safe for me. Gwen always did everything in her power to make me safe. She was a faithful friend that way.

Gwen didn’t like rabbits. One of my other pound rescues, an ornery black lop named Grover, bit her on the nose when she was a puppy. Gwen was a smart dog. She learned the first time not to poke her nose around a rabbit–for that matter–any rabbit.

As I mentioned before, Gwen liked to wander, and one time she came home with cut paws that needed to be stitched. I was out of work at the time and worried about the vet bill. I took her to the vet(not Dr. Wentz that time) and they stitched her back together. But while I was waiting for the techs to bring her back to me, she snapped at them, hopped off the table, and somehow managed to escape the clinic. By the time they told me, she was long gone, wandering around a strange city fresh from being put to sleep and still recovering from heavy anesthetic. It took us an hour to find her. When she saw me, she ran straight to me and hopped in the car. The vet gave me a 50% discount for our trouble. I don’t know that I’ve ever had such a “Thank you, Jesus!” moment as that one. I guess she knew I couldn’t afford the whole bill and made sure I didn’t have to pay it.

My “pound puppy” was sick most of her adult life. Between skin allergies(which were worst in the Fall) and a mysterious lymphatic disease that plagued her off and on, it seemed like her days were always numbered. She suffered through round after round of anti-biotics, and through the puppy-hood of a particularly rowdy boxer named Hodges. We grieved together when he left this phase of our lives. Now they are exploring Heaven together.

Gwen wasn’t a perfect dog, but she was a perfect friend. I will miss her. And while I certainly hate death and everything that has to do with dying, sitting by her side in her final hours was my pleasure. Because when I think of all the times she sat by my side while I was sad, or just needed someone, it was really the least that I could do.

Life in the shadow of pain is dark. I feel as if I am standing beneath a monstrous cloud which inherently blocks the golden rays of the sun. Even worse, I can see the sun shining on things around me. Purple and yellow Violets dance, butterflies drink deep of their nectar, and the creek bed giggles and frolics in the warm and inviting rays. I have stretched wide my arms to reach into that golden and glorious realm but I cannot touch it. I am alone. Forsaken. Broken.

Despair has called my named. It is not the wretched gurgle one would expect, but rather the sickly-sweet song of respite. It promises relief by a thousand vices, but I know they are all lies. I know because I have tried them all, and none of them have given relief.

Where is God? Is He is hiding? Is he is tied up with more important matters? Maybe He doesn’t exist. I mean, I don’t feel him. He isn’t answering my prayers. Obviously this Christian thing is crap.

On Sunday morning I rode my bike beneath this cloud and listened to Dr. Bernard Leikind address the problem of pain and suffering. You can read more here.

The more I listened, the more I began to question my own faith. A question popped into my mind, “Is Christianity really nothing more than a hopeful wish?” This question led to other questions.

“Have I hung all my hopes on a fantasy?”

“Is pain and suffering really all there is until I die–interspersed only every so often when the clouds of pain dissipate?”

I considered the wheel-crushed bullfrogs on the road as evidence of this. There were hundreds. And I thought, “This is my life”. I’m just hopping down the road waiting for the truck tire to smoosh me into oblivion.

And this is how Dr. Leikind addresses the problem, “To confront human evil, to respond to human suffering—our own or others—and to cope with natural disasters, we’re on our own. We must deal with these afflictions individually and collectively. We can’t rely on supernatural powers to help us.”

How am I supposed to respond to that?

So I considered all the different shapes and sizes of pain in the world and I asked myself more hard questions.

“Is there any drug powerful enough to wipe away the shame of being raped?”

“Is there any pleasure known to mankind that will erase the discomfiture of being wheelchair-bound for life?”

“What human being(much less an entire community) can salve the wound of infertility?”

Honestly, I imagine collective humanity holding hands and singing “Kumbayah”, except when the song ends, I still hurt.

This must be why we—as human beings—long for help. Otherwise, why do we tell stories about super heroes? Why else would do we look to the sky and wonder if our moments have meaning and purpose? If God is nothing more than an invention borne out of hope for relief of pain and suffering, a nice little myth to give us peace in knowing that when we die we don’t simply cease to exist, then I am absolutely terrified. If God is not real, I feel totally screwed.

What about Karma?

I have a few friends who believe very strongly in Karma. So I researched what Karma actually is. And to be honest, it’s a nice thought, actually, until I follow it through to its logical conclusion. For how could I ever do enough good to make up for all my mistakes? Wouldn’t I always be paying for my actions or in-actions. And, how many lives will it take to get it right? 5? 10? 1,000? Eesh.

And how does Karma comfort me when I face of the man who murdered my child? Does the thought of him as a dung beetle in his next life help me deal with the echoing void in my heart? How do I deal with the fact that my mistakes probably earn me the life of a dog that is chained in a backyard at the next go-round?

Amazing Grace

After the events in Orlando, a friend of mine told me she couldn’t stop crying. Her brother is gay. And the pain(born of fear) is just too much for her to bear. She told me, however, that she was comforted by the song, Amazing Grace. I was surprised to hear that, especially since she is not a Christian. And I wondered why. Is it the melody? It’s actually not a very upbeat song musically speaking. If not the melody, then it must be the words. So, even though I’ve sung that song before, I looked up the words. You can read them(and listen to the music) here.

I asked my friend if she knew the story of John Newton—how he was at one point a very wicked man(slave-owner, drunk). She did not. And I wondered why she was so comforted without knowing the story behind it. John Newton knew he was a wretch and had been forgiven by God for all of his transgressions. That’s why he wrote the song. He even went on to participate in the abolition movement, after participating in the slave trade for years. That is why the song chokes me up. It would be like the perpetrator of the Orlando shootings coming out and saying, “I know I killed all of those people, but hey, I’m saved now. God forgave me.” That kind of grace is hard, right? I mean, I don’t know that I could give grace to someone who took the life of my child.

It’s interesting to me the different reactions people have had about the shootings on social media. My favorite was the quote from Fred Rogers. I saw it on page after page. Now, maybe my feeds are different than your feeds, but most of the people I know posted encouraging words of prayer and solidarity for the families. Mrs. Rogers was right—there are so many helpers! But where was the grace for the family of the perpetrator of the killings?

Crickets

And yet my Bible seems to indicate that God is there with them too. If grace means “unmerited favor”, and Jesus took that terrible transgression(murder!) and would forgive even the murderer… Wow. When I consider that God himself paid the price for the murderer’s sin so that even he could be forgiven… Why, I don’t know anything more amazing than that.

But I’m still hurting. And he still hasn’t taken away my personal pain. Yes, pain asks the hard questions and pain demands real answers, and not just a fluffy pillow(by way of a bottle of pills, an ice cream cone or even a smaller waist).

This morning I opened my devotional book because its a habit, not because I really wanted to. I was directed to read Genesis 3, in which the curse imposed on mankind is described. It describes the story of an otherworldly beast(Satan), who, for no other reason than because he can) tricks Adam and Eve into forfeiting paradise with God forever. And then, in that moment of discovery(by God), where he curses Adam and Eve and the whole planet, the Creator of human beings also promises to defeat Satan and deliver men and women from the same curse(sin) because He love them so much and He knows they can’t save themselves. My devotional book reminded me that God loves to rescue me. So why am I still waiting for relief?

I think it’s because the world is still cursed. I think it’s because sin is so real. The Bible says(and it seems about right to me) that all of creation is groaning as in the pains of labor because of sin. And until Jesus returns(as he promised when he walked the earth), we will continue to deal with pain and suffering. The good news is, even in the midst of pain, fear, uncertainty and ghastly sorrow, if we choose to love and trust Him, he promises to walk through it with us. So even though I’m still hurting, I feel his presence. He is telling me, “Margaret, I love you. And that is enough.”

This world certainly feels cursed to me sometimes(especially today). And when I consider all that the Bible says – about a God who loves people and desires to save them from a mess of their own making—going so far as to bridge the gap himself—all so I can have a love-relationship with Him…. Well, its kind-of humbling. And wonderful. And when I consider that Satan keeps working every day to destroy humanity, (because he hates them), but that God has already defeated him(through the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus), and all I need to do is love God and trust Him…. Well, that kind of grace really is quite amazing.

And I suppose I could believe in Karma, or in myself and the ability to be good, or even in collective society(as Dr. Bernard Leikind says I should), but the thing is, those things suck. Because I know myself. And I know the people in society. And the idea of Karma really freaks me out(I would totally end up as a spider beneath someone’s shoe).

So today, after all the questions, I still arrive at the same answer: Jesus. It’s not always easy or intuitive to do so and it sure doesn’t always come naturally. But I choose to believe in him and love him because I feel loved by Him. He is my super hero—my ‘so-much-better-than-Superman’—superhero. And when the pain is deep, long-lasting and cruel, He doesn’t leave me or forsake me.

Today if you are hurting, consider that there is a love so strong and able, that it can forgive the unforgivable. And not only forgive, but make it possible to be forgiven.

Isaiah 53:5 “But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and by his wounds we are healed.”

Today I didn’t reach far enough to feel the sunbeam. My arms are too short and the cloud was too big. But Jesus joined me under the cloud. He made a way to be near me so that I could feel the warmth of his love on my face. And the warmth of the Son is so much brighter and more beautiful than the sun in the sky that I completely forgot I ever needed it in the first place.

I took a bite of the muffin. I felt the quickening of my heart and the desire to gobble it up as quickly as possible. Each crumb melted in my mouth even as it stimulated my taste buds. I tried to slow down. I took a drink of hot tea. I waited 10 seconds. Then I inhaled—-and it was gone. The moment the view of my empty plate stared back at me, I felt the compulsion to run to the refrigerator and get another. And another. And another. I paused and considered how best to respond. My shoulders sagged. Today was a good day. I stopped after 2 muffins. But tomorrow? This is my conundrum… There is always tomorrow.

I don’t want to be a compulsive eater. Sometimes I wonder if I will always struggle with food. Even though the vast majority of the time I make healthy choices, the impulse to eat foods like (my absolute favorite) Pantera’s Pizza is always there. I don’t remember the last time I ate Pantera’s Pizza. I only know that sometimes the thoughts of thick, chewy crust come to me as I consider my next meal. Maybe it’s because I have so many good memories of eating it as a child. Or maybe it really is just that good. Either way, there is nothing inherently nutritious about it and so I try to be intentional and not put it into my body.

Now maybe you are reading this and thinking, “But Margaret, you have to live a little! I mean, come on! You should have a cheat day now and again. You can eat Pantera’s Pizza. Just eat one piece.” Queue the sigh and more sagging shoulders. Food is a no win for me. Let me explain why.
When I stare into the halls of my heart, it is not unlike a hall of mirrors one sees in the movies. I look into the infinite number of selves reflected and wonder which one is the real villain. Now maybe you are thinking none of them should be the villain but I know the truth——they are all the villain. Each self-reflection has the capacity to eat uncontrollably if given the option. So when I consider eating a trigger food(like pizza) I gaze down the hall of mirrors and see the first Margaret taking a bite and then the next Margaret taking a bite, and well, you get the idea. Because that is how food addiction feels. There is no satisfaction in eating one piece of pizza. So while it is physically possible to eat one piece and throw the rest away, I also see each Margaret reflected groaning over and over again as she considers how painful that will be. I can’t win.

So often we look at the choice(to eat or not eat) as the only two options. We stare at the menu. We see French fries or salad, and we bite our lip in frustration. Maybe it’s because of the conflicting messages we see daily via advertising. One ad tells us we should indulge(by way of a picture of gooey, chewy pizza) while another advertisement tells us we should all look like Gisele Bundchen. To be quite frank, it makes me want to find an advertising executive and punch him in the gonads. I mean seriously, what a jerk! (but I digress). What we don’t often realize is that there is a third option.

What is the first lesson we learned as children when we ran towards the street? If we had good parents who wanted to protect us, they would shout, “Stop! Look and listen!” I use this same principle when I consider the roller coaster ride of living a healthy lifestyle. I have learned over time to pay attention to how my body responds to certain foods. Whether it be environmental(pesticides), factory added(artificial colors), or highly processed(sugar/high fructose corn syrup) the foods we put into our bodies have a real and sometimes lasting affect us. They affect not only our waistline, but our brains. Did you forget about that little organ at the top of your noggin? You shouldn’t! That little machine controls all of the processes that make your body function the way that it does.

One of the most important things I have learned in my journey to better health is to use my brain via a tried and true measurement; good common sense. I know—–it’s harder for some of us than others (I’m talking about myself here). And I definitely didn’t learn it overnight. My journey began with the simple understanding that my appetite was out of control. Once I decided to learn why my appetite was out of control, everything changed. This was in large part due to the time I invested to search the darkest depths of my heart in order to understand my behaviors. Some people need counseling to help them through this step. That’s not an avenue I have pursued, but I see nothing wrong with that. I talk to God a lot. And I have awesome family and friends. Also, once I had the proper knowledge structure in place, it became imperative for me to act on what I had learned.

Saying no to foods (and bad behaviors) I really want to indulge in is a discipline that I am still learning. Gossip will always be a struggle for me, much the same way wanting to eat a plate of fudge is. The good news is, I have learned that neither are good for me(or anybody else for that matter!). I have learned (through trial and error) that the ingredients in Panteras pizza affect my body adversely, but I have also learned that there are plenty of healthy choices in the world that satisfy my hunger and my taste buds. Therefore I have learned that I don’t need to eat Panteras to feel happy. I have also learned(sometimes with great pain) that my eyes are about 10 times bigger than my stomach. It takes about 10 minutes for my stomach to catch up with my buggy-eyes and therefore, the discipline of putting down my fork is a thoughtful activity. It is not easy. But it is important. And I would like to encourage the reader today—it is a worthwhile activity.

The day I learned I didn’t need food to be happy was the best day of my life. Now, when I am tempted to eat foods that affect my body for ill, I remember what I have learned. Sometimes I indulge. Other times I do not. But I always go into each situation with my eyes wide open.

The next time you look at your body and despair, consider the following:

Why do I feel the way that I do about my body?

Who am I comparing myself to and why?

Then consider you have only one body to inhabit for the rest of your life and ask yourself how that knowledge will change your perspective going forward.