To a Whisper

I'm sorry for my silence lately. Mostly I've been very busy, but recently I've been struggling with insecurities, a bit of self pity, and some hurts, both old and new. I've wanted to share this story for ages, but I haven't been in the mood for writing. Today has been a particularly rough day, and I still don't feel like writing, but I want to give it a shot anyway. 

One of the first lessons we learn at Celebrate Recovery is that we are not God; we are powerless to change our hurts, habits, and hangups without God's help. When I first came to CR, I had no problem with this step. I was going through a painful divorce, and I knew there was nothing I could do to change my situation. It was my powerlessness that brought me to CR and made me so open to surrendering my will to God.

As I've progressed in my recovery, though, I've sometimes forgotten that I am still powerless. I've felt so happy for so many months that recently I'd been feeling like I'd graduated. Maybe I even thought I didn't need God so much.

I started to think that I could change myself by my own efforts. My motives were good. I wanted to be like Jesus, and I saw that I was not. I saw my pride, my insecurities, my selfishness, and all the other imperfections, and I was very, very frustrated with myself. So I tried even harder to transform myself into Jesus's likeness, to make the fruit of the Spirit blossom through the power of my will. But I couldn't change myself. I couldn't grow my own patience, kindness, gentleness, and self control.

Because of my perfectionism, I couldn't enjoy the real growth that God had worked in my life. I couldn't enjoy being the woman He made me to be. Instead I focused on my faults, and I berated myself for not doing more, being more.

Around the start of February, I shared my frustrations with my brother Rick, over a veggie burger. I told him that I want to do something big, like move to Uganda and teach English at the God Cares School that I've never even seen, yet feel so drawn to. Not now, I assured him. I know my place is with my kids. But someday, maybe when I retire....

Rick replied that there are plenty of people here at home who need my love, and ways that I can serve in my own neighborhood right now.

I said yes, but confessed that I felt so self absorbed, so... not like Jesus. I felt I needed to be doing more.

Rick listened thoughtfully and then told me I needed to learn to be still. He told me how meditation has helped him to relax and let go of his troubles. He said that he quiets himself and doesn't actively try to not think. Instead, he starts with just an intention to connect with God. He couldn't explain exactly how, but he said that he often does feel a closeness with God. He feels love and peace in those times.

I thought a lot about his words on the way home. Yes, I did want to be still. But how? Immediately I started thinking about how I could still myself. And I was not still.

I believe it was the next day, or perhaps the day after that, when I found a sacred echo in this devotional from Streams in the Desert:

I do not believe we have even begun to understand the wonderful power there is in being still.... This is our problem regarding the Christian life: we want to do something to be Christians, instead of allowing Him to work in us....

Sit still, my daughter! Just sit calmly still!
What higher service could you for Him fill? 

Ah, yes! How had I forgotten this? I know very well that I can't bear fruit on my own: "No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me." (John 15: 4)

Over the next few weeks, I heard the same message over and over. Be still. Remember that He is God. I prayed that He would teach me how to be still.

I'd like to say that this revelation transformed me and that I now knew the secret to being still. But I don't think this is a lesson you can learn overnight.

I do believe God is answering my prayer, but not in the way I had hoped. He gives me opportunities to be still by allowing me to experience my helplessness, in things that have happened to me and things that I've brought on myself. Always, I find that I have no control, but that I do have a choice. I can't change my situation, but I can choose how I will respond.

Often, I respond very poorly. I flunk the test. I feel sorry for myself, and I wonder why I just can't get it. At my worst, I wonder if my faith is even real. I wonder if I've fooled myself to think I've ever grown at all.

I had one of those times this past weekend. I'd been struggling with fatigue for several weeks, and I felt worn down both physically and emotionally. I'd been hearing very upsetting stories in world news, and I was overwhelmed with the blackness. In that moment, life felt meaningless. What was the point of trying? What difference could I possibly make?

I also felt very alone. "Where are you, God?" I prayed. "I know you're here, but why can't I feel you? I just want someone to hug."

For the record, I have lots of people I could hug, with just a little effort. God has blessed me with several dear friends right in my own neighborhood. But I was stuck in a trap, feeling sorry for myself.

Although I tried to pray, my mood continued to deteriorate as the day faded into evening. Trying to divert myself, I decided to tackle a task I'd been putting off: cleaning my closet. The floor was littered with bins that CiCi had overturned, their contents strewn across most of the floor space. In retrospect, I realize that when I dropped to my knees to pick up that mess, I should have spent some time talking to God, there in my prayer closet.

Instead, I started picking up the cards, letters, and journals, sorting them into their designated bins.

Can you guess what happened next?

Yes, I opened some journals and stepped back in time. I read happy stories I'd completely forgotten, sweet little stories about Allyson and Ethan and Bill. I relived very painful struggles and wounds. As I writhed at the insecurities I had chronicled so vividly, not so different from the ones I was battling now, I wondered who was the real me.

There I sat, with fifteen years in my lap. How could they have slipped through my fingers so quickly? And how had I ended up here? Through my own choices, of course--the ones I'd just read about.

Even though I'd been perfectly happy just the day before, and for months before that, the future seemed very bleak just then. There was a storm inside me, and I was as helpless as the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. Only I wasn't sure that Jesus was in the boat with me.

I woke up feeling not much better than when I'd gone to sleep, but at least it was a Sunday, and I had the prospect of church to look forward to. I didn't have to wait that long for comfort, though. I started my quiet time with a fervent prayer that God would help me feel His presence.

On my way to the book of Luke, which I've been reading lately, my eyes fell on Psalm 107. I read about people who suffered, some at the hands of others and some by their own doing. In each example, the constant refrain was that they cried out to God, and He saved them with His unfailing love. "He brought them out of darkness and the deepest gloom." (v. 14). "He sent forth his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave." (v. 20)

The best part was the story of the ones who went out to sea on ships, and a tempest lifted the waves high. "They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths; in their peril their courage melted away. They reeled and staggered like drunk men; they were at their wits' end. Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress. He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed." (vv. 25-29)

I read the verse about God stilling the storm and hushing the waves three times, aloud. And it was so. Just like that, the storm in me was stilled. I was still.

I realized then that sometimes the storm is too great, and I can't be still. The harder I try, the more I try to reason it out, the worse it gets. The only way I can be still is to give myself something else to think about, something pure and lovely and admirable. Only then can I feel the God of peace with me. Over and over, God's Word has done that for me. There is nothing more excellent or praiseworthy, nothing more powerful.

Honestly, I'm still struggling. I'm still exhausted. I'm still hurting. But I have hope. God will keep giving me these opportunities to be still. Sometimes I'll fail. But His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). I'll get another chance.

One of these days, I'll learn the lesson, but it won't be by my efforts. In the meantime, my Beloved loves me just the way I am.

[I have made an appointment with a doctor to look into the cause of my fatigue. I would appreciate your prayers.]

In Doggy Heaven

Some of you have been asking for an update on Zeus. I'm sorry I've been remiss....

Despite my mild aversion to dogs, I decided to foster Zeus when my friend Elizabeth moved just before Christmas. They are renting a house, and they couldn't take him along. Since I'd been pet-sitting for them for several years, I knew and loved Zeus. He was just too good of a dog to go to the shelter. 

Still, he is a dog, and he does things that dogs do, like shedding all over the floors despite my (almost) daily brushing, and like eating a box of chocolates and puking it up on Ethan's carpet. 

For a week or so, he stayed with my friend Nicole, whose kids loved him passionately and took him for walks and brushed him several times a day. Yay!!!

We took Zeus back for the second half of Christmas break, while Nicole took her kids to visit family. Ethan and Allyson were thrilled to have him back, but the cats weren't so happy about it. For one thing, he immediately took possession of Arwen's bed.

Isn't that ridiculous? We all got a good laugh out of it, but Arwen was not amused.

Zeus readily relinquished the cat bed after I bought a 7 foot by 10 foot, fluffy dog bed at Ikea (what an amazing store!!). Okay, it was actually a gray shag area rug, but to Zeus it looked like a nice, comfy place to nap.

I tried and tried to teach him to stay off of it, like he (mostly) stayed out of the kitchen. But he honestly couldn't understand. When I pointed at his own bed and said "Go!", he obediently trotted over. "Lay," I ordered, tapping the little brown bed with my index finger. He curled up and lay down.

But the minute I walked away, he returned to the rug. We repeated this over and over, at least 20 times a day. He was happy to follow my orders, but he always returned to the much bigger, much fluffier dog bed in the middle of the living room.

"Why can't he just lay on the rug?" Ethan asked.

"Because I can't sweep the hair up off of shag carpet like I can the hard floor."

"So? You can't see the hair on it anyway," Allyson said.

I shuddered. "Eww. I still know it's there."

The invisible dog hairs on my shag rug were a minor concern compared to Zeus's next habit.

When we'd first taken him in, Elizabeth had warned me to keep him away from the litter box because he had a fascination with cat poop.

"Why??" I asked in horror.

She laughed. "Because he's a dog."

Up until this point, the litter had not been an issue. Arwen's box was in the garage, and Zeus couldn't squeeze himself through the cat door even if he could squeeze into the cat bed. CiCi's box was in the tub in my master bathroom, mostly out of sight and out of mind. I'm sure Zeus could've climbed into the tub if he'd wanted to, but at his age (13) clambering over the high side of the garden tub was probably too much effort.

But then I got CiCi spayed. What does that have to do with Zeus? I'm getting there.

The post-operative instructions included keeping CiCi from jumping for the next ten days. Ha, ha. They obviously didn't know this feisty little kitten very well.

They also advised me to keep her in this Elizabethan collar for ten days to keep her from licking or biting her sutures:

See Her Glazed Eyes? Poor Baby.

Our poor little kitty was still pretty high on pain killers when I picked her up. She seemed skittish, yet too tired to do anything about it. She hissed at Zeus and even at Arwen, who's usually her best buddy. The oddest thing she did was walking backward and bumping into things. Probably she was trying to walk out of her collar, but of course it went with her.

To protect her from harm, I locked her in her carrier, but within three minutes in that confined space, she had found the leverage to slip out of her collar.

I gently restrained her and tied it back on, but when I set her down, it made a scary crackling sound and she shot across the room, running and leaping--straight out of her e-collar. Allyson and I tried one more time, this time tying the collar tighter, but then the cheaply made thing ripped. Since the collar was obviously no match for our determined kitty, Allyson and I simply prayed that God would tell her not to bother her sutures. That was a much more effective strategy, apparently. And cheaper, too. Over the next week or so, the scar healed beautifully.

But I also had to keep CiCi from jumping, so I moved her litter box out of the tub and onto the bathroom floor. I had to keep the door open so that she could have access to the box, which of course also gave Zeus access.

It started with little piles of kitty litter on my bedroom carpet. That was pretty odd because there was no trail leading from the box, just the litter on my floor, 20 feet away. I growled as I vacuumed it up once, twice, three times. I couldn't prove that Zeus was the culprit, but this had never happened when just the cats lived here, so I was pretty suspicious.

I finally caught Zeus red-handed (or nosed, ugh). "Go!" I shouted, pointing at the door. "Get out of here."

From that point, I tried to keep a watch on the bathroom door, but of course I had to leave my bedroom sometimes, and Zeus took advantage of every opportunity.

Vacuuming up kitty litter was one thing, but the day I had to clean puked-up kitty litter off my living room floor was just about the last straw.

"God," I growled, "I don't know if I can do this any longer. You've got to help me out, here. I just can't handle puke."

I called my friend Nicole, but her son was still recovering from an injury he'd sustained over Christmas break, and she couldn't manage a dog just then.

Clippers and a Cat Swatter
Meanwhile, CiCi, too, was wearing on my nerves. She'd recently gotten big enough to jump onto the kitchen table and the counters, and spraying her with vinegar water hardly fazed her even though that punishment had been fairly effective with her big sister.

If CiCi saw a tasty morsel on the table, such as Allyson's rejected bread crust, nothing would induce her to leave it. When she saw me coming with the spray bottle, she hunkered down and flinched against the smelly spray that she knew was coming, yet she held onto her treat doggedly, growling deep in her throat.

On the same Sunday when Zeus puked up kitty litter, CiCi scratched Allyson's friend Ellie and drew blood. It was an accident, a natural consequence of her wild nature, but it was too much. I couldn't keep a cat who would injure the neighborhood kids.

I actually cried over my pet woes. Getting rid of CiCi was not an option, nor was taking Zeus to a shelter. "Please, God," I prayed. I wasn't sure what to ask for, so I just kept saying, "Please. Please."

The next day, January 5th, two things happened. One was that my very new friend Pam, whom I'd shared cat stories with at a New Year's Eve party across the street, sent me a text.

"Hi Sarah! I am reading your blog about CiCi (every day is a kitten day). Have you trimmed her claws yet? :-) "

I admitted that I had been putting that task off because I was scared.

"I will be happy to come over and show you how to do it," she said.

"That would be awesome!" I replied. I told her as soon as I could get to Petsmart to buy clippers, I'd invite her over.

Pam said not to buy clippers; I could have the ones she'd used for her cat Oreo, who passed away two years ago.

Within just a few minutes, we sat side by side on my couch as I watched her in awe. At first, CiCi struggled mightily, but Pam was stronger. "You just have to show them who's boss," she said.

When CiCi got too wild, she set her down on the couch cushion and held her firmly by the scruff for a couple of minutes while we talked. Then she put her back on her lap and said, "We're going to do this, cat."

And they did. A couple of minutes later, all CiCi's claws had been blunted, even the ones on her forelegs.

After all that struggling, I figured CiCi would hate Pam; she'd probably run off and hide under my bed. But that's not what happened. Instead, CiCi curled up contentedly on Pam's lap for a catnap!

"They want you to be the master," Pam said. Before she left, she also told me how to stop CiCi from jumping on the table and the countertops. Water bottles might work for compliant cats, but a fly swatter is what you need for a willful kitty like CiCi, she explained.

"When you catch her on the counter, yell like a wild animal and slap her with the swatter," Pam advised. "Scare the crap out of her. Show her you mean business."

Over the next few days, I saw a major change in CiCi's attitude. First, she started keeping her claws in when we held her. I guess she realized that they were blunt, so there wasn't much point using them on us. Even as they began to grow back out, she stopped clawing us.

The fly swatter did the trick, mostly. CiCi does fear it. It doesn't keep her off the counters entirely, but at least she runs now when she sees me coming. I have to keep the swatter out, though; she seems to know when it's put away (or lost). It's rather embarrassing to explain to company that the unsightly orange fly swatter on the counter is actually a cat swatter. Oh well. That's not the weirdest thing about our house, by a long shot.

I've managed to trim CiCi's claws myself twice now, and it's surprisingly not that big of a deal. She does seem to respect me more now that I've made it clear who's boss, and she seems even more cuddly than before. It reminds me of how my kids often respond to discipline with extra affection.

The next amazing thing that happened after my fervent prayer for help was that God provided a home for Zeus. Ethan's best friend Bryce, who'd been wanting to take him home for weeks, told me his parents had said they could take the dog on a trial basis. No way!! Yes way!

A few days later, Bryce came to collect Zeus, his neglected dog bed, his giant bin of food, and the fancy de-shedding brush I'd bought at Wal-Mart. For a moment, Zeus looked uncertainly from me to Bryce, but then the lure of his red leash won out.

"Come on, boy!" Bryce called, and Zeus followed him out the front door, with one backward glance at me.

Despite my intense relief, my heart felt oddly pinched as I watched him go.

"Goodbye, Zeus," I said, swallowing hard.

Doggy Heaven
It's a good thing that Zeus is so winsome because the first few days at his new home were touch and go. Luckily, Bryce's parents had already fallen in love by the time he hiked his leg and peed on their couch! And then on their carpet.

I thought surely they must have been mistaken; on all two of our walks, I'd never seen Zeus so much as pee on a fire hydrant. And I'd noticed that in our backyard, he squatted to pee.

But no, they'd caught him red... whatevered. He was guilty. We theorized that he was reacting to having another dog in the house, which I think was a first for him.

In any case, they loved him so much that they decided to give him a few more days. Thankfully, there were no further incidents, and he is now well established as a member of Bryce's family.

At first, he slept with Bryce, but then he got promoted to the master bedroom.

"He thinks he owns my parents' bed," Bryce said in the text that he sent with this picture:

Looks like he does!

So that is how Zeus ended up in Doggy Heaven, right here on earth.

God is good to all of us, whether we have four legs or two. 

Let's Talk About Love

I'm not sure why, but I've been thinking a lot about love in the last few weeks. For much of the last two and half years, I've tried very hard not to think about love, but lately.... Maybe it started when I first heard the song "Broken Together" by Casting Crowns.

I was just minding my own business, cleaning the kitchen late one night, when the most beautiful song came on the radio. I laid down my dish scrubber and listened, hanging on every word. It seemed to be a song about marriage--real marriage--the tough, excruciating parts. It was also about love, the realest, toughest love. I sank into a chair and put my face in my hands when I heard these lines:

Maybe you and I were never meant to be complete. 

But could we just be broken together? 

In an instant, I was back in the unbearable pain of a dying marriage, powerless to save it. And now, after months of happiness, tears streamed down my cheeks.

When the song ended, I just had to hear it again because despite the pain it stirred in me, it was exquisitely beautiful, and these days I don't often take the time to appreciate beauty. So I googled the video, which paints a vivid story of lost dreams and bitter disappointment that end in healing and reconciliation.

Are you married, or do you hope to be married one day? Or do you know someone who's married? Then you need to watch this video. Go ahead, watch it. I'll wait for you.....

Anyway, after watching the video twice (or maybe three times), I went to my prayer closet for some much needed time with my Beloved. I told him all about my bitter disappointment and asked Him why it still hurts me so, after over two years. I asked Him to hold me, to quiet me with His love. And He did. After that, I slept like a baby even though the sink was still full of dirty dishes.

Since then, I've heard that song over and over on the radio. (Evidently I'm not the only one who loves it.) I've gotten to the point that I can listen and sing along without shedding a tear, but it still gets to me. I just can't stop thinking about the beauty of marriage, and how so many of us miss it because it isn't what we dreamed it would be. I keep thinking about how different real love is from the romantic crap they feed us in the movies, starting with Disney when we're little girls.

It's bitterly ironic because now I really get it. Marriage is incredibly tough, no way around that. No matter how amazing your Prince Charming seems when you're falling in love, he's going to hurt you because he can't be perfect. And you're going to hurt him too because you too are far from perfect. But if you can be real with each other, if you can accept each other for who you are, if you can love each other the way Jesus loves us--well, I don't know. I've never been there. But I believe it must be so beautiful on the other side of the struggles that lead too many of us to divorce.

Now I have all this untried wisdom and a different sort of idealism than before, but I don't see myself marrying again. See, I'm not just divorced, but twice divorced. I doubt that the third time's the charm, so you can understand that I'm in no hurry to get involved with anyone, let alone get married again.

Honestly, songs like "Broken Together" leave me a little confused. On the one hand, I can appreciate the beauty, and I can thank God for the way He designed marriage, and I can rejoice for the others who get to experience that. But on the other hand, I feel left out, as if this treasure is only for other people, not for me. Because I had my chance (two chances) and I blew it.

Last night, I heard the most amazing story of an every-day marriage with all the struggles and joys of 39 years of commitment--for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. The tenderness and toughness of this love story made me choke on a sob. Yes, this was exactly the kind of love I'd been thinking about.

For just a moment, I felt the usual stab of alone-ness as my own crushing loss took my breath away for the thousandth time. But then, I smiled for my friend, and I thanked God for giving us marriage.

Soon after, I had an epiphany. I don't have to be married to experience the kind of love in the Casting Crowns video. I am broken, and I am surrounded by broken people, and we can be broken together. I can love my friends and my neighbors and my sisters and my brother and my parents and my kids and the young girl at my favorite grocery store the way Jesus loves me. I can love them with all of my heart, soul, and strength. I can serve. I can give myself. I can be real with them so they can be real with me, and I can love them all exactly where they are despite all their imperfections. And many of them will love me back despite all my imperfections.

What a gift our Father has given us all, in this capacity to love! Life is way too short for me to waste time wishing I could go back, or wishing for a different future. God has put me right here for a very important purpose, and He has given me only one command: to love others as Jesus loves me.

I think I'll start with these two.

Ethan, age 17, and Allyson, age 8

And you, too. Thank you for reading.

Yes, My God is Good

Have you ever had a day that was supposed to be no fun, but it ended up being the most amazing day? A day that was totally not what you planned for yourself, but it turned out all for your good? Today was one of those days for me.

I don't know what it is lately with my appliances, my house, my pets, etc., but it seems like one little trial after another. This time, it was my car. I'd been noticing some stains on my driveway the last few days, some sort of fluid but not oil. It seemed like it was coming from my car, but I couldn't be sure because a lot of Ethan's friends come and go, and most of them drive beaters--though my 2002 Nissan Sentra is probably older than any of theirs.

I kept moving my car to different quadrants of the driveway and watching for new stains, but I couldn't catch it leaking. I made a mental note to take the car in soon and then forgot about it.

When I dropped Ethan at school yesterday, I noticed that the car wasn't warming up. In fact, even after 15 minutes of driving, it still felt like the heater was blowing cold air. I switched it to the vents on the dash. Sure enough, cold air was coming out. No, wait. The passenger side was blowing warm air, but the driver side was cold. I jiggled the temperature knob back and forth several times, hoping it would fix itself, but no luck.

I found this highly ironic because my friend Lizzette had just commented on Saturday when we went to dinner that it was so nice having a car with heat. Her heater isn't working. And now mine wasn't. Had she jinxed me?

Last night after Celebrate Recovery, I notice that both vents were now blowing cold. Darn it! How much would this cost? Maybe I could just live with it. Ugh. Two more months of winter.

The next thing I noticed was more alarming. The temperature gauge on the instrument panel was pushing to the top of the normal range. In fact, I could see the needle slowly rising. Crap. It must be the radiator. How much would this cost?

My stomach tightened. I wasn't worried about paying for the repairs; thanks to Dave Ramsey, I have a fund for that. No, what concerned me was whether it might be time to sell my faithful old car. I've held onto it for 13 years now, and it has been so reliable. It looks pretty pathetic because the paint is wearing off in spots, but it runs beautifully and gets great gas mileage. My plan has been to keep it until Ethan finally gets his license--if he ever does--and then pass it on to him. I don't see any point in having two cars if I don't need them.

But I don't want to sink too much money into a car that probably is worth less than $2000. So I figure if I have a major breakdown, I'll have to part with it and buy Ethan something else. The tricky part is, where do I draw the line? A thousand dollars? Fifteen hundred? Given this car's amazing track record, doesn't it make sense to put a little money into it? It's had only two other breakdowns in 188,788 miles (the alternator, both times). What if I buy something else that is less reliable?

These were the thoughts tumbling around in my head as I pulled into my driveway, with the needle now pointing to the H.

I also wondered how I would get Ethan to school this morning, and how I would get the car to the mechanic. I figured I needed to put water in the radiator, but I'd never done that before. A glance out the window told me that Neil, my 30-second hero, was in town. I knew he'd be happy to help with the car and with transportation, but I didn't want to bother him. For one thing, I didn't want to take advantage, and for another thing, I remembered my friend Gentle's encouragement to take this single life as an opportunity to learn some new things.

I was very, very tempted to text Neil, but I didn't. Instead, I prayed. I asked God to work everything out, to guide me through this and to take care of me, just as he had done with the plumbing problem the week before last. (Remember? A $110 plumbing bill? Whoever heard of that?) I told God that even if the answer was getting a new car instead of fixing this one, I would trust His timing.

I decided that I would put water in the radiator myself, and I would ask my friend Kim to take me to the mechanic today. I also called my ex-husband Bill for advice--a total of three times. With his help, I figured out how to open the hood--I knew how to pop it from the inside, but not how to unlatch it--and also the timing of pouring in the water, turning on the engine, and pouring more water. I did all that this morning in time to get Ethan to school right on schedule. I was feeling almost as proud as I'd felt when I fixed the garbage disposal by myself, two days before the plumbing incident.

That lasted about four blocks, until I noticed that the needle was rising toward the H right before my eyes. "I don't know if we can make it to school, Ethan," I said, just as we pulled up to a four-way stop.

"Hey, look. It's Tin!" Ethan replied, pointing to the car on our right. Sure enough, it was his old middle school friend, whom I hadn't seen in years. If you've been reading a very, very long time and have a prodigious memory, you may remember Tin as the one who enjoyed (!) helping Ethan dispose of a dead cat we found in our yard. He's also the one who helped Bill and Ethan fell many of my beloved trees when we got the pool.

Timberr!!

Ethan and Tin, 2009

"I bet he could take you to school," I said, pulling over to the curb.

"No, Mom. Don't-"

"I'll try to flag him down," I said, rolling down my agonizingly slow driver's window. (That window motor is on its last leg. I need to get that fixed.)

Whew! The window rolled open just as Tin drove by. I waved wildly, avoiding eye contact with Ethan, who had probably sunk down to the floorboard by that point.

Tin slowed his car to a crawl and rolled his passenger window down, "Good to see you," he called politely as he passed.

"CAN YOU TAKE ETHAN TO SCHOOL?" I screamed--because he was a few feet past us by now.

He stopped, and I pulled up alongside. "My car is overheating. Can you take Ethan to school?"

"Sure," he said with a smile.

"Oh, thank you so much."

As I turned back for home, I marveled at God's goodness. In all these years, even though Tin lives just around the corner, we've never run into him on the way to school. Well, not since the days when he walked to school. Surely God had sent a ride for Ethan, right to the very corner where my car was overheating, right at the very moment we arrived. What are the odds?

Kim graciously agreed to follow me to the mechanic, even though she is frantically studying for a physical therapy licensing exam that's coming up next week. We had the most lovely talk on the way back, which continued as we lingered at my driveway.

Now this next part is pretty ironic. Who do you think texted me about my car repair just a few minutes later? I'll tell you. It was Neil. He was helping his friend Wade at the shop, and when he saw my car of course he had to tease me. He told me it was a cracked head, and it would probably cost $2000 to rebuild the engine. I figured he was kidding, but I replied that it must be time to get a new car. He said yes he was kidding, and it should be less than $500. I said, "Good."

Several minutes later, he said, "You don't owe anything."

Again, I thought he might be kidding. But he wasn't.

On the way back to the shop, I told Kim the whole story. I told her I believe all of the things that happened to me today were evidence of God taking care of me, a direct result of my prayers last night, when I turned everything over to God.

"Whether it was God or it wasn't," I said, "I believe that the biggest blessing God has given me is my friends. You are such a blessing, Kim. Not for the things you do for me, but because you are such a good friend. I'm so thankful."

"Aww," she said. "I'm not such a good friend."

"Oh, but you are!" I said, my eyes a bit moist.

Back at the shop, Wade informed me that the problem had been a leaky hose. He had checked all the other hoses, and there were no other problems. He handed me the keys.

I cleared my throat. "Um, Neil said there's no charge. Is that true?"

"Yes. You don't owe anything."

I thanked him profusely, and Neil also. And then I drove my 13-year-old car home with joy.

I'm still pinching myself. Whoever heard of a free car repair? That's even crazier than a $110 plumbing bill! I realize it was a very minor repair, but surely his labor was worth $50. And I'm sure he must have added antifreeze as well.

I pray God blesses Wade richly for his kindness. And Neil. And Kim. And Tin.

To borrow a phrase from my friend Gentle, I have to say that God really knocked my socks off today. When I texted the whole story to my dear cousin Jenny this afternoon, she replied, "You are blessed, woman. Your God is good."

Yes, I am. And He is.

Why I Don't Want a Dog

A few have you have been asking me what happened next in the story with Zeus, and boy do I have a story for you--only I don't have time to tell it tonight.... But I'm going to tell you anyway. I'll try to be brief, but you know me, so no promises. 

On Tuesday 12/30, I swung by my friend Nicole's house after Celebrate Recovery to pick up Zeus; I'd agreed to pet-sit for a week while they visited her family. From her quick update, I learned that her kids absolutely adore Zeus, just like my kids. But the difference is that they brush him for hours and take him for walks every day, no matter how cold it is. I felt rather guilty to take him back to his sedentary life at our house, but he seemed happy to be here.

Zeus and Allyson, during his first stay

Ethan gladly welcomed Zeus back into his room that evening, and everyone was happy. Until the next afternoon.

At his original home, Zeus was used to being confined to the master bathroom when Elizabeth's family was gone. His bed and food were in there, and he never seemed to mind--even when he spent a whole week in there when they were on vacation. I'd put him outside twice a day, let him run around a bit, and give him a dutiful pat after I'd filled his bowl, and then he'd wag his tail and settle contentedly on his bed.

Remembering the horrible mess he'd made on Elizabeth's carpet the time I simultaneously poisoned him with cat food and also left the bathroom door slightly ajar, I figured it would be wise not to give Zeus the run of our house when we're gone. And since his bed and food are in Ethan's room, that seemed the logical place to lock him up, despite the carpet.

So before I went out clothes shopping on New Year's Eve, I told Ethan to pick up anything in his room that Zeus shouldn't get into and to confine him there if he went anywhere. "I will," he muttered, turning back to his video game. I glanced dubiously at the dirty dishes and fast food bags littering his floor and went on my way.

An hour or two later, my cell phone rang while I was agonizing between two cute shirts at Target.

"Mom? When are you coming home?" Ethan asked, his voice rather urgent.

"I'm at Target, so it might be a while. Why?"

"Zeus found my box of chocolates and ate a bunch of them and now-"

"He ate chocolates?! That could kill him! Why did you-"

"He's going to be fine. He puked it all up on my carpet. It's the biggest pile of puke I've ever seen from a human or an animal."

I pictured the giant Whitman's Sampler box that Ethan had brought home from his dad's house. It was literally over two feet wide, and had about 50 chocolates with a variety of fillings.

"How many did he eat? Were they milk chocolate or dark chocolate?"

"I don't know. I think it was still half full. He ate at least half of what was left. Some of them were dark chocolate, I guess."

"So ten? Twenty? We probably should take him to the vet."

"I don't know, Mom. But I'm telling you, he's fine. He got it all out and he's running around like nothing happened. But my room reeks. Please clean it up as soon as you can. I'm leaving to see The Hobbit with Bryce."

What's probably crossing your mind right now also crossed mine. Ethan was the one who left out a giant box of chocolates, so why should I be the one to clean up after Zeus while he went off to the movies? Well, you'd have to know Ethan. There was no way he was cleaning up that mess. To even suggest it would be laughable.

I sighed heavily. "I'll get checked out and come deal with it. I have no idea how to clean up a mess like that, but..."

"Great, Mom. See you later."

I phoned my own mom straightaway, but she didn't have any ideas for me. Tears gathered in my eyes as I pictured what waited for me, and imagined the smell. In the past, Bill had always dealt with stuff like this. Now, I was on my own.

On the way home, I prayed for God's mercy. "Please help me find a way to do this," I pleaded. "Please help me be strong." I thought back to the time God helped me down a whole gallon of Go-Lytely solution for my last colonoscopy prep. "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength," I said.

Back at home, I filled my diffuser with water and added ten drops of Purify essential oil blend, which is purported to be the best oil for neutralizing odor. I cracked Ethan's door and set the diffuser on his messy floor, plugging it into the socket next to the door. Whew!

While the diffuser did its work, I consulted Google. The second link down in the search results had the most sensible solution, way easier than I could have hoped for:

1. Pour a ton of baking soda on the wet stain, covering it with at least an inch of powder. 
2. Pour on a few drops of fragrant essential oils. 
3. Cover with a towel and wait 24-48 hours. The baking soda will soak up the odor and absorb all the moisture. 
4. Scoop  the hunks of baking soda into the trash and vacuum up the remaining clumps of dry, crackly baking soda vomit. 

Genius! Thank you, Jesus!

After a quick trip to Wal-Mart Market to buy a pet stain solution and two large boxes of baking soda--they were out of the giant bags they usually keep in the pool section--I opened Ethan's door and surveyed the mess. Hoo-boy. The spot was roughly the size of the chocolate box, about two feet across. Indeed, I'd never seen such a pile of puke.

But I have to say, as far as vomit goes, this wasn't that smelly. It was very chocolaty, which was somehow revolting, but I've smelled far worse.

Still, I wrinkled my nose and my forehead too. "This is why I didn't want a dog," I whined to God.

Holding my breath, I edged over to ground zero and quickly dumped nearly two pounds of baking soda over the goopy brown mess.

That's a rolling desk chair in the pile, and a practice drum pad on the edge.

Next, I poured about 15 drops of eucalyptus oil over the powder and then draped an old yellow bath towel over the mess. Done!

Over the course of the evening, Zeus made four smaller piles around the house, thankfully all on the hard flooring surfaces. They were mostly water, but still very disgusting. I remembered again why I am so not a dog person.

By the next day, Zeus was fully recovered, and Ethan's room smelled faintly of citronella and eucalyptus oil.

The following evening, I couldn't put off the worst part of the job any longer. While Ethan and his friend Bryce looked on, I pried up hunks of solidified, brownish powder with the edge of an old dust pan. It wasn't nearly so easy as it had sounded on the Internet, probably because a lot of those chocolates had caramel fillings. Ugh.

"How did Zeus get into the chocolates, anyway?" I asked. "I thought you said you were going to put away everything he shouldn't get into."

"I did. I hid them, but he found them."

"Where did you hide them?" I asked, as I pried up a stubborn hunk of caramel-y baking soda.

"I put the box way back under my bed."

"Under your bed?" I repeated. "You really thought he wouldn't find them there? He's a dog. They can sniff out anything"

He shrugged.

"Well, now you know," I said with a sigh.

I vacuumed up the last crackly bits, revealing a huge brown stain. "I think you're going to need new carpet," I said. "But I don't know how quickly that will happen."

"Maybe you can buy me a rug to put over it," Ethan suggested.

After searching Google again, I poured all of my rubbing alcohol on the stain and then blotted up lots and lots of chocolate using all my old towels. Ick.

The carpet was still brown, and so were my towels.

I spent the next hour scrubbing that stain with Bissel Pet Spot Lifter foam, blotting it up, and scrubbing it again. Guess what? In the end, there was only the faintest hint of a circle. If you didn't know it was there, you wouldn't even notice it. But we're still going to get new carpet as soon as I get around to it.

Another Calamity
Over the course of that next week, I had more reasons to miss having a helpful husband with an iron stomach.

On Sunday the 4th, around bedtime, my garbage disposal quit... right after I had thrown down some week-old veggie lasagna. I flipped the switch several times and also pushed the red reset button on the bottom of the motor, all to no avail. All it did was hum.

There was about an inch of water in the sink with bits of broccoli and corn floating around aimlessly, so I knew I couldn't leave it for the next day.

I called Bill for advice. "I'll handle it," I quickly assured him, so that he wouldn't think I was hinting for him to come over. "Could you just give me some pointers?"

He told me to push the reset button.

"Did that."

"You'll need to put your hand down there and try to spin the blades. Probably something is blocking it. If you can get the blades to turn, it will probably come back on."

Ewww!

I hung up the phone and pulled out several handfuls of soggy lasagna noodles,  broccoli florets, and squishy mashed sweet potato.

With the drain mostly empty, I gingerly touched each of six blades, trying to block out a horrible scene in one of the Final Destination movies. All the blades seemed to turn freely.

Crossing my fingers, I turned on the water and flipped the switch again. Hmmmmm.

Now the sink had two inches of water. I got the toilet plunger (ewww!) out of the garage and plunged the drain. The water went down. I rinsed out the sink and went to bed.

First thing next morning, I turned on the disposal, and it was working fine! I had fixed it all by myself!

A few days later, I found the source of the problem when I reached into the disposal to retrieve a measuring spoon I'd dropped. It was one of those two-inch plastic scrapers from Pampered Chef, now well chewed on all four sides. "So that's where that was," I thought. It had been missing for weeks. It must have been lying flat under the blades, and then somehow it got lodged between the blades. Mystery solved.

...And Another Calamity
My last yucky task was the worst by far.

On Tuesday the 6th, we woke up to a mysterious puddle of water in Ethan's bathroom. When he alerted me to the problem, he insisted that he had not made the toilet overflow.

I sopped up the mess with some beach towels and went back to making Allyson breakfast. A few minutes later, I saw that more water had gathered between the toilet and the sink cabinet. On my hands and knees, I examined the toilet thoroughly but could find no sign of a leak.

I soaked up the water again and finally realized that the water was seeping up through the grout that bordered the sink cabinet. What on earth?

Just then, an ugly realization dawned on me. We'd had a cold snap the last few days, and the temperature had dipped below freezing. Probably there was a broken pipe under the floor. My stomach tightened as I wondered how a plumber would fix that. Would he have to bust up the tile and cut into the floor? Surely that would cost me thousands!

I laid more towels down and dropped both kids at school. I then spent an hour or more calling plumbers. I think there must have been some broken pipes in our area because the soonest anyone could come out was Thursday--two days later!

I cried, prayed, and cried some more. And then I sent a text to my sister and my brother. Rick's wife Diane quickly replied with the contact information of a really awesome plumber. Yay!

But even after I gave him Rick and Diane's name, he said he couldn't possibly come out that day. He was booked solid.

Tears filled my eyes again.

"I can give you the name of a colleague closer out your way, though," he said. "Mike's a great guy and very reasonable."

Thankfully, I was able to schedule an appointment for noon. Disaster averted.

But then I did something stupid. I was totally out of towels, and water was still seeping. I really needed some dry towels, but I didn't want to put dirty towels in my dryer. So I decided to run them through a short wash. The moment the idea occurred to me, the voice of reason cautioned me against it. I had a plumbing problem. I probably shouldn't be running any water.

But the problem's in the bathroom, I argued. The laundry room's on the other end of the house. And I really, really need more towels. 

So I threw in that load of towels, ignoring the rock in the pit of my stomach.

At last, I sat down at my desk to work while I waited for the plumber. About 15 minutes later, I heard the familiar sound of the washer emptying. Right on the tail of that sound came an unfamiliar, peculiar sound, issuing from my bathroom, right next to me.

I cautiously stepped in to investigate. The bubbling was coming from my toilet, whose water looked like it was at a slow boil. What on earth?

All three drains in my bathroom were making bubbling sounds. I walked to the tub, afraid to look. Ugh, there was a small puddle of brown water around the drain.

But that was nothing next to what I found in my shower: about an inch of raw sewage! Yes, there was POOP in my shower. I covered my mouth and ran out of there, my blood running cold.

At that point, I hurried to Bill's house to borrow a shop vac, but I couldn't bring myself to use it. Sucking up that... crap... wouldn't be so bad, but then what would I do with it? I was pretty sure you're not supposed to pour sewage on the lawn.

For the second time in a week, I plugged in my diffuser with some Purify blend.

The good news of the day is that Mike was able to find the problem almost immediately, and he did not have to dig as he had initially feared. There's an outlet pipe right under my shower, and he was able to snake the pipes through there. Thirty minutes later, the clog was clear, and all the drains were emptying freely. And the bill? Only $110!! Who ever heard of a $110 plumbing bill?

Thank you, Jesus! And thank you, Mike. Those of you who are local, contact me if you want the name of an honest, reasonable plumber.

After Mike left, my joy and relief deflated. Now it was time to tackle something even worse that chocolate caramel dog puke. I headed to Wal-Mart Market for some Clorox bleach spray, some Comet scouring powder, and a really good pair of latex gloves.

And then I put on my big-girl panties, thanked God that I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength, and cleaned up that mess. I cleaned the tub and the shower three times, mopped both bathroom floors twice, and called it a day. That evening, I had Ethan clean his own bathtub, which had been stopped up but did not have sewage in it.

I hope I never have another week like that one, but it's good to know I really can do all things through Christ.

About Zeus
Okay, so you're wondering whether we're keeping Zeus, aren't you? Short answer: I'm not sure. Nicole says she thinks she wants him, but her son was injured last week and now needs surgery. She said once he's recovered from his surgery, I can bring him over. [Pray for him, please. His name is Micah.]

Zeus has been with us for two weeks now. Aside from the chocolate incident, which wasn't his fault, he's been such a good boy. I have lots of stories about him and the cats, but I'll have to save them for another day. Stay tuned.

Allyson's First Spelling Bee

Today was Allyson's first spelling bee. Shortly before Christmas break, she had qualified by taking a written test. Over the last few weeks, in the middle of Christmas celebrations and a trip to Canada with Daddy, she spent her spare moments studying a list of very challenging words.


Last night, while I quizzed her over dishes, she began to lose her nerve as she missed word after word: journey, university, apologize, vineyard. Each time, she was so close, but missed it by a letter or two.


"Would you pray for me before bed?" she asked.


Of course I would!


As we snuggled in her twin bed, I prayed that God would give her courage and confidence, and help her remember what she had studied. Most of all, I prayed that she would have fun.


This morning in the car, Allyson asked me about my own elementary spelling bee, back in fourth grade. "What word did you miss?"

I smiled ruefully. Funny how I can still remember that awful moment over 30 years later. "Kiwi."

"How did you spell it?"

"K-E-E-W-E-E."

She chuckled.

"I had never heard of a kiwi back then," I said.

As we pulled into the turn-around, Allyson admitted that she didn't expect to do very well. She'd be up against fourth graders, and she hadn't had enough time to study. Still, she was excited to have this experience and was determined to do her best.


Long before her big moment, she had already made her mama proud!

Waiting, Cool as a Cucumber (#19)

Twenty-six kids took their places on the stage. Allyson was number 19, and I wondered if that had been her rank on the written test. "Oh, Lord," I prayed. "Please don't let her get knocked out on her first word.... Even so, not my will, but yours. Please let her have fun, and let her get what you want her to learn from this experience."

They started with a practice round, in which no one missed a word. The word for contestant #1 was "gum." All the kids seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. This wasn't so hard!

Four kids were eliminated in the first round, including some in the front row, so I figured my hypothesis about ranking must have been wrong. My heart went out to them.

When Allyson stepped up to the mic, my heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty. I quietly removed my coat.

"This word has a close homophone," the moderator said. "The word is daze. Verb. To stun or or stupefy. Daze."

"Oh, Allyson," I telegraphed. "We practiced this one. Remember, it's not days."

"Daze," Allyson repeated in a strong voice. "D-A-Z-E, daze." She pivoted on her heel and returned to her seat on the back row. Yes!

By the end of round two, about half of the contestants had been eliminated. But not Allyson. "Coach," she said clearly. "C-O-A-C-H, coach." Whew!

Her word in round four gave me a shudder; she had missed "journey" just last night. "Don't forget the E!" I thought to her.

She caught my eye and smiled. "Journey. J-O-U-R-N-E-Y, journey." That's my girl!

Number 23 missed her word, so it was on to round five, with only six contestants left. Allyson was the only one left in the last two rows.

By the time Allyson's turn came around, it was down to her and numbers 1 and 3, both fourth graders. I was beginning to wonder. Could there be a chance? Might she go all the way?

"Ingot," the moderator said.

Uh oh. I didn't remember practicing that one. It must have been on the second page that I told Allyson they probably wouldn't get to in the first spelling bee. Tough word! I wasn't sure how to spell it myself. Did it start with an I? Or was it an E?

"Could I have a definition?" Allyson asked.

"Ingot. Noun. A mass of metal cast in a convenient form for shaping, remelting, or refining."

Well, that didn't help.

Allyson took a deep breath and pursed her lips. "Ingot. E-N-G... I-T. Ingot?"

Ding! went the bell.

"Thank you," the moderator said softly.

Allyson smiled politely and walked off stage.

The last two boys battled it out for six more rounds, spelling words like "abominably" and "devotee." Even though I was anxious to get to work, it was pretty riveting. In the end, number 1 won, just as I had predicted from the beginning. Turns out, all the kids in that family have won all the spelling bees they've entered, at all grade levels.

Allyson on Far Left, Wearing Her Participant Ribbon

After they posed for pictures, I gave Allyson a quick hug and told her how proud I was. She was pleased, having done far better than she expected, and she was happy for her friend Elijah, who will be advancing to the district final.

Tonight at bedtime, Allyson prayed, "God, thank you for helping me feel confident and do well today. I was so nervous last night, but I gave my whole day to you, and you helped me do my best and have fun."

That's my girl!

Maybe next year I'll get to tell you about Allyson winning her first spelling bee.

Dog Days of Christmas

A few weeks ago, I posted an appeal on Facebook for a loving family to foster my friend Elizabeth's dog Zeus for a year. Her family was moving, and they couldn't take him to their rental house. [You long-time readers may remember my pet-sitting misadventure with Zeus, that time I made him dreadfully sick by feeding him cat food and then Bill had to clean up after him.]

Well, despite my ridiculous mistake, Elizabeth and Shawn trusted me to watch him and the cat many more times over the years, and I've grown quite fond of him. He is the best behaved, most mild mannered dog I've ever seen. But when she asked me if we could take him, I said that our house is really too small for a big German Shepherd and two cats. And also, I hate picking up dog poop. (I don't think I said that part out loud, but it was a reason.)

In addition to asking my friends to take Zeus, I did some praying, asking that God would place him with a family who would love him and take good care of him, a family who would find him to be a blessing.

As the deadline approached, my prayers intensified. Elizabeth had said he'd have to go to the shelter if no one would take him, and I couldn't bear to think of that gentle dog being put to sleep. A crazy thought slowly took form in my mind, and then in my heart. What if we took Zeus? Yes, our house is small, but at age 13, he's not a wild dog--nothing like naughty Lola.

"Well, God, I guess we could take him," I said. "But if there's another family who would be better for him, I trust you to work it out."

A few days passed, and no other family stepped forward. A week before moving day, I was driving Ethan to school when I broke the rule against talking before 9 in the morning. "You know Elizabeth and Shawn are moving?"

Ethan didn't answer.

"...and they can't take Zeus with them. So he will go to the shelter unless somebody takes him."

He looked out the window.

Keeping my voice casual, I said, "So, I'm almost tempted.... I was thinking maybe we could take him. It's crazy, though, because our house-"

"We should totally take him," Ethan said, with more enthusiasm than I've ever heard from him at that time of the morning.

"But I don't know how the cats will do with a dog. You know how crazy Arwen got over that cat in the backyard."

"The cats will be fine. We should take him."

"I'll pray about it."

"We should take him."

"Have a good day. I love you."

A few prayers later, I felt a softness in my heart. Didn't God put me on this earth to love? Doesn't Zeus need my love? Three animals, two animals? What's the difference?

That afternoon, I sent Elizabeth a text: "If no one else takes Zeus, we will foster him."

"I love you!!!!!!!" she replied.

I told both kids the exciting news, but warned them that we were just the last resort. "I'm trusting God to put him with the right family. It might not be us."

"He can sleep in my room," Ethan said. "I'll have to clean it up first."

Having a dog could have some perks, I thought.

About a week later, on Friday the 19th, Elizabeth brought Zeus over, along with a big bin of dog food, his bowls, and two beds. She taught me his voice commands and the corresponding hand signals for Sit, Stay, Go, Lay, and Up.

After she'd given me all the instructions she could think of and answered all my questions, she took her leave.

Zeus tried to follow her out the door.

"Stay, Zeus!" she said, holding her palm out in front of her like a stop sign.

He waited at the closed door. Was she coming back?

Yes, she was. She'd forgotten her purse. Again, he tried to go with her. "Stay, Zeus."

And then she was gone.

When Arwen and CiCi came out of hiding to investigate, both of them arched their backs and fluffed their tails. I found that fascinating. I'd seen them arch at each other in play, but I'd never seen the puffy tails. Arwen hissed menacingly, but Zeus didn't even notice. He was too concerned about where Elizabeth had gone.

He waited quietly by the door for a long, long time. Finally, I called him into my bedroom/office, where I'd laid out one of his beds. "Come in here with me," I said. I touched the bed with my index finger. "Lay down."

He lay down and stared at me dully. Oh, such sad eyes! I felt a lump forming in my throat.

Stroking him gently, I prayed for God's comfort. "Let him feel safe. Let him feel loved," I prayed. And then I cried. Over a dog. Can you believe that? I knew that must be the Holy Spirit moving me to compassion.

As soon as I sat down at my desk, Zeus went back to the front door to wait. That's where he stayed until Allyson came home from school.

Over the next few days, the cats cautiously watched him, getting closer and closer. Here they are looking down at Zeus, who was minding his own business lying on his bed just below them.

See the ridge of hair along Arwen's spine? And CiCi's fluffed tail?

CiCi warmed up to Zeus first, touching noses with him by the third day.

Zeus warmed up to us, too. Allyson, Ethan, and a few of their friends gave him lots of attention and love. But it seemed to be my attention he wanted most, maybe because I was hard to get. He'd walk up to me throughout the day and nudge my hand with his nose. I petted him awkwardly, grimacing at the hair that sloughed off each time I touched him.

On Saturday the 20th, day two, we took our Christmas card picture in front of our Charlie Brown tree, which looked much more bedraggled this year because I haven't figured out how to keep CiCi out of it. Allyson and I were determined to have all three pets in the picture, but Ethan was skeptical. He held Arwen, the most reluctant of the party.

Allyson's friend Ellie gamely took a few shots with Ethan's iPhone while we tried to keep the pets calm. Here's one that didn't make the cut:

This was the best we could do. I figure in ten years when our clothes and hair are ridiculously outdated, I can sell this picture to a greeting card company for one of those quirky cards that people love because they can relate. Real life isn't as pretty as your average photo card....

A Christmas Miracle
Just when I was starting to think of Zeus as one more branch on our crazy family tree, the story took an unexpected turn. On Christmas Eve, Allyson and I stopped by my friend Nicole's house to drop off the aforementioned Christmas card and a little gift. As we chatted on her porch, somehow the topic of Zeus came up. "I just can't believe we ended up with a dog," I said. "I am such a cat person. Definitely not a dog person."

"My kids have been wanting a dog," she said wistfully. "Our dog died recently, and they want another one."

"Maybe you could..."

"No, I don't have time to train a dog," she said. (As a home schooling single mom with three young children, she's possibly one of the few people who are busier than me.)

"Oh, but you wouldn't have to train Zeus," I said. "He's the best behaved dog I've ever seen." I sent Allyson to the car for my phone, and we showed her the pictures I've posted above.

"Oh, he reminds me of the German Shepherd we had when I was growing up," she said.

"He's such a good walker," I said. "I bet he could be your running buddy."

"Can I come see him?"

"Sure."

"How about now?" she asked. "I want to have some time with him before my kids come back from their dad's. This could be their Christmas present."

An hour later, I was teaching Nicole all Zeus's voice commands and their corresponding hand signals, giving her all the instructions I could think of and answering all her questions. She said she would take him on a trial basis until next week, when she'll need me to watch him while they go out of town.

"Oh, I've been pet-sitting him for years," I assured her. I didn't mention the time I'd poisoned him with cat food.

And then they were gone. And I was unaccountably sad.

When I broke the news to Ethan, he took it pretty hard.

"This is better for Zeus," I said. "He'll have a much bigger house and a bigger yard, and he can get lots of exercise running with Nicole. And we'll get to see him again whenever they go out of town."

Ethan wasn't convinced. "Why'd you take him if you were so ready to give him away?"

"I was only taking him until we could find another family," I said. "I'll keep praying. If he's meant to be our dog, it won't work out for her family."

It's been a few days, and Nicole says Zeus is doing well--except that he got tired when she took him for a run. "He was all happy at first," she explained, "but around mile three he started lagging behind. I almost had to drag him home."

Poor dog! By mile three she would've had to carry me home! Maybe he can work his way up.

"Well, if you change your mind, it's no problem," I said.

"Oh, I don't know about that," she said. "Let's wait and see how he does with the kids."

I'm sure her kids will love him at least as much as mine did. So I guess that's the end of our dog story. I'll keep you posted.

In Other Pet News
CiCi has gotten into so much mischief. It's a good thing God made her so cute!

Here she is after she jumped up on the table and helped herself to a tub of sour cream:

A few minutes later, that dollop of cream on her forehead was gone. I suspect big sister Arwen might have helped her with that.

I was horrified when Ethan asked what I'd done with the sour cream.

"I threw it away, of course!"

"Why?"

"Because CiCi was eating out of it."

"So?"

I frowned at him in disbelief.

But guess what happened a few days later? I was sitting down to a German oven pancake, left over from Christmas morning, when CiCi jumped on the table and snatched it right from under my fork!

She jumped down with the pancake in her mouth, and I tore off after her. Despite her growling, I jerked that pancake back. And I ate it!!! (I can't believe I'm telling you that. You'd have to try a German oven pancake to understand.)

I don't know what I'm going to do with that naughty cat. No matter how many times I spray her with vinegar water and set her on the floor, she will not stop jumping on the table. And now she can jump up on the kitchen counters, too, which is a big problem. If anyone has any pointers, I'd be most grateful.

All Hiss
One more story, and then I'll turn in for the night.

Remember the video I posted in my last entry of Arwen going berserk over a strange cat in our backyard? I am now pet-sitting for that cat, who lives right next door. Her name is Emma, and she's very fat. She has diabetes, so she drinks a LOT, which also means she pees a LOT. But she is very sweet.

Tonight, Ethan texted me that Emma had slipped into our house when he came in. He hadn't noticed for about 20 minutes. After that, he held her and petted her for a long time. "She's so chubby and cute," he said.

I thought of Arwen's enraged screams just a couple weeks before.

"Wasn't there a cat fight??" I asked. "Did Arwen see her?"

"Yeah, but she just stood there frozen," he answered.

I guess she is all hiss and no scratch. Whew!

Every Day Is Kitten Day

Okay, as always I don't have any time, but I've just got to share a few cat stories. I'll go way back to the beginning....

Wednesday, October 22nd was the big day when we got to pick up CiCi. That week of waiting was torture for Allyson, who counted down the days to Kitten Day several times per day.

At long last, the day arrived. We brought our 1.5-pound kitty home in a carrier, lined with her favorite blankie. Tucked under my arm was a spiral notebook with frantically scribbled notes that I probably never actually referred back to.

I was most nervous about introducing CiCi to Arwen. She made wide circles around the carrier, nose twitching. When Ethan opened the wire door and CiCi stepped out, I heard Arwen hiss for the very first time. Over the course of a few days, the cats approached each other cautiously and even touched noses, but it usually ended with Arwen hissing. I had to keep them apart, which is how CiCi ended up taking over my master bathroom.

On the first morning, I crept into Allyson's room and snuggled up to her. "Good morning, beloved princess, daughter of the Most High."

Her brow furrowed, and she turned her back to me.

"Good morning, Kitten Mama. Happy Kitten Day."

She grinned.

"You said Wednesday was Kitten Day," she murmured.

"It was. But now every day is Kitten Day," I said. "Okay, Kitten Mama. Your baby is crying for you."

It was true. CiCi cried plaintively, stretching her tiny front legs through the bars of her carrier to touch Allyson's arm. (Every night since CiCi came, Allyson has slept on her roll-out mattress on the floor, with CiCi's carrier next to her head.)

At first we fed CiCi a revolting blend of kitten formula mixed with wet cat food, which she sucked greedily from a medicine syringe. She chewed the tip of the syringe, turning her head from side to side so that much of the slop ended up in her fur, leaving her smelling perpetually like tuna. Worse, she clawed frantically at the syringe, scratching our fingers in the process.

So we quickly abandoned the syringe in favor of a saucer on the floor of my bathtub. In her excitement, CiCi walked all through the food, tracking it all over the tub and smearing it over her belly, so that she still smelled perpetually like tuna.

Gradually, we phased out the kitten formula and just gave her the wet food. And on the first day that she dove into Arwen's full bowl and stole some food, we started dropping a few pellets of dry food onto her plate.

Since then, we've had to lock her up when Arwen eats. Otherwise, she makes a beeline for the bowl. While Arwen stands back politely, CiCi climbs right into the bowl and growls menacingly as she gobbles as much as she can get down before I gingerly pull her out, holding her by her chubby belly and trying to avoid her razor-sharp claws.

Allyson and I had to watch Gremlins recently so she'd understand what I meant when I said that our sweet little CiCi turns into a mean Gremlin any time she gets around food. Even when she's alone in her bathtub, she growls quietly and kind of mutters to herself while she eats.

CiCi's not the only cat who's obsessed with food. Arwen is always on the lookout for any wet food CiCi might have missed. The moment I open the bathroom door to let CiCi out, the two cats pass each other on the way to check each other's bowl for leftovers.

They've become pretty good buddies, mostly. They love to tussle. CiCi seems to be the aggressor, but Arwen subdues her with a well placed bite now and then. Sometimes a sharp little cry from CiCi sends me running to separate them. Arwen gives me a guilty look, as if to say, "What? I didn't do anything."

Early on, Arwen started grooming CiCi, which always warms our hearts. CiCi isn't sure what she thinks of that, especially when Arwen holds her with both paws and gives her a good bath. CiCi kicks at Arwen's face with claws extended, and then the grooming session usually turns into a wrestling match.

The cutest thing is when they sleep side by side on Arwen's favorite perch on the back of the couch. That cushion has seen better days, but do you think I mind? I have become such a cat person!

Both cats are very nice nap buddies. We discovered this when Allyson and I were in bed for days with the flu recently. CiCi slept on Allyson's chest, which surely was good medicine. On the day I thought I was up to returning to work but ended up taking a five-and-a-half hour "nap," CiCi and Arwen were with me nearly the whole time. CiCi made a nest between my knees, and Arwen slept on my shin. 

This past Sunday, I was feeling particularly exhausted after church, still sapped from the flu, I think. We'd be putting up the tree that night, and I told God I really didn't feel up to that. We couldn't put it off any longer, though, because Allyson would be at Bill's for the next two days.

"Oh, Father," I prayed silently, over a sink full of dishes. "I'm so tired. Please give me strength to make it through this day. Help me to enjoy decorating the tree, for the kids' sake. Okay, for Allyson's sake." (Ethan had been less than enthusiastic about decorating the tree last Christmas, so I wasn't expecting much.)

God told me to leave those dishes and go take a nap. I set the microwave timer for 35 minutes, allowing 5 minutes to fall asleep and 30 minutes to sleep--which is my maximum, if I don't want to feel groggy for the rest of the day. 

The moment I fell into my nap chair, Arwen climbed onto the ottoman and curled up in the crook of my knees. Ah! And then CiCi climbed into my lap and curled herself around my belly. I smiled my thanks to God as I felt an infusion of joy giving me strength even as I slipped out of consciousness. 

When the beeping timer pulled me out of sleep about 33 minutes later, I was ready to face  both the dishes and the Christmas tree.

God had a wonderful surprise in store for me. After Allyson and I had put up the tree, Ethan came right out when I called him. He cheerfully hung all of his own ornaments and a bunch of the others, even the boring red and green balls (most of which Arwen and CiCi removed over the course of the next few days).

We drank some eggnog and then all three of us sat on the couch to admire the tree while I read the first few stories from our Jesse Tree book, which outlines Christ's lineage. 

Next, I read The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey, which never fails to make me cry. This year was no exception. 

What a delightful evening! This Christmas season, God has been blessing me with so many little joys, filling my heart to overflowing. When I think back to last year, I remember how lavishly He showed me his love--with the scripture-stuffed stocking from my friend Gentle and the cross painting from my sweet niece Hillary. This year, I want to give out that lavish love. God has put many ideas in my heart, ways to share His love with friends, family, and strangers. What a sweet pleasure. 

So, back to the cat stories... 

Within 15 minutes, the cats had run off with the tree skirt. I remembered last year, when Arwen drug it all over the house. This year I'm not even bothering to put it back. It will just lie in random places until Christmas Eve, when I weight it down with presents. 

We keep a big spray bottle with water and a bit of vinegar on the hearth, right by the tree, and I spray the cats liberally if they touch the tree. The temptation is too great, though. Every time my back's turned, CiCi bats at the branches or even nestles on a branch halfway up the tree. When she spots me, she tries to flee the scene, but I chase her down with the spray bottle. It's actually pretty fun. 

A Confusing Family Tree

Allyson considers herself CiCi's mama, which makes me... Grandma. Yes, Allyson calls me grandma when she's talking to CiCi. Ethan is Uncle, but sometimes he's Brother. And Arwen is Big Sister, which kind of makes her Ethan's sibling.

It's weird family dynamic, but it works!

Some Weird Cat Psychology

Okay, now for the stories I've been dying to tell you. First, a strange cat has been hanging around our backyard for the last week or so. The first day it showed up, Arwen cried like a baby as she watched it through the window. "How sweet! She wants to play," I thought. 

And then she started hurling herself against the window, rattling the blinds. She screamed and hissed, struggling to get to the other cat, who was hissing at her from the other side of the glass. 

If you don't find a cat's screams stressful, take a look for yourself...

Before this, I'd had no idea that our mild kitty had such a temper. It was pretty amusing until Arwen turned on CiCi, arching her back and hissing. I quickly separated them.

I've watched them closely since then, and Arwen seems as motherly as ever. But tonight a high-pitched shriek from CiCi brought me running to the living room. I found Arwen crouched at the back door, moaning piteously. That stupid cat was back. 

I don't know what Arwen had done to CiCi, but she seemed pretty spooked. When Arwen took a step toward her, she arched her back, all her fur standing on end. Allyson scooped her up and cradled her like a baby. "I won't let Arwen hurt you," she crooned. 

Arwen isn't the only cat acting weird. A few days ago, I was sitting at my desk when I heard loud purring coming from the bathroom. CiCi was sitting on the fuzzy bath mat alone, sounding like a vibrating engine. 

"Why is CiCi purring?" I asked Allyson. "She's just sitting on the rug by herself." 

"Oh, she always purrs when you put her on the mat," Allyson said.

"Why?"

"I don't know. She just likes it."

I went into the bathroom for a closer look. CiCi was sucking noisily on some rug fibers, kneading the rug luxuriously with her claws spread wide. "Allyson, she's trying to nurse the rug!" I said.

I grabbed my phone and took a video. If you turn up the volume, you might be able to hear CiCi purring.

Because I usually drape the mat over the shower door to keep CiCi from tracking kitty litter onto it, she doesn't have much time with it. Every time they are reunited during one of our showers, she purrs and nurses.

Have you ever heard of something so bizarre? 

It's humbling, actually. I'd been feeling so loved each time CiCi greeted me in the mornings with her loud purring. Now I realize that she feels the same way about my bath mat!

It's never a dull moment around here. Every day is Kitten Day.