Friday Photos

This picture was taken at the Grand Hotel in Point Clear, Alabama.  I think what I liked most about it was the contrast between the blue water and the clean, white feathers of the duck.

 

Only God and People...

(I received the final clearance from my surgeon, and I am "cleared without restrictions" on my hand! So, I am back on the keyboard.  I will have to admit that a couple of keystrokes remind me I had hand surgery two weeks ago!)

I'd like to share with you an experience I had with Ellie a few days ago that sent my morning on a downward turn.

I was sitting in my chair in the room where I write. Each morning, I sit in that chair, drink my coffee, eat breakfast, read the Bible, and plan my day.  

Ellie, as usual, was sitting in her bed in front of the window, watching the world go by. I had only had one sip of coffee (which is not sufficient to wake me up) when Ellie, staring out the window, became a Tasmanian devil! She was barking and twisting and turning in reaction to whatever was outside the window. (Most likely, a cat.) Then she headed off to the Living Room to watch the movement of the offending animal from the window in there.  

In the midst of her demon possession, she knocked over the table by my chair. My coffee cup was emptied onto the top of the table, causing a sea of coffee, in which the sand impression of Sparrow's pawprint sat. (Sparrow was our previous beagle, which we had for 13 years.) 

In her quick departure, Ellie also caused the table to tilt slightly, so that the sea of coffee now cascaded into a basket by my chair, where I kept a blanket and various items.  The blanket, my blood pressure cuff, and my guitar workbooks were now splattered with coffee.

I headed to the Living Room with purpose.  Ellie was looking out the window, presumably for the demon that seemed to have possessed her. I expressed my displeasure with her actions very plainly to her.  I don't know that I have ever spoken to Ellie in that manner before.

I returned to my chair to clean up the spilled coffee. After I cleaned up the mess on, around, and underneath the table, I went looking for Ellie.

She wasn't sitting in her bed in front of the window (the scene of the crime).  She wasn't with Glen.  She wasn't in the Den, her second favorite spot to sit and hang out.  I found her stretched out on the Living Room floor, looking extremely pitiful.  I took her to the room where the incident occurred (which I affectionately call "the Mountain Room"), and I actually had to carry her.  I set her in my lap and tried to convince her that I wasn't going to kill her.  After a while, I went to the kitchen to replace my spilled coffee, and as is her usual protocol, she followed me. I made her do some commands she learned as a puppy as an excuse to give her a treat.  Then she followed me back to the Mountain Room, climbed into her bed, and took a nap. Too much excitement for one morning, I guess.

Meanwhile, I sat in my chair, looking at the world outside the window, reminding myself of one of my favorite sayings,

"Only God and people are eternal; everything else is just stuff."

I guess by "people," I mean dogs, too.  Ellie is much more important than anything she might have damaged during her escapade.  Even more important than Sparrow's pawprint. (I know Sparrow would heartily agree with that.) She is a living, breathing creature with thoughts and feelings, and...life.  Everything else on that table was stuff.

After her nap, Ellie continued to act sad, and I wanted to remedy that. I wanted to reassure her just how much she was loved. Ellie has a habit: if she wants to play tug-of-war with us, she brings one of her toys and lays it at our feet.  This is the invitation for us to chase her and play the game she loves so much. I asked her to bring me a toy, and she didn't respond.  I tried again, and again, no response. 

Then I decided to try a different tactic.  I went to the Den, grabbed her favorite toy —a stuffed mallard —and went into the Mountain Room, where I dropped it at her feet. She looked up at me in what I interpreted to be disbelief.  She knew exactly what I was saying to her with that toy, and we had a nice game of tug-of-war, after which she sat in my lap for a long while.

This experience with Ellie taught me several things.  First, creatures, human and otherwise, are often much more sensitive than we imagine, and we do well to seek the Lord's guidance in our interactions with them.

Next, it reinforces to me that even when our Lord needs to correct us about something in our lives, He does it out of love for us.  He is in the process of conforming us to the image of His dear Son, and sometimes that "conforming" isn't exactly comforting to us.  But it is always for our best. Just as Ellie needed correction, I sometimes need correction too.

Most importantly, this reminded me that when the Lord does have to correct us or redirect us, His heart never changes toward us.  He is always abundant, pure, love toward us.  He is always for us. And He is showing us that each moment, if we open our eyes to see and believe. Ellie thought the offer of a game was too good to be true (Yes, I know I am assuming what she is thinking, but it works for me here), but it wasn't.  I absolutely wanted to play with her, just as our heavenly Father desires fellowship with us. 

"My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord, neither be weary of His correction: For whom the Lord loveth He correcteth; even as a father the son in whom he delighteth."

Proverbs 3:11,12

Friday Photos - The First of Hundreds

 I will never forget this tree, or this photo.  The photo was taken on October 20, 2014, at 6:02 pm.

We were at the end of the first day of the first backpacking hike.  We had already climbed to the summit of Mt. LeConte (6593) feet on the Alum Cave Trail and crossed the Boulevard Trail to where it ended at the Appalachian Trail.  

This was our first white blaze.  If we hadn't been running out of light, or running out of energy (and still had 0.5 mile to our shelter) I would have kissed that blaze!

The first of hundreds.

I Don't Want to Set The World on Fire...

 (This is a repeat of a post written in 2009. It has been revised to update the time frames mentioned.)

I Don't Want to Set The World on Fire...

Perhaps it was the chilly, wet, grey weather. Maybe it was because I was sitting across from the small window at the cafe, looking out at the grim sky and the bare branches of a solitary tree, watching an occasional gull fly past. Perhaps it was because my Daddy's birthday was just ten days away. He would have been 107 this year. But he has been gone for 28 years.

Anyway, Glen and I were sitting at the cafe, each doing our own work on our computers, and the cafe was playing old music on the intercom. I really wasn't paying attention to the music until, unexpectedly, the words of the old song not only caught my attention, but also flung me far into the past. I could hear my father strumming on his guitar and singing those words..."I don't want to set the world on fire....I just want to start a flame in your heart!" 

All of a sudden, I was a little girl again, whose only man in her life was her daddy. My eyes filled with tears as I thought about how I would love to hear him sing that funny old song to me just one more time.

Once, I attended an in-service at work on "Compassion Stress Fatigue". If I had known what the first "exercise" would be, I would have surely opted to not go. We each were given a brown paper bag and slips of paper. On the slips of paper, we wrote down things we loved (mine were people), things we loved doing, or things we looked forward to doing in the future.

Then we rolled the tops down on our bags and shook them up. We were told the bags represented our lives. Then we were to imagine that we were given the diagnosis of inoperable cancer and we had six weeks to live. We were to open the bag, take out the slips of paper, slowly read what was on each one, say goodbye to whatever was on it, and then tear it up. The first piece of paper I took up had a name on it. "Jackson" -my grandson. Immediately, I was in tears. I could not tear up that piece of paper. How would I say goodbye to that piece of my heart? Then the moderator said something that put it all in perspective for me. "Tear up that thing you love and know you will never see it again!" I realized that if I know the Lord Jesus as my Savior and if those who are written on those slips know Him as Savior, then cancer and even death cannot truly separate us.

For Christians, we know that death is only a temporary separation. There is another day coming, a day of reunion, a day in which we will have a perfect bond and union, in which we will be together forever. After I remembered that, I was able to tear up all the other slips of paper without the emotional upheaval that the moderator expected. I had a Blessed Hope of which she was unaware.

Sitting in the cafe, my eyes still wet with the tears of missing my Daddy, Glen asked me to pick out a weekly memory verse for his Orange Moon Devotionals. I knew exactly which one I would choose. The one that reminds me that there will be a day when my Daddy and I will indeed meet again:

"For the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first:

Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words." 

I Thessalonians 4:16-18