grace and my three-legged dog

Sometimes grace falls on us like a ton of bricks. This is when it's obvious the hand of God is at work in our lives. When my children were born it was like grace hit me over the head. The power of the experience awed me.

Other times, it's harder to discern His presence in the mixed up moments of daily life. Earlier this week, I was feeling sorry for myself. Our dog was sick, and we we're faced with an awful choice: put him to sleep or amputate his leg. We chose the later to help prolong his life a few months longer. We weren't ready to say goodbye just yet.

Still, amputating his leg wasn't an easy choice. It was expensive. The recovery is painful. I have three young children, and my husband won't be around to help out. The day of the surgery I kept wondering if we were doing the right thing. I was reassured when I saw Killian hobbling towards me on three legs just twenty-fours after, yet conflicted later that night, when I heard him whimpering in discomfort.

Grace is flowing over me though. My daughters are extending a tenderness towards the dog I've never seen before. They, for the first time, understand compassion. Elise is worried he will die. She understands what the loss will mean for her, for me, for Nelson. Julia, a self-proclaimed dog-hater, suddenly cares about Killian. Mostly, I think she sees the change in me. She sees my regret over lost moments and cruel words when Killian was healthy. Though she doesn't understand redemption, she's watching me for cues on how to behave. If ever I understand my influence over my children, it's now. This is grace.

Listening to Killian's soft breathing early this morning also felt like a moment of grace. Every life is precious. Though a dog falls last in the hierarchy of a family, he brings something that no other member of the family brings. He teaches pure forgiveness and unconditional love. He wags his tail even when he hurts because he's glad just to lay next to you. This is grace, and it's so clear to me now.

I yelled so loud I scared the baby

Yesterday morning was a disaster--sort of. Julia refused to wear pants--any pants she ownes, in fact. I kept calm for a while. But slowly the clocked ticked down and suddenly there we were with fifteen minutes to go before the bus arrived and she's pantless, lunches are half-made, and Elise and David are still in their jammies. I've had no coffee or tea, and I'm still in my jammies too.

So there Julia is, running around in her underwear refusing to wear pants even though her Dad has thoughtfully given her two outfits to choose from. I normally avoid this fight by letting her wear dresses on most days, but today the choice is pants.

She wouldn't have it, and I finally blew. I yelled (OK, screamed) got down on all fours and sat on Julia and forced her pants on. This isn't easy because she's quite strong when she is angry. But I decided I wasn't giving in this time. Then I forced on her socks and sneakers too. She was beligerent at this point. The baby was wailing. I don't blame him. It was a bad scene.

Before Julia got on the bus, we hugged and made up. I apologized for my reaction. I told her I would never make her go to school in an outfit that made her look "stupid" and sometimes she had to trust me. She said sorry too. But after she had gone, I still felt bad. On the one hand, I needed to show some authority. When you are five, you don't always know what's best. She needs to understand this. On the other hand, I realize screaming and wrestling pants on your kid isn't the best way to teach this particular lesson. Yet the moral of this story is not about finding a more peaceful solution to my parenting problems. Instead it's this: maybe we all need to loose it once and a while. Otherwise, how do you quickly get your kid to wear pants?

a hard lesson to learn

Yesterday we had a lazy fall afternoon. The trees have started to turn golden yellow and burnt orange. Elise, David, and I took a walk to my favorite spot down by the boats. The breeze was warm and small leaves crunched as we walked around. Elise collected rocks and plunked them off the dock into the green-blue ocean. The tide was high and lapped the shore. It was quiet and peaceful and made me feel connected to my kids as they enjoyed such simple pleasures.

I felt deep sadness too. As we left for our walk, our dog, Killian, limped to the end of the driveway as we strolled away. I told him to go back to the the house. The vet thinks he has incurable bone cancer, and he can barely walk now.

Since my children were born, my dog has been my last priority. I've treated him badly on many days--scolding him for getting in my way or rolling in stinky animal carcasses or eating food off the table. At night, I often ignored his gentle hints for a pat because, I told myself, that I was too tired to give anyone else my attention.

All through our life, we confront moments like these--moments when we realize we've made poor choices--moments when we realize we've not lived the best version of ourselves. I've never liked the whole biblical premise that we are all sinners, yet we are. We sin, even when we know better. We sin, even when it's not that hard to make the right choice. And then our choices eventually have consequences.

Losing Killian this way is heartbreaking. He's so sweet and good, and he still loves me just the same as he always has, even though I've been terrible at times. It's a cliche, isn't it, to learn my lesson this way? Now our time is short, and there's not much time to make things right. There are no more walks to the ocean on fall days with him leading the way.

my biggest dream

For as long as I can remember, I've had a secret dream. It's not very practical, though of all the things I've ever dreamed of doing it's the one thing that feels most like a true reflection of who I am.

Is it possible that my biggest dream is what God put me here for?

My biggest dream seems like an impossible goal.

Or is the only thing that's holding me back self-doubt?

Self-doubt certainly plays a role. But what about my adult responsibilities? Big dreams don't always make good sense. Then again, God often asks us to do things that don't make complete sense.

So what's my biggest dream? I want to sing. I've always been a singer. It's the one thing that makes me feel whole. And if I've been given that gift, it must be for reason. Can I use my music in a good way? To help others? A crazy dream or my destiny waiting to be fulfilled? More thoughts to come...

what's their excuse?

Just last week, Julia arrived home from kindergarten to discover that Elise had gotten into her Polly Pockets. "I told you not to touch those!" she yelled. "I didn't do it," Elise pleaded. "You're lying!" Julia hollered. Elise wasn't exactly lying. David was the initial culprit. After he dumped out the container of dolls, Elise went ahead and played with them.

This was a mild fight in comparison and the details are hardly important. One is always blaming the other. Someone is usually denying something or else someone is exaggerating. There is screaming, shouting, and the occasional hair pulling episode. There are good days--where the fighting is replaced with harmonious play, but most days go down with them duking it out.

Turn on the TV or surf the web and the childish antics of my five-year-old and three-year-old don't seem much different than the behavior of our national leadership. There was Representative Wilson shouting, most disrespectfully, "you lie" to President Obama during his address to a joint session of Congress. The President himself has drawn a line in the sand labeling tea-party protesters part of the "angry mob." And true, some of the protesters did handle themselves poorly, but many did not.

There was also an organized boycott of Whole Foods after their founder Joe Mackey wrote a fair-minded op-ed piece on why he opposes government-run health care. And there's Alan Grayson making up his own kind of distortion on the House floor.

Of course, then there is the kind of fighting that's not really childish at all. Rather, it's disturbing. There's the long list of Hollywood Directors defending Roman Polanski's rape of a thirteen year old girl three decades ago and the debate that has caused (and for the record, there is no such thing as consensual sex between a thirteen year old girl and a forty-four year old man). Then there's a CBS employee trying to extort 2 million dollars from David Letterman over sexual affairs. To make it worse Letterman is laughing it off. I wonder if his wife and son think it's funny? I don't, but that's just me.

But back to my little boxing ring at home. My girls fight because they haven't learned the skills to work things out in a more reasonable and civil way. They fight, I suspect, to exert individual power because much of their world is controlled by adults. They fight because it's easier than working together to find a solution. I get that. I can see this as part of their normal childhood development.

I wonder what excuse the leadership (and media) of this country has for such pathetic behavior?