Was it worth it?

Every once in awhile, my huh-knee will get this fantastic family idea in his head.  This usually involves not only toting Ella around somewhere overly-crowded in 150 degree heat, but also a giant St. Bernard whom we lovingly call "The Howie-nator".  Now, let me preface this short story by proclaiming my absolute love and fondness for my husband.  He is a family man all the way, and that includes the dog.  And, though I may give him a hard time in this blog, I would have it no other way.

The time is 4:05pm Sunday afternoon.  David had been licking his chops for about 30 minutes while perusing the website for Rita's Custard and Italian Ice in Nashville.  He heard about it through his beloved brother, Dan.  Now, if you know the two of them, you'll know that if one of them tries something...so does the other.  So, back to the story.  David is licking his chops and asks me, "Are you hungry for dinner?" I respond with an "Um...not too hungry."

And he jumps on his chance.

"You want to go to Rita's?"

"For dinner???"

"Sure!"

"Well, Ok."

So, sure. We're hip.  We're free. We're spontaneous.  Let's eat dessert before dinner. Heck, let's eat it for dinner as a matter of fact.

Within a few minutes, he has already changed Ella's diaper and gotten her in the car all ready for the 40 minute drive (without putting on her shoes--but, hey, it's summer, right?).  I giggle as he turns into an excited little schoolboy right in front of my very eyes.

And then comes the kicker.

"Can we bring Howie?"

"Ohhhhh....you really want to? Don't you remember the Franklin Festival? Too many people and a Beethoven look-a-like.  We couldn't walk two inches without 50 kids trying to ride our dog.  Or what about when you wanted to take him for the ride to Ohio? He got spooked by a semi-truck and sat on my lap for three hours. Do we have to bring him this time? Maybe we should go the three of us so we can just enjoy ourselves."

"Oh, c'mon. It'll be fine." He begs.

"Fiiiiiine."

And, into the back of the Honda Element jumps Howie.  Now, please understand, I love this dog.  He is my heart and soul.  But, let's just say, he's not great to travel with.  He sticks his big head in between us and slops my arm with a thick layer of slobber, in addition to it drip drip dripping all over the counsel.  If we hit a small bump, he usually gets spooked and ends up in the front seat with me or at least with his big paws all over my lap.  Ella thinks it's hilarious, as he knows better than to sit on her.  But, mama, she's usually the one comforting the big ogre.

So, off we go.  To Rita's.

The ride there was mostly uneventful.  Just the usual chit chat.  And then........ we arrive. As I pull Ella out of the car, I realize she has spilled the entire contents of her sippy cup down the front of her onsie.  Oh well, it's summer. I'll just let her walk around anyway.

Oh, she doesn't have shoes. Stroller? Oh, we took it out so Howie could fit in the car.  Ok, "no big deal" I say to myself. I'll just hold her, and David can take care of Howie.

It's as if Howie is some sort of magnet.  We have barely even opened the door yet, and we already have fifteen pairs of eyes glued to our car.  Howie jumps out the door in slow motion, jowls bouncing, and his upper lips forming balloons as he lands onto the cement parking lot.  And here it comes...

"That there is a St. Bernard!"  "Whoooooooa." "Look at that dog!"

Oh, and I forgot to mention we gave Howie a first time hair cut at home the day before.  And, well, it's not bad, but let's just say it ain't perfect...

So, we make our way through the small crowd thanking our audience for their kind remarks as the side of my shirt soaks up any extra liquid that Ella's onsie might have been carrying.  At this point, one of the women who works at Rita's has already come outside with a giant cup full of water and three huge dog biscuits.  Where she got the biscuits off hand, I have no idea.

David and I try to figure out how to tie Howie to the bench so we can go inside and order our custard.  Meanwhile, a 70 year old bystander (who apparently is an expert on big dogs) introduces himself to us.  He offers to hold Howie's leesh while we go inside to get our ice cream.  I politely decline, letting him know that sometimes Howie pulls when he is out of his normal surroundings.  He insists that he can handle him, and David just continues to tie Howie to the bench that is cemented into the ground.  Trust me, Mister, you'll thank us later.

I go inside to order Ella and I an ice cream cone (sprinkles, of course).  David continues to visit with our new "friends" while I finish up, and I get outside just in time to see a sweet old lady with a cane and sunglasses petting Howie's head.  This makes me somewhat nervous, as Howie is not a fan of sunglasses.  David goes inside to scope out the fifty flavors of Italian ice leaving Ella and I to watch the dog and pray that he doesn't get overstimulated with ten people all up in his face.  All of a sudden, sunglasses lady decides to pull on Howie's ear.  Howie lets out a bark....a loud one (he doesn't like anyone else but us touching his ears--just a thing he has).  At this point, we know...the St. Bernard is overstimulated.  Used to sleeping away 22 hours of everyday and only interacting with his baby sister, he's wondering what the heck is going on.  Not to mention that two minutes later, up pull two LOUD motorcycles.  They are not only wearing helmets but also sunglasses.

Poor Howie. The dog can't get a break.

Howie ends up trying desperately to break free from his leesh that is attached to the bench.  I look inside and hear David say "I'll take the pear!" in a tone of panic and then practically throws his money on the counter.  Meanwhile, Ella and I are soaking wet with a melting ice cream cone dripping all over the place (did I mention it was over 100 degrees?) trying to calm Howie out of his hysteria.  P.S. It's hard to calm down a 140 lb dog who just got the wind knocked out of him by a motorcycle mob.  All the while I'm praying to God that he doesn't get loose from this bench and start running across the street into a major intersection.

David runs outside, as everyone visiting Howie goes into "fix it" mode.  The Rita's worker says "Oh, I know!!!! I'll just go get 'im a'nother biscuit!!" The expert on dogs starts coaching us on collars that will keep Howie from pulling. "You know...if you get a collar called such and such......he wouldn't do that."

Followed by, "Where'd he get that haircut?"

Oh my gosh. Could this trip get any worse?

David starts shoveling his pear Italian ice into his mouth, realizing that we have only a few moments of sanity left.  He quickly calms Howie as he unravels his leash from in between and around his legs.  I look at him with the "Let's go" look.  

And off we go, heading back to the car.  Ella is barely hanging onto my hip, her nose covered in little sweat beads and her curly-Q's quickly turning into perfect, wet ringlets.  Howie jumps back into the car, and I hold out the rest of my ice cream cone.  "Here ya go, buddy."

Mr. Dog Expert (following us to our car) continues to rattle off facts about collars as he we quickly buckle our seatbelts.  The key goes in the ignition, and off we go.  40 minutes back toward home, our Rita's excursion only lasting 15 minutes.

As we merge onto the highway, I let out a chuckle, and ask, "So? Was it worth it?"

The fact is, in the midst of the crazy scenario, it never seems worth it.  But, afterward, when you get a chance to look back--it's always worth it.  Sunglasses and all.  It's memories like this that make us a family, and it's memories like this that will be re-told over and over again at Christmas Eve get-to-gethers and Thanksgiving meals.

So, Howie.  We're sorry, buddy.  But then, again, you did get an ice cream cone, right?

(corresponding song: Don't Go Breaking My Heart by Elton John and M79 by Vampire Weekend)

Reconciliation=Justice

The last few weeks, this topic has been tug tug tugging at my heart.

There are a lot of injustices here. On earth.  A lot of living hells, if you will.

And to say that I have played no part in it would be to be completely in denial.  I've served my unfair share of them.  Potty mouth.  Bitterness.  Unforgiveness. Flat out rage. Pride. Overflowing tongue.  You name it, in some way shape or form, I'm sure I have taken some sort of part.  And, unfortunately, at times still do.

I obviously say this not from a standpoint of being proud of myself but from a standpoint of humanity. Of recognizing the flaws that not only the Fall-- but my own choices have contributed to.  It is reality.

And, yet, somehow there are still times where in my streak of vengeance, I believe that someone else "deserves what they get".  Oh, that my heart would be so callused.

This really only shows a place in my heart that is yet to be softened, that has yet to let forgiveness fill, that has yet to accept this Grace that has been purchased for me.

I understand that the human condition calls for justice.  When someone steals something from us, or hurts us, or judges us, it is in no way fun.  And yet, I have found the utmost freedom in turning my want for justice into a cry for reconciliation.  I have found that when I turn in my hurts to be acknowledged and justifed by the One who has already felt them, I receive the recognition that that particular event was wrong.  And after that is acknowledged, I have the opportunity to forgive.

Forgiveness is an act of faith.  It is the higher road.  It is the key to freedom, to happiness, to joy.  And it does not negate that a situation was hurtful or painful or flat out wrong.  But what it does is serve justice. The justice we long for, for wrongs to be made right.  Because in all reality, hitting someone back with the same hurt they hurled at us is not justice.  It may be retaliation, but it is not justice.

But watching someone's life transform because you did your part in forgiveness.  That is justice.  Reconciliation is justice.  Restoration is justice.

Jesus did not have to forgive anyone.  He chose to.  He bore the burden.  He died the death.  And in one swift moment, rose to tell about it.  Sharing His experience with anyone who would recognize Him.

Oh, that we would have hearts to recognize Him.

Not to hold on to our viewpoints, or to our rights, or to our opinions.  But that we would hold onto the hope of Reconciliation.  Of justice washing us clean.  Of forgiveness washing us like a flood.

I pray that I would recognize the debt that has been paid for me, so that I may extend the same Grace to another person who has not seen.

This is Love.

(corresponding song: Going Home by Josh Garrels)

Making Space.

The last two weeks, I keep hearing this phrase over and over again.

It's been whispered to my heart.  It's been felt as an ache in my bones.  It's been kissed onto my lips with little hands grasping my face.

"Make some space for Me."

It has been an exhausting month. There's been a lot of transition, traveling, and contending.  Contending for my time, for my resources, and for my heart.

It's one of those times where I get to the point where I've hit "tired", and I long for my cup to be filled back up.  And yet I didn't even necessarily realize that I had been leaking.

As I settled into my bed one day when Ella went down for a nap, I picked up a book that I had been reading.  And as I read, I grieved.  Have you every grieved when you weren't expecting to?  It's actually quite freeing.  As I grieved over this experience and that experience, this loss or that loss, I heard Him say, "This is making space."

Emotions that we choose not to deal with do not go away.  But when we give ourselves some space, they tend to brim up to the surface, bubbling like a pot of water just before boil.  At this point, we have two options: Find a way to turn down the heat or let it boil until the water is purified.

It's less painful to turn down the heat, not gonna lie.  And yet, there is the most beautiful transition that takes place when the simmer turns to a boil....and when the bubbles get large...and when they start to splat and sizzle as they splash onto the stovetop.

It's been in those moments of boiling that I have learned that "making space" is always my best option. And also that rest is highly underrated.

It's the minutes of silence and of stillness, that Love bids me to come.  Broken pieces find their counterpart, frustrated pieces let it go, and desire finds its hope.  And while the waiting can seem mundane and irritating all at the same time, I also find this sustainable grace.  I find longsuffering and patience, I find mercy instead of judgement.  I taste a bit of this Love that sustains all things, this blood that washes me clean, and this Lover of my soul that's been waiting to make me feel His love.

And in a moment, I have peace.  My vision has been set anew, my hope refreshed, the wind beneath my wings strengthened.

And I move on. I overcome.  I rise.

And then, chances are, not long after, I get to bring someone else with me.  Someone in the same spot or a similar spot.  I get to exude the grace I just received to make the path a little easier for the next person in line.  And there's Redemption.

And somehow the hurt that I once experienced doesn't feel as stinging as it once did, but instead my empty cup has turned to overflowing.

Had I not listened to the whisper, I might still be living unfilled and half-empty.  But because the whisper is persistent, I make myself available.  Letting go of expectations, my "rights", and my plans...in exchange for the promise of "I am".

Life. is. beautiful.

(Would this song not make the most incredible dance? Make some space and give her another listen if you like.... )


(corresponding song: Make You Feel My Love by Adele)