patience

    

    Earlier this month, our pup Jackson started limping. At the time, we had no idea what had happened to cause this change. After the second day of his three legged hop around the house, we brought him in to the vet. 

        I found myself standing in front of two x-rays, my eyes blurred with tears as the veterinarian pointed to a hip joint that had been degenerating for most of Jackson's short life. His femur was lodged someplace in the pelvic bone, a makeshift hip joint. 

        Though I marveled at God's design and the capacity for an animal to function with such trauma to his basic form, my heart sank at the reality of what our family was facing in receiving this news. Our only options were to let Jackson continue until the bone-on-bone joint eventually would give way to lameness, or to bring him in for surgery. 

           Jackson has likely been favoring his left hip for years, since the bone apparently was malformed from birth. We only adopted him a year ago, and had never once seen evidence that would lead us to suspect he was injured. 

            There was no way that I could look my kids' in the eye and tell them that we would not do surgery to help Jackson. A young dog, he could have 8-10 years more with our family. 

            A week later, we brought Jackson to the surgeon and left him to do the surgery that would hopefully prolong a life of mobility. After he came back and had his first physical therapy appointment, I realized that his recovery would be dependent on our willingness to commit to at home, round-the-clock therapy and care. 

           Funny, the things that you don't know about your dog when you adopt it. For example, that as a breed, beagles tend to be both stubborn and dramatic, and how that would play out in an injury. After a day at home trying out the various tricks and tools given to us by the therapist, the girls and I were frustrated beyond words at our pup. "Mom, he is being such a pain!" repeated one daughter after another, as we took turns walking him around the house and neighborhood on two leashes. He pulled, pushed, wriggled out of the second leash and hopped on his healing leg. The last bit was the most frustrating piece of it all- we knew by the first whole week after surgery that his leg wasn't in pain. He trotted on parts of walks, when distracted by the usual tantalizing scents and flavors in the grass on his daily walk. 

            But the minute we took pressure off the leash around his body, he'd pop the leg back up. And in the house, he'd try to hop whenever we weren't massaging his leg down or pushing down his hip. 

            If only dogs could speak.

            So by the end of a week of therapy at home, where his activity was constricted to when we could help him walk on all fours, my shoulders and back ached, and our patience was worn down by consistently having to correct him. 

            In all of this, I've questioned the timing. This kind of thing happens when my husband is gone. One part of me wants to rant and complain and be the victim. Why did all this happen when he is gone? Why now, Lord? I was already feeling beyond myself, depleted. What are you doing in this? What am I supposed to be hearing?

            This season has been one of trusting God beyond what we can see. If I only used my natural eyes to deduce meaning and understanding of my situation, I would feel completely blind, in a place of confusion. In a strictly human point of view, it doesn't make sense for Steve to leave and take a job overseas, it doesn't feel right to have a situation like this happen with our pup when we are already struggling. 

             Just tonight, my ten year old asked me, "Why did God send Daddy away for his job?"  When I struggle to answer their questions, I try to be honest in this, and I silently ask for wisdom from the only One who knows the beginning from the end. After a quick prayer for wisdom, I talked to her about how we prayed and asked for God to guide us. How we looked for another job and this was the one that opened up, and in a truly remarkable way. In the perfect timing for the first university tuition payment for our son. 

            As I stroke her hair, she listens and then, synthesizing my words, she offers up her own sacrifice of praise, "Some people might think that it was only a bad thing, but God is able to make good things come out of it if we grow in our faith and trust Him more."  Tears come, and as she cries, wrapped in my arms, my heart swells in wonder at how God uses His little ones to inspire and encourage those who have become callused with age and experience. 

         In the midst of uncertainty, on the precipice of doubt and desperation, we remember what we know is true. We trust God is faithful and true. That His plans for our family are good. 

            And that He loves us. 

            My dog is stubborn. And dramatic. That doesn't sound at all like me. But if it did, I would say that I have a Savior who patiently continues to bring healing to parts of my life that have been wounded, broken. And when I feel that discomfort and awkwardness of using that part of my heart that has been newly healed, when complain and whine, I can't do this! He shows me that I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. Time after time, he gently presses into that place, reminding me through the pain and discomfort that I need Him. I need Him! Not what is in His hand (ie. His peace, His comfort, His strength). He is all these things. I need Him. 

            And that truth inspires me to continue on with dogged patience (no pun intended!), as my stubborn beagle relearns to walk freely and with confidence on the four legs God gave him. 

soli deo gloria