by M. R. Wells
Rascal lost control of his bowels next. As he began to regularly soil himself, Nancy and her husband would wake up extra early before going to work to bathe him. It was becoming more and more time-consuming and stressful to care for their rapidly deteriorating pet. Still, Nancy would not entertain the thought of ending Rascal’s life.
She just knew it wasn’t time.
Rascal still enjoyed his meals. He did his best to play with the puppy, albeit only for a few seconds before tiring. And whenever Nancy held Rascal close, she experienced the same loving warmth that bonded them the first time she held him as a puppy. No matter what anyone else said, she knew Rascal wasn’t ready to go.
Then, on a certain Friday in October that Nancy will never forget, things changed.
Nancy came downstairs in the morning to find Rascal whimpering. The sound cut Nancy like a knife. Not once in Rascal’s 16-and-a-half years had she ever heard him cry. Nancy’s heart broke and the tears came.
She knew it was time.
Rascal’s medications could no longer suppress the pain. Nancy could handle the extreme caregiving, but not Rascal suffering. She found it difficult to sleep that night. At work the next day, she couldn’t get Rascal off her mind. When she got home, Nancy called the vet. Through tears, she told the woman on the phone that she thought she and Rascal were ready. The compassionate voice on the line assured her the doctor would be available tomorrow and that if Nancy changed her mind, it would be okay.
Nancy sat alone with Rascal, wanting to be sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was making the right decision. She had 12 hours to change her mind. Nancy desperately wanted someone to talk to. At that moment, a good friend dropped by. As they spoke about Rascal, he began to whimper and moan. It was further confirmation. Then, Nancy’s youngest son came home. She asked what he thought about Rascal. Up to now, he had never voiced an opinion. He took a moment, then said, “Mom, it’s time.”
That night, the family gathered around Rascal. Nancy got down on the floor and lay beside him, holding him in her arms. As they all said their good-byes, Nancy recalled something she had read in a devotional: “Let go, let God.” She realized the power of life and death ultimately lay in God’s hands.
Nancy let go.
She and her husband brought Rascal to the vet in the morning. Rascal didn’t go down as quickly as planned. His breathing slowed, his head flopped down, but his heart kept on beating. It was as if he was trying to hang on just a little longer. Maybe Nancy was ready to let go, but what if Rascal wasn’t?
Nancy leaned down and whispered in his ear that she loved him, that she would miss him greatly, and that she would always remember him. She assured him it was okay to go because she would be all right. Rascal took a final breath and let go.
From that moment on, Nancy has felt only peace. Even through sadness and tears, not once has she doubted her decision. If she had allowed Rascal to linger on and suffer, she’s sure this peace would have eluded her.
“Let go, let God” was the key. When Nancy acknowledged God was infinitely more qualified than she in matters of life and death, she knew His timing was perfect. Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 (NASB) tells us, “There is an appointed time for everything…A time to give birth and a time to die.”
When I thought about how much consideration and heart went into Nancy’s decision as to the appointed time for Rascal, it got me thinking about how much consideration and heart goes into God’s decisions concerning our appointed times.
Actually it’s unfathomable. It’s beyond my wildest comprehension. I don’t know the words that can remotely touch how God must feel about setting the appointed times for all living creatures, past, present and future—including you and me.
Nancy had to deal with one beloved dog.
God has dealt with untold billions of human beings over countless centuries. Every one of these lives and deaths are as individual as snowflakes, no two alike, each with an infinite number of possibilities. But we all share one thing in common: We all have a time to die.
The only question is…when?
Genesis 5:27 tells us, “Methuselah lived a total of 969 years, and then he died.” God’s appointed time for this Old Testament guy was nearly a millenium.
Matthew 2:16 reveals the opposite end of the spectrum. “When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under.” For those little boys, their appointed time was less than two years. That seems terribly wrong. Who in their right mind would decide that two years is the appointed time for any human being?
But the Bible says God cares about us more than sparrows and lilies of the field. This may be controversial for some dog lovers, but I think God loves us even more than we love our dogs. Yes, that much. As Nancy let go and let God with regards to Rascal, the same comfort and peace is available to you and me in our times of loss and grieving. And it’s always good to remember to Whom we’re letting go. Not a cold and distant God who doles out appointed times like a heartless lottery machine, but a God who dwells so close we can feel His very presence.
Our God resides in our hearts.
Our God is the very same God who sent His precious only Son to die on the cross at an appointed time…for us.
God is mysterious. His ways and thoughts are higher than ours. God is love. And in that love is the greatest reason why we should let go and let Him. You may have heard it a million times. You may have memorized it in Sunday school when you were little. But have you visited it lately? It’s the marvelous promise found in John 3:16.
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16).
Consider This:
Have you ever wrestled with losing a beloved pet or person? Were you able to let go and let God? If so, what difference did that make? If not, would you be willing to let go and let God right now?
Scary Larry
Fear Makes Monsters
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT
When a young couple moved in next door we met the new neighbors, but not their dog. Visiting them was not that easy, because they were very busy. They were fixing up their beautiful home and large yard with a pool, guesthouse, and horse facilities. They both had demanding jobs as well.
I wasn’t sure what all their pets were, but I was aware of their large, frightening dog. I hadn’t seen him, but I had heard his huge, bellowing bark. I was just sure that if our little Squitchey got in his way, he could gobble her up in one bite. And when we had a big rain, I knew Squitchey would have an easy job of digging her way under the fence until my husband, Steve, could repair each soft place with rocks.
One day Squitchey heard the man next door working on his yard. She didn’t know the property boundaries and was out to protect her family. She dug her way under the fence and barked furiously at him with all seven pounds of her spirited little body. Steve heard the ruckus and ran out to save the neighbor. I figured if the man’s dog had been with him, Squitchey would have more than met her match—which made me all the more nervous about this “monster.” Every time Scary Larry (as I had nicknamed him) barked, I felt compelled to check our backyard for Squitchey to make sure she had not become his next meal.
Finally, I decided that I had been afraid long enough. It was time to meet this beast and see if my imagination was bigger than the dog himself. I wrapped up some homemade cookies and walked over.
Jenna, the wife, came driving home just as I arrived. We met at the front door and I gave her the cookies and asked to meet her dog. She wanted to know which one. So now I found out there were two beasts living next door to me! I said I’d like to meet them both. She led me to the backyard and there, behind a fence, were the beasts—not Scary Larry, but Buddy and Belle. Belle was a beautiful white Lab. She was as sweet as could be, and I would have liked to go behi
nd the fence and pet her. But the other beast, Buddy the Dalmatian, didn’t give me quite as warm a welcome as Belle did. He growled and barked and showed his teeth—but Jenna assured me that he would not attack. I talked to both of them and Buddy settled down a bit. Maybe next time I’ll go behind the fence and get to know them better. I do feel confident that one day soon we will all be friends.
Scary Larry the monster dog wasn’t real. He was a figment of my fears. He didn’t live anywhere but in my head. Now I have a confession to make. Many years ago I gave a young schoolboy a “Scary Larry” type of fright by pretending to be a monster myself.
I was 19 years old and traveling with a professional Christian music group. We were touring one of England’s many castles. It was more in ruins than many of the others. I loved standing away from the group, pretending I was royalty and was in the market for a castle to buy.
It was a cool day and I was wearing a dark brown coat with white fur on the collar and cuffs. My tour group went ahead of me as I stayed behind to check out the kitchen. It had a huge cave-like oven big enough to hold several people. It was dark in the castle and even darker in the oven. I heard a group of schoolchildren coming and decided to have some fun. I crawled way into the back of the oven, put my arms around my face, and sat quietly until the children arrived.
One curious little boy slowly walked to the face of the oven. I began to move my arms a bit. He alerted his teacher that something was in the oven. His teacher didn’t sound too concerned, probably assuming the boy’s imagination was running away with him. She called him over to her—but he crept closer to me. So I made a low growling noise. The boy screamed and took off. I squelched my giggles and sat quietly until they all left. It was ornery of me, but it sure was fun. I owe that little boy an apology. I’m sure he thought he was going to be a beast’s lunch that day.
Not all our fear monsters are pretend. Some of them are rooted in reality. Recently I have been dealing with the fear of dying. I’m not afraid of dying, really, because I know I will be in heaven with my Savior. I just don’t want to leave my husband or the rest of my family yet. This beast of fear is no idle worry. Three years ago I underwent a quadruple bypass, and not long ago I spent four days in the hospital with another heart problem. I had several major tests, including an angiogram. Steve stayed with me and our daughter Christy came to visit but couldn’t bear to watch me being taken by gurney to the examining room. The doctors found a blocked artery they’ve been able to treat with medication.
I believe the beast called Satan has been using my health concerns to growl at me, putting unnecessary fear in my life. But I don’t have to let him make this monster bigger than it is. God reminds me in His Word that He is in control. According to Psalm 139:16, “All the days ordained for me were written in [God’s] book before one of them came to be.” He knew the days of my life long before I was born. I am in His hands.
Scary Larry—that is, Buddy—is not going to eat Squitchey. He’s a good dog. He was only a beast of my imagination. Satan is very real, but my Savior is protecting me from him. God is in charge.
I am learning once again that monster fear is not from God. So I think I’ll go over and visit my new friends Buddy and Belle.
I sought the LORD, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears (Psalm 34:4).
Consider This:
Has fear created any monsters in your life? What are they? What makes them so scary? Which are imaginary and which are rooted in reality? Which Scriptures might cut them down to size and remind you that God is bigger?
A Time to Wean
God Grows His Children
You have to do your own growing no
matter how tall your grandfather was.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Some young friends of mine are in Scotland right now with their two small sons. Dan shared a marvelous story today. It was too windy for his three-year-old to walk down the hill from preschool. When he asked Jayden if he wanted Daddy to carry him a little, the child answered, “I want you to carry me a lot!”
When I first got my dog Munchie, he wanted me to stay with him a lot—as in, every single minute!
Munchie had been a beloved pet whose owner could no longer care for him. He was put in a shelter, and then rescued. For a while, he lived in a desert-area foster home. But it wasn’t meeting his needs, so I agreed to take him.
Munchie was brought to me in the evening. I already had three other dogs. Because he was new, and because I wasn’t too sure about his bathroom habits, I decided to keep him by himself in my office overnight. Munchie decided otherwise. He whined and whined until I gave in and let him join his new pack on my bed so I could get some sleep.
Next morning, I took him back to my office along with the rest of my pups. That was fine—until I went to leave the room. He launched a full-scale doggie protest, howling and scratching at the door. Clearly he’d lost one too many humans and didn’t want me to leave his presence. Talk about separation anxiety!
I realized Munchie needed to be weaned of this clinginess in short order or I’d feel like I had a four-legged Siamese twin. Okay, maybe I exaggerate, but I couldn’t live this way! Fortunately, I remembered what a trainer had once told me. He’d suggested that leaving a dog alone for brief periods and then returning could help condition the dog to be without me. I decided to go and come frequently from that office so Munchie would see that he wasn’t being abandoned. After doing this for a couple of days, he got the memo and calmed down.
If Munchie had spoken English and was capable of expressing his feelings, he probably would have rejected my game plan. He might not have felt at all ready to be “weaned.” But as his loving new dog mom, I trusted my choice over his. In short order, my decision was confirmed by his adjustment.
There was a point in my life when I, too, needed to be weaned of excessive dependence on a key person in my life. In my twenties, I accepted a job with an uncle’s nonprofit health organization. My task was to write a weekly column on health and wellness that we gave away to various newspapers. I was learning on my feet. But my dad was an experienced writer who had done extensive reading in the health arena. He became my go-to person. I would read my articles to him on the phone, and he would spot potential problems and flag them. I became extremely dependent on him for this assistance.
Finally, my dad decided that I needed to be “weaned.” He sensed that part of me resented my dependence on him. He thought I’d done my job long enough to have some decent judgment of my own. But like Munchie all those years later, I resisted.
Then Dad got cancer.
Suddenly, depending on Dad was no longer an option. But the weaning didn’t stop there. I had two colleagues I relied on as well. One left the organization. The other was in a freak accident that caused her to be unavailable to me for many weeks.
Humanly, I was howling and scratching at the door. But I had not been abandoned. I knew Jesus, and He was right there with me. Looking back, He was doing a work in me, growing and stretching me in ways I would not have chosen for myself. Ultimately, my dad passed away, but I kept writing and grew personally and professionally from the experience.
Jesus’s disciples also went through a difficult weaning process. They had gotten used to His physical presence. But the time had come for Him to go to the cross. He told them He wouldn’t be with them much longer and was going where they couldn’t come (John 13:33). They didn’t like this, especially Peter. Peter howled and scratched at the door. He asked his Lord, “Why can’t I follow you now? I will lay down my life for you” (John 13:37).
Jesus knew better. He knew Peter would deny Him. He also knew He wouldn’t abandon Peter. Peter wasn’t being forsaken; he was being refined and stretched and prepared for leadership.
Munchie is a happy, confident dog whose horizons have been greatly expanded by not needing to be joined at the hip to me. After Dad’s death, I went on to write animated TV shows and books like this one. And though Peter initially denied his Lo
rd, he was restored and went on to preach at Pentecost and assume a key leadership role in the early church.
Our loving heavenly Father knows just when and how we need to be weaned. He knows just when we are ready to take the next step. And He promises to be right there with us in that process. So when God beckons you out of your comfort zone, don’t howl—embrace the new adventure!
But very truly I tell you, it is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you (John 16:7).
Consider This:
Has God ever called you to be weaned in a way you didn’t feel ready for? How did you respond? What was the result? What did you learn that might encourage someone else who is in a weaning process?
Now You See Her, Now You Don’t
Believing Is Seeing
Faith is to believe what you do not see;
the reward of this faith is to see what you believe.
ST. AUGUSTINE
When Meaghan first started learning tae kwon do at the tender age of seven, her dad told her she could have the dog she yearned for—once she earned her black belt.
Meaghan stretched, kicked, and punched her way to puppy ownership. She went to a number of breeders, saw a lot of dogs, but Max the tiny Yorkie towered above all the rest.
They became inseparable friends. When Max was little she brought him to visit her dad for a weekend. She had a babysitting job that night and was gone for many hours. When she returned, she found Max curled up on her sweatshirt. Max had recognized Meaghan’s scent on the shirt and refused to move until she came back.