Meandering Moments by Elsi

Dolphin here: You know, Lady was my pet. An inferior being, certainly—not terribly intelligent, not particularly interesting. But still, part of the family. I suppose I felt for her what C. S. Lewis would call storge love, which is for the familiar.

So yes, I miss her. We actually had some good times, she and I, when Mama wasn’t around. Of course, I had to damp my brilliance in order to relate to her, but that’s rather restful.

Mama says she’s looking for another beagle. I do hope she’ll let me help choose!

I’ve done very little this week, just too exhausted from traveling … and from grieving Lady … to accomplish much of anything.

This afternoon I went with my friend Vicki to visit her brother Kirby in the hospital. This is the brother we brought out here from Missouri just about a year ago. Kirby is desperately ill, with multiple parts of him not working. The doctor says he may recover somewhat from this, but the ongoing prognosis isn’t good. Kirby is such a sweet man … it hurts to see him in ICU, so ill and unhappy. Pray for us all, please … probably best for Kirby to be with the Lord, but we love him …

And then youth group this evening. What a wonderful distraction and encouragement those kids are! I was working on the difference between literal and metaphorical passages in the Bible, with the rule of thumb being to take Scripture for what it says it is. So we played a ball game with socks on our hands, so we couldn’t use our thumbs. Then we read some passages from Psalms and tried to take them literally: God has nostrils, and wings, and breaks weapons; David was a worm; we have hooves like deer. And finally we read and acted out the first part of the Gospel of Mark, which includes John the Baptist eating locusts and honey.

And at the end, I asked, “So, what’s the common theme—the thumb-less game, God with feathers, acting out Mark?” One student said, “You made us do them all.” Another offered, “They’re all about the Bible.” And Ted (I LOVE a sense of creative humor!) said, “Well, worms don’t have thumbs, and worms and locusts are kind of alike, too.” Isn’t that delightful! Then Ruthie made the logical conclusion and we brought the evening to a close.

And I came home, tired, but singing, “Sweet Hour of Prayer.” Walked through the drizzle to my front door, unlocked it, and started to say, “Here I am, lonely little beagle …” and realized … again … Dolphin’s home alone.

But God is good!

Lady was my Christmas miracle dog. My previous dog had died while I was visiting my father in St. Louis, the Christmas of 1995. At the same time, unknown to me, Lady showed up on a rural St. Louis back porch, on Christmas Eve, in a snowstorm, very pregnant. I love the symbolism … pregnant and homeless on Christmas Eve … The family took her in, kept her while she had and raised her puppies, and then asked their neighbor, “Isn’t your brother a vet? Could he help us get rid of all these beagles?” And the vet-brother turned out to be my father’s vet, who phoned me to ask, “Are you ready for another beagle?” What an example of God’s perfect timing!

All Lady has ever needed is love. (And food, of course, because she’s a beagle.) Going for a walk meant wonderful smells but, much more important, it meant finding beagle-patters. Everywhere we stopped on our travels, Lady found people who had driven across the continent just for the pleasure of patting her. By my side or, better yet, in my lap—that’s where she wanted to be.

Lady enjoyed my bouts with pneumonia. What more could she ask than to have her mama lying on the sofa all day? She loved our old cat Cassie, and would have loved Dolphin if he’d been willing to do more than tolerate her. During laughter and tears, anxiety or loneliness, at home or in the RV, Lady’s been my companion since 1996. I will miss her desperately.

So, what do I want for her? I’m not positing any doggy heaven. I don’t know for sure what the Lord does for His animals, especially the ones who are loved by His people. But, as the David Crowder song says, You make everything glorious! I am Yours … what does that make me? And He made Lady, so she is glorious also, precious to my Abba as well as to me.

Doggy heaven, for a beagle, would involve new people to greet, fresh smells to sniff, and rolling hills to run through. And supper waiting, and her loving mama.

I think, really, she wants what I most want: a warm, comfy lap … strong, safe arms to hold her … a gentle, comforting touch … kind, caring words. Beyond that, to be surrounded by loving friends, who gladly see our good points and sweetly don’t notice the flaws.

Lord, I trust You to take care of my Lady, in whatever way you feel is best. She’s been Your gift to me, and I give her back to You.

When I was first introduced to the Lord, I was baffled by one thing: His unconditional love. That was something I’d never been exposed to before, and I couldn’t grasp it at all. I had always been loved, or liked, or accepted, primarily for what I did: pretty, smart, good grades, good writer, helpful, friendly, obedient …

But now I was told that God loved me, and it wasn’t because of what I did! He just loved me, unconditionally. I didn’t understand this at all. But eventually I came to realize my dogs have always loved me unconditionally—when I’m kind or angry, if I forget to refill the water dish, if I trip over them … they still love me. That gave me my first model or example of our loving Lord’s attitude.

I’ve been thinking about the dogs I’ve had in my sixty-one years: In my family of origin, Odif, Poppy, Numa, and Tibby; in my own family, Powder, Reepy, Bitsy, Lady; in Mother and Daddy’s family, Ditto, Tibby Two, Winston. Of those eleven dogs, all were beagles except for Poppy (mutt), Powder (mutt), and Numa (basenji). Beagles, Daddy and I agreed, are the best.

My family was big on clever names. Odif is Fido spelled backwards. Tibby is short for Tibbar, which is Rabbit spelled backwards, because beagles chase rabbits. Ditto was the offspring of my Reepy and a sire named Pete (Reep-Pete, therefore Ditto). Powder is short for Powdermilk and Bitsy for Raw Bits, both from Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon stories. Poppy was Mary Poppins; Numa is African for lioness, according to the Tarzan books. Reepy is Reepicheep, from the Narnia books. Winston was Daddy’s used dog; his original owner thought he looked like Winston Churchill. And Lady was a stray, whose rescuers called her Baby; I refused to call, “Baby! Baby!” but didn’t want to give her another entirely new name, so kept the vowel sounds (plus there’s the wonderful book and movie, Goodbye, My Lady).

more on this Monday …

I pulled in mid-afternoon, sick with my cold and exhausted. Managed to buy more decongestant, which helped, and took a nap, which also helped. And I just got home from youth group.

Justin Mier led us on not letting people despise you because of your youth (1 Timothy 4). One group acted out David and Goliath (Chris used a rubber band to dispatch Alex, attacking with a pencil). Another had Shadrach and his buddies (Karen and Haimei) attacked by fire and defended by God’s love (LeHao). The third group did Queen Esther, with the king (big Chris) wanting to discriminate against people with beach balls (Mimi). And the adults (Justin, Vicki, and me) did the child Samuel—Justin wakes up hilariously!

Four sets of young people whose willingness to step out in faith changed history and is an example to us all—even ancient me!

by Dolphin Dodge

Vacation? I don’t think so! I work much harder in our little house in the summer than I do at home! It’s certainly not a vacation for me!

My first job every morning is to get Mama out of bed. She’s a lazy thing and would loll around if I didn’t supervise closely. I roust her out of bed and make sure she opens the windows and fills the food dish.

            Then I patrol the perimeter, as I do every hour or so all night. But in the morning, when the windows are open, I can apply my specialized smelling and hearing abilities to better assess the situation. I could do this more effectively if I were outside, of course, but Mama can’t understand this. I hope she doesn’t regret it some day …

            Finally Mama makes the walls close in. I push back on them, because we’d have a much more pleasant day if she’d leave them alone. But again, she ignores my sage advice. Sigh.

            While she drives, I make sure the inside is secure: under the seats, behind the sofa, around the edges of the dashboard … I leave no place unchecked. Then I rest, on the dashboard or navigator seat or chair. Of course, I have other, secret, resting places, also, but we won’t talk about those.

            Evenings I watch for terrorists and plan my night patrols. And when there’s a thunderstorm, I stick close to the bed, in case Mama needs comfort and protection.

            Ah, yes, it’s certainly no vacation, but my sense of responsibility won’t let me rest when there are needs to be met!

I am not fond of being categorized or pigeonholed. I choose my friends for common interests and/or needs. I refuse to attend a class segregated by age, or participate in any group where some peripheral commonality is considered sufficient excuse: RV rallies, for example, where the people gather together for no reason other than they’re all in RVs. So the rationale behind the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally escapes me.

Nonetheless, it’s mighty popular! This is the 68^th year, and I have been surrounded by bikers in campgrounds, gas stations, rest areas, restaurants, and—most noticeably—along the highway. Single bikers … couples on a bike … bikers in flocks and packs … bikers in protective jackets and helmets … bikers in T-shirts and doo-rags … young, old, male, female, clean-cut, heavily tattooed …

Thinking of the classes and discussions I revel in at writing conferences, I asked a biker dude at a highway rest area what they do at the rally. He looked at me oddly and explained, “Well, they’ve got bands every night. And we can go visit places like Mount Rushmore.” Oh. Of course.

Although, since they’re mostly guys, I suppose they might well be perfectly happy standing around each other’s bikes, going, “Wow!” and “Ooooh!”  I recall a tour bus driver who told me he could gather a crowd in the parking lot simply by raising the hood of his vintage bus. I feel that way about puppies …

I’m so glad the Lord looks straight at me, not seeing me as elderly, or author, or stubborn, or traveler. He just sees me as me, and loves me as I am!

“How was the conference?” This is what everyone was saying Thursday morning as we walked to the closing session. “How did it go for you?”

I have a friend who came to the conference with two (yes, TWO) contracts for two books. Another friend was offered a contract while she was there. An editor plans to present a project of mine at committee this fall. Does that make it a good conference?

No—it’s mighty nice, but that’s not what makes the conference glow in my memory. I met friends I’ve known from other years. I made new friends. I participated in writing-related conversations from dawn till ‘way past dusk. That makes it a good conference.

And, we talked about the Lord, how He’s working in our lives, how He leads us and encourages us. We talked about watching Him arrange details to put us where He wants us. We shared His  protection in hard times. 

And that’s what  made it a good conference. Friends … writing friends … writing friends who love the Lord … what more could I want?

Well, I wouldn’t object to a contract, but … ;-D

Oh, I do love it here! The whole atmosphere is rich with fellowship and encouragement, book talk and word play, smiles and hugs. 

 I’ve had good responses from editors on a project a friend and I have been working on. Good suggestions about a set of Bible stories I’ve written. So many ideas and open markets—I’m rather giddy right now, as well as sore and exhausted.

Lady is still hanging on, and Dolphin enjoys watching the day campers coming and going through the day. So we’re all happy campers!

The conference is over at noon tomorrow, and I’ll head for the Columbia gorge to camp. Then off to South Dakota to visit friends before going home. God has been so good! I wish I could give Him a hug of thanks!

Oh, I do like being at Oregon Christian Writers! The whole area is accessible for me (except a few upstairs rooms in one building); I’m camped on-site, so I can participate in everything that goes on. I can eat most of the meals, too. 
 I know a lot  of the people here, so there are familiar faces all around me, even when I don’t recall names. And some so-very-special friends: Sandy Cathcart, Sue Miholer, my Shannie and her British Columbia friends and family, Debbie Rempel who came down to the campground just to pat Dolphin, Hillary Lodge who will come later to pat Lady as well … I shouldn’t have started listing names, but …

This feels like a God-place, with wonderful times of worship, good classes and workshops, friendly people, good listeners, and moments of utter hilarity, as when we were privileged to a brief concert by Pat Rushford and … the Rejections! They sang two old favorites:Goin’ to the conference, and I’m gonna get published! (to the tune of “Goin’ to the Chapel of Love” and “Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be writers!”

Thank You, Lord!