I've been told that blogs should be direct, shorter, to the point. I do very few things that way, unfortunately, I'm more of a story teller in all areas of my life.
Today, August 31, 2015, I found myself quite melancholy. I remembered yesterday as I felt the seasons beginning to change, that my daughter and I were holding our sweet Siberian Husky, Sabre, as he breathed his final breath and his heart was quiet. The pain was over; but our pain had just begun. We had never experienced such incredible, overwhelming pain in our lives. As I reread this post from 2 years ago, it helped me realize once again that life is a series of seasons. Some seasons, we revisit. Some seasons are brand new. I'm hoping I can hold onto these feelings and thoughts, and press forward into my next season. I pray and hope that this next season will be one of hope. I know it won't be easy.
August 31, 2013
Today there is a briskness in the air. Fall is rapidly approaching, even though the afternoons still bring scorching heat. As I drove to work with the heater on, I decided to listen to a Christmas CD in the car in order to begin choosing music for my church's music selections for December. With the first note of this music, I was transported back in time. My father was a professional musician, and my childhood was filled with hours and days of glorious Christmas music that he played on his old turn table with vinyl records. We would listen to them every night in December, and fall asleep listening to these carols. Oh, how I loved the season from Thanksgiving to Christmas, largely because of this rich music filled with incredible text, melody and harmony. As I sat in my car, continuing to listen to the Christmas music, I was reminded strongly of this past Christmas. I was the music director of the Steamboat Chamber Singers (a small ensemble of advanced amateur singers). The day of our first Christmas Concert, my beloved husky, Cheyenne, had to be put to sleep. The tears started to flow. I closed my eyes, still soaking in the beloved music, and I could instantly see in my minds' eye the silhouette of Cheyenne's beautiful, velvety black ears. Her face remained as that of a puppy, with trusting chocolate eyes midst the black mask and white muzzle that was her beautiful face. How I loved this sweet, sweet dog. She taught me grace and how to trust and hope to find love in every new day, midst her crippling pain that she couldn't understand. One day, she was able to joyfully yet feebly fetch a ball. That evening, she couldn't walk anymore. It was as though I was watching my life through her life. I didn't understand. It broke my heart. So, hours before I was to conduct this concert, I held her in my arms as she slipped away and into God's welcoming arms. I know, without hesitation, that as I cried out to God to send an angel to be present in that room to be with us, He sent one just for us. Before Cheyenne passed from this life, she looked up into the corner of the room. She saw something. I believe she saw that angel I asked to come be with me, with her, with us. Midst the excruciating pain I felt, there was a tangible peace. It was absolutely unexplainable.
That night, after the concert was over, the applause had long ended and the building was empty, I stood for a moment alone to reflect on the concert and the pain that still flooded my soul. I closed my eyes to take it all in. I was so proud of myself for not falling apart during the concert. I was proud of myself for even being able to stand. I'm not one who has experienced visions, but I felt Cheyenne's precious presence. Maybe because I wanted and needed to feel it? Or, maybe because God let me feel profound comfort at the end of a day that overflowed with both grief and immeasurable musical beauty.
I could almost see her black silhouette curled up at my feet, her white front paws curled up underneath her as she was alertly looking around the room. She was there to tell me she loved me. She was there to tell me thank you. She was there to tell me that through God's loving presence in my life, I could get through this devastating grief and still breathe.
Even now, almost 9 months later, I am overcome as my tears pour down my face in the silence as I sit here alone. 2 years ago today, I had to put Cheyenne's precious, precious brother down too. Sabre was a strong, striking, gorgeous silver Siberian Husky. He had one crystal blue eye, and one light brown eye. He had a "snow nose", with a little pink stripe that ran down the middle; and this handsome big boy had the heart of a child until the end. There was no dog who could frolic and prance like this one did! He was so sick, and he didn't understand. He kept trying to eat, but couldn't keep it down. We never left his side. Neither did Cheyenne. Cheyenne, my rock. Sabre, my barrel of laughs, beautiful boy.
Why does God allow me to love this passionately, this deeply, only to experience such profoundly devastating pain? I feel as though my heart has empty, gaping holes in it. Holes that were filled by these precious dogs that I believe God gave our family. That God gave to me.
Why?
Perhaps God used my pets to show me His immeasurable love for me. Even if I go "off leash" and run far from Him, even if just for the fun of it, God is there. He will come find me, and if I am readied to hear His voice, I will hear Him calling my name. If I destroy something, which is quite often the case, He may be frustrated or hurt, but He loves me as He picks up the broken pieces and puts me back together. Just like my destructive huskies, I too am rather self-destructive. And as many times as I picked up pieces of shoes, shredded blankets, and even a half-eaten sofa, I never stopped loving these crazy dogs. I wonder if God thinks the same thing about me with my pieces of friendships, shredded past marriages, careers that seemingly end without reason -- remnants of a life that "should've been".
Life happened and shredded normalcy into tiny little pieces.
Fragmented and yet through it all, God still loves me.
I think that because of my life's path, my journey which led me through breast cancer at 28, a broken marriage, immense, mind-boggling bouts of acute abandonment and most recently heart disease, God has brought healing to me through the love He has given me through the pets He loaned me. I've seen that my dogs trusted me to feed them every day. And, God has fed me ... when I bother to show up to be fed. These dogs said good-bye to me at the door when I left for the day. They stood by the window and watched me leave. Yet, they absolutely trusted that I would come home. I imagine that they slowly curled up into their beds, took long naps to ready themselves to leap for joy, wagging their tails uncontrollably when their master came through that magical front door at the end of the day. These 2 dogs never stopped smiling when I returned.
It taught me that I am to do the same with God: that in the times when I've been waiting at the front door, He has always come home to me at the end of it all. Do I wait for Him at the front door of my life, with great anticipation and overwhelming joy to welcome Him in through my heart's door? Is there a smile of joy on my face? Do I dance for joy, as my huskies did, when God shows up and brings light into my darkness?
So today, I miss you my precious Sabre and my beautiful, most beloved and sweet Cheyenne. Thank you for teaching me joy, trust, hope and unconditional love. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Thank you, dear ones, for being angels sent into our home to make our family complete. God, may I be reminded today to wait for you to heal my broken pieces and make me whole. May I be aware of your presence with me, even if I can't see or hear you. Cause me to hear you as your footsteps walk closer to the doorway of my heart.
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