Tough Stuff

Last Tuesday while I was visiting my mom and dad, my dog, Panther, was hit by a truck when he escaped and ran into the highway in front of their house.  He was lucky and his injuries were not fatal—just expensive and requiring high maintenance.  My life and schedule pretty much ceased and were rewritten by the demands of Panther’s care. 

I took him to my vet to have a complete set of x-rays to determine the extent of his injuries and found that there was some internal bleeding in his chest area and urinalysis revealed “stress” to his kidneys—and “stress” was a good word since his stress involved stress for me also since I was the one responsible for clean up from incontinence caused by the stress.  The vet also found that Panther had a bone broken in his paw, so they sedated him twice—once for the x-rays and once to reset the bone then put his leg in a splint.

The lady who was assisting the vet carried my eighty-pound Weimaraner to the car with remarkable poise.  I expressed to her how impressed I was with her ability to carry my big hunk of puppy to the car with such ease.  She suggested to me to have someone ready to help me get him into the house when I got home, so that I didn’t hurt myself. 

My husband came home and helped me get him in the house and things were going okay—I got his five pills down him easily by wrapping them in thin-sliced deli chicken and was feeling pretty competent till he began to exhibit signs of needing to go to the bathroom.  Normally I would just open the back door to the deck and he would go down the stairs to the backyard, do his business then come back and notify me that he was ready to come in—but because of his injuries and the anesthesia, I couldn’t allow him to go down the back steps.  All of this I failed to plan for and now was having to think quickly of a solution.   I put him on his leash and supported him as I took him out the front door.  He made it down the couple of little steps off the porch then Panther just flopped down on the sidewalk.  He was obviously not going to make it to a bush or some really special blade of grass to do his business, so I had to figure out how to get him back in the house.

Now I was really faced with a dilemma—my husband was at church and I couldn’t get Panther to come back in the house despite my every attempt at coaxing even with his favorite treat, I could leave him outside passed out on the sidewalk or make an effort to get him in by myself.  I thought to myself--if that young lady at the vet’s office could carry him—maybe I could carry him if I just positioned myself like she did—maybe there’s a special secret to carrying him the right way that would distribute his weight in such a way that I would be able to lift him like her.  I put my one arm under him behind his front legs and my other arm under him in front of his back legs just like she had then I lifted with all my might and his front paws came about six inches off the ground.

I tried again and this time I actually lifted his hind legs just a little—my confidence was boosted, so I lifted his front legs again and drug his backside as best I could till I got him back on the porch then just dropped with him.  I was only about three feet from the front door, so I decided to try to drag him through the door to the rug just inside the door and then drag the rug with Panther on the hardwood floor to his palette.   It worked—I was successful.  I ran into the kitchen to get another treat to try to coax Panther from the rug on to the palette and when I came back, Panther lay half on the rug and half on the floor in a puddle of urine.

That night I moved Panther’s palette next to my bed and I would get up and lay with him on his palette when I would hear him licking or biting his splint.  I prayed for him and then wondered if praying for my dog in light of all the more serious requests I was acutely aware of was fruitful.  The verse about God being aware of even a small sparrow falling came to my mind and the next morning, I looked up the verse and was surprised at the context with which this verse is written.

It is found in Matthew chapter 10 in the middle of a section titled “Discipleship and Suffering”.   Jesus is preparing the disciples for persecution that is coming and exhorting them to not be afraid.  He's preparing them for the possibility of losing close family relationships because of their stand of faith and admonishing them not to love their fathers or mothers or sons or daughters more than him.  He also says that anyone who does not take up his cross and follow him is not worthy of him.  He reminds His disciples that they are valuable to the Father and that He is aware of everything—He’s even aware of the number of hairs on their head.  I was reminded that God is aware of all we give up to follow Him—every sacrifice, every trial, every painful experience we suffer while trying to obey and do the will of God.

Sometimes I want God to be like a pet owner—a really good one like me.  I want Him to always make sure my food bowl is full and enough water so I won’t have to drink out of the toilet.  I want Him to wrap my pills in deli lunch meat and never stick the pill in my mouth then hold my snout closed till I swallow it.  I want Him to give me treats when I do tricks and behave well and keep me on a leash so I don’t run blindly and stupidly on to the highway while trying to exert my independence or cross boundaries set up for my safety.

I got kind of tickled at verse 27 in this section that says, “What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs”.  It was in the dark--actually about 2:18 am that God brought the verse that drew me to this portion of scripture.   It’s kind of funny how God brings us encouragement sometimes.

 There are a lot of times that I feel like quitting and feel frustrated that I can’t see more fruit from my endeavors in the kingdom.  God in His quirky way reminded me that it’s tough to follow Him and I just need to keep speaking what He gives me.  It’s normal to be tough—it’s actually a very good sign.