WEDNESDAY WILL BE A TOUGH DAY.
I was thinking about it last week. I sat at my office desk, imagining what might happen on January 15, when we take our six-year-old black lab, Maizey, to Kansas State University for evaluation. Maizey, as I wrote last week, has been diagnosed with lymphoma. It’s not a curable disease in dogs.
Lymphoma eval at K-State for Maizey
The Veterinary Health Center at K-State is a teaching center for future vets. As I sat in my office, I imagined having to talk to students about what it's like to go through this. It’s a head thing I do when I work through tough times. It’s a way of trying to express the pain and to listen for a responding inner Voice, which tends to speak when not spoken to. Not in my timing.
I would tell the students that when I’m standing in a room with Maizey, I’m in my world, with all the good and bad things going on. Researching. Writing. Answering emails. Bookkeeping. Worrying about relationships in our nation that is so divided primarily by the hateful rhetoric of a few politicians. That’s my world.
But when I go to my knees or sit on the floor or lay there with my head gently resting on Maizey’s warm back, I’m in her world. It's a world of love and devotion, expressed in licks, bumping noses, paws extended onto my arms and hands—which is puppy talk for “Don’t go yet.”
Sometimes I lay there on the living room floor, face to face with Maizey. And I tell her, "You're alive." That’s the first thing I said to her when she came to our house, for that’s the day, two years ago, when we saved her from being put down. She should have been gone by 8 a.m. But here she was, still alive.
Maizey’s song
There's a song I heard after Maizey's diagnosis. It's Maizey's song now. I try to play along with it using my harmonica, which I'm trying to learn and learning poorly. The song's in the key of D for "dogs," which is handy for remembering which harmonica to use. The lyrics are mostly the opposite of our experience, so they're more like a prayer for what we wish our life with Maizey could be. You can listen to Maizey’s song here:
Chasing Cars, sung by Noelle Johnson
[Verse 1]
We'll do it all
Everything
On our own
We don't need
Anything
Or anyone[Chorus]
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?[Verse 2]
I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel
Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough.[Chorus]
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's burstin' into life
[Verse 3]
Let's waste time
Chasin' cars
Around our heads
Self-pity?
Maybe I’m wallowing in self-pity. But maybe the melancholy music gives me permission to feel the whole experience of what is happening to Maizey and to me and my family. Music has that power. I've heard that the shortest distance between here and heaven is a song. I believe it's true.
I can't play the song or sing it without feeling everything about Maizey’s lymphoma wash over me. If I let it wash over me long enough, maybe I'll learn to swim.
I know that when my kids cry, I cry, too. Parents are like that. So I expect that as I cry over what my beautiful little lady Maizey has to endure until we have to let go, I think my Father cries, as well.
“Get back to work”
So I was sitting there feeling the hurt when I told myself, “Okay Steve, get back to work.”
And up pops an email about a man called Dennis, a fellow dog-lover. We had exchanged emails before. And in one of them he sent encouraging words for me about Maizey.
But on that day last week while I was mourning, the email that suddenly popped up said he had just become a monthly supporter of the Casual English Bible® and the work we’re doing with our paraphrase and Bible maps.
Folks, I don’t have many of those kinds of supporters. I can count them on my fingers. I don’t need any toes.
It’s hard to explain what it feels like to have that kind of support from anyone, especially from a stranger.
People who have by back
I’m not used to that. It’s not common for me to receive that kind of help. My folks had five kids. I was the oldest. They couldn’t afford to help me with college or seminary. I covered my cost and most of the cost of college for my wife and two kids. I’ve always thought of myself as a work horse. And with the Casual English Bible® I’ve carried most of that load myself for about a decade now.
I’m not complaining. The work made no sense to anyone I know in my circle of influence. But I felt I should do this. So I did it. And I’m almost done with the first pass. Then comes the polishing along with new and improved Bible maps.
I’m not asking for more support. Instead, I’m thanking God for what I have and for allowing me to do this work, and for Dennis’ heaven-sent timing.
I know that could have been a coincidence. Fat chance.
I’m thanking God for Maizey, too. Such a kind, gentle, and intelligent little lady. She comes into my office, puts her face near my lap, and just looks at me. She lets me cup her face in my hands as I stroke her jaw muscles just below her ears. And she halfway closes her eyes like she’s drifting away.
Yeah, Wednesday morning.
The hiding place
You are a hiding place for me,
A safehouse of protection from harm.
Safe with you, I sing my Hallelujahs.The LORD says, “I’ll show you the way to go.
I’ll be your guide.
I’ll advise you all along the way.
And I’ll never take my eyes off of you.”Be glad the LORD’s in your life.
Psalm 32:7-11, Casual English Bible®
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Maizey our dog, diagnosed with lymphoma