Me and God and a word called No.

November 14, 2018.Reading time 6 minutes.

There is a book I recommend to every father: The Gift of Fear by Gavin De Becker. It is a fascinating read with many takeaways – the most important of which is a list of warning signs we can look for when we find ourselves confronted with odd or potentially dangerous behavior from another. One of the warning signs of criminal behavior is a person’s inability to accept “No” for an answer. No is a valid response. In a dating situation or when a stranger offers unwanted help, the normal person will back off when told no. But a deviant mind seeks ways around the word and will not accept it.

No is a valid response to a question. We teach our children that truth and even when difficult, we have learned to accept it ourselves.

No is also a valid response to a prayer.

The Bible teaches three answers to prayer: Yes, No, and Wait.

Yes is easy. When we pray and receive what we desire there comes a satisfying confirmation of the love of our heavenly father.

No and Wait can be very hard but are valid answers nonetheless.

I believe that God always answers every prayer. My finite mind cannot grasp the logistics involved in this system, but the Bible teaches it and I accept it. While he answers prayer, he often does not always offer an explanation. Nor does he need to. He is God.

When a father tells his child no, he usually follows with an explanation for his decision: “No, you can’t eat that cricket because it will spoil your dinner.”

The child may or may not be satisfied, but God is not bound by our need of a reason. In the height of human arrogance, we demand all yes’s or a reasonable explanation for the wounding no’s. But he is God. He didn’t promise that and doesn’t owe it to us. If we expect yes to every prayer, we are immature fools who serves a genie in a bottle, not God. No’s test our faith – especially when it comes in a desperate situation and without a trace as to why.

C.S. Lewis said, “For prayer is request. The essence of request, as distinct from compulsion, is that it may or may not be granted.”

On Friday, February 13, 2015, I woke up early and went down to my basement. I got down on my knees and that didn’t feel like enough so I got down on my face and cried out, “God, heal my baby.” With my daughter’s life ebbing away in the room above me, I had faith. I truly believed with everything in my heart that even then, God would raise her up cancer-free and it would be a miracle. And she would walk out of that room and be a living testimony of His power and his mercy to this dying world.

Twelve hours later, I watched her take her last breath. I carried her lifeless body out of my house. To all of my prayers and the thousands prayed for her by others, God said no. I will never know why. I can speculate, but I cannot know. My inability to know that answer doesn’t make him any less God. Further, it doesn’t mean he didn’t answer my prayer – he just didn’t give me the answer I wanted.

It would require very little courage or faith to follow a formulaic God doling out fortune cookies with complete instructions and positive affirmation. But God is not an if/then proposition. He never said, “If you pray, I will grant.”

When I asked, God said no which leaves me two choices:

I can walk away from my faith or I can learn to live with this God who says no.

Either way, God is still God. He hasn’t changed. Have I? Has my faith?

Faith is not built by the proliferation of yes’s we accumulate. Rather, faith is molded in the fiery ashes of the painful no’s we’ve received.

I choose to stay. Some might call that foolish, but it is my choice and mine alone. It is a daily slog through the valley of why, but I still believe. I still believe. While I do not understand his will and in this case, I do not like it, I acknowledge that he is God and I am not. He owes me no explanation.

But… God and me – our relationship is different now. I tend to feel him less and see evidence of him more and in complete candor, we sometimes aren’t on speaking terms. That might make sense to no one, but it’s where I am. It’s where we are. Regardless of how I feel… he is God and I am me and that’s enough.

Me and God – we’re working through this together.

Do All Dogs Go to Heaven?

November 7, 2018.Reading time 5 minutes.

I wonder about things like that. It’s nice to think of the good dogs in our life walking beside us in great beyond. What about the bad ones? Did they never get a chance here but deserve a break in the afterlife?

I made a big mistake fourteen years ago and would like for some young simpleton to profit from my stupidity. Here is my advice: if you lose a beloved old dog, don’t immediately take four sad children and your big-hearted wife near a pet store that frequently holds adoptions. You will end up with a puppy, I assure you. We did. She was a cute little black thing but she was a handful.

Someone found her playing in the road when she was five weeks old, too young to be weaned. But with no mother dog in sight, the rescue took her in and then we did.

I never really bonded with her. With work and a big family, maybe I had too much going on in my life, I don’t know. She bonded with the girls though… and she ate quite a few of their toys. We took her to obedience classes. She failed. Nothing stuck. She still ate toys. She wouldn’t mind.

But she was always sweet to the girls and never, ever growled or snapped at them or their friends. Besides the typical puppy stuff, we discovered that she was obsessed with the game of fetch. That dog would knock over anything and everything in pursuit of a tennis ball. In fact, we had to ban them from the house because she crashed into children over a ball more than once. When she was a puppy, that wasn’t a big deal. When she grew to a 90-pound menace, running over kids became a problem.

Her back legs began to wear down early in her life. She struggled mightily when it got cold. Over the past year, a knot began swelling at her shoulder. The vet said it was bursitis, but things began to turn. She was getting old, slowing down and we knew the time was coming to make a decision – the worst decision a pet-owner has to make. When she stopped eating, it became obvious. A Saturday appointment was made.

We were in the den Friday and she began methodically licking her shoulder. Like I had for the past year, I told her to quit. But then it dawned on me – what does it matter now? She has less than 24 hours left.

Lick away, Misty.

That night, the girls all spent time with her. When they were little and we had company, Jenna and Kylie would forfeit their rooms for the guests and sleep on the floor with the dogs. They thought that was really cool – to sleep with the dogs. So Jenna decided to spend the night on the floor with her.

It dawned on me that Kylie would take the next shift.

We all piled in the little room at the animal hospital and saw her peacefully away.

I have a vivid picture of Kylie waiting with a tennis ball… smiling and calling her name. The first of her family to come home to her.

“Come here, Misty. Come home… good girl.”

Do all dogs go to heaven?

I don’t know. It’s a theological question too lofty for me. She wasn’t a great dog. I wasn’t a great owner, either. But she was loved and she loved my girls. She did her job here and had a good run – 14 years for a dog found playing in the road.

I think of the two of them running and jumping on perfect legs – bound by earthly maladies no more – and I find that I really hope dogs make it.

Have a good fetch, Misty. Take care of Kylie until we come home.