Ash Wednesday is such an emotional experience for me. I don’t remember attending this gateway to Lent back when I was a kid. Finding my way back to church as an adult, after being away for almost twenty years, I attended a UCC church, and I don’t remember this service there either. Perhaps it has to do with the incredibly intense emotional environment I was in the first time I experienced the imposition of ashes.
When I first joined Gethsemane, my daughter was eleven years old. I’ve mentioned in previous postings how challenging she was to raise. Her difficulties have always seemed to be on an escalating trajectory, with very few plateaus. You can use your imagination for the pre-puberty years. My mother’s heart was so battered already, I doubted my endurance for the coming teen saga. Although I had remarried, there were parent duties I just didn’t ask my husband to do. So I was her only transportation to and from school, for any activities or play dates, and frequently for visits with her father or grandmother. Consequently, I didn’t do much on my own, and definitely no evening activities. Ash Wednesday was out of the question.
By the time our daughter was knocking on door number thirteen, her dad and I had worked out a different custody plan where she would live with his mother. This new plan spelled out visitation for me on Wednesday afternoons after school, and weekends.
On Ash Wednesday this particular year, I had planned on attending service for the first time. I was supposed to have our daughter back to her grandmother’s after dinner, but I figured I’d still have time to make service. I waited for her outside the school gate, and the minute she saw me, she launched into a tantrum, yelling and screaming, crying, almost spitting she was so mad. We got in the car and she showed no sign of letting up. I called her dad and informed him I was bringing her immediately to his mother’s, because I was not going to spend my afternoon in this fashion. His mom was out, so he told me to wait for him at her apartment. I told him to hurry.
When we met up with him, I kissed her good-bye. She was still yelling. I had kept my composure the whole time, but it broke as soon as I hit the freeway to go home. Church and this service of mortality was my refuge from the storm.
I cried through all the hymns. I was so weary, so tired of feeling inadequate, so far away from joy for so very long. Somehow I was reluctant to receive the imposition of ashes. This declaration of vulnerability was intimidating, but I went forward and knelt. After smudging my forehead, “remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,” Pastor laid her hand on my head for a moment and I wept. The pain was all still there, but somehow I felt safe here, safe enough to admit being broken. This was a time to be still and just know the reality.
Eventually, I would come to grips with the fact that this pain wasn’t my whole story. There was more to life, to me, and I could find it and live with all of it, including the pain.
Ash Wednesday/Lent is like a pause, a time for intentional quiet, to focus within, but also to consider a broader perspective of our human condition. Like the image of the mythic phoenix dissolving into ashes before glorious rebirth, my emotional response to Ash Wednesday is like a cleansing, preparing me for the glory of the resurrection, once more.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Do Dogs Go To Heaven???
Sixteen and a half years ago, OD came home from fifth grade with a serious case of anxiety. A classmate had a dog that needed a new home. They had gotten him from the pound, but her mother was frustrated because he was a chewer. She couldn’t understand why hitting him with whatever item he had chewed into shreds wasn’t stopping him from this bad habit. So they were going to take him back to the pound.
He was eight months old and would I please, please, please let her bring him home? We lived in a teeny condo and didn’t have room for a dog, let alone the time to re-train this poor puppy who was afraid of being hit whenever he saw someone with a shoe or a broom in hand. But after much begging and many promises to pick up after him, feed/water/walk/clean up after him, I finally caved. His former family brought him over and he’s been with us ever since.
He came to us with the name Ranger, which we changed immediately. He was not a ranger. He was a Benji – right from the start. I wish it had been love at first sight on my part, but he took some getting used to. There was the chewing, which we expected. We bought lots of bones and chew toys, so he never went after my shoes. But he had a fear of being locked up. On his first Saturday with us, I was vacuuming the carpets and had closed him in my bedroom to keep him out of the way. When I opened the door, he had tried to dig through the floor and then the door to get out of the room. A five-foot swath of carpet lay in shreds and the door was chewed almost completely through. I couldn’t get angry at him – he was cowering there with carpet stuck in his teeth and terror in his eyes. Instead I sat on the floor with him and picked all the pieces out of his fur and mouth. He learned then that he had nothing to fear from us. And I fell in love with his gentle and somewhat insecure soul.
I’ve been the one who took care of his financial needs – food, toys, dog treats. But he’s always been my daughters’ dog. They’ve lavished him with love and attention. They played dress-up with him, using their old toddler sized dresses and hats. He’s been their confidante when they were sad. When YD was having problems in school, she once walked off campus in the middle of the day. When the truant officer caught up with her, it was Benji that she took into the canyon with her to get away. When my girls were mad at me for any of the thousands of reasons that adolescent girls are angry with their moms, it was always Benji who heard their complaints.
He’s protected us from the mailman who had the audacity to put the mail through the slot in the door – there were many days (until we hung a box next to the door) that we came home to find the mail in shreds. There were a few times I had to pay the utility bill in person because Benji had eaten it and there was nothing left to mail in with my payment.
Benji’s never been the kind of dog that fetched or chased Frisbees. He never chased kids around the yard. He’s always been a quiet, plodding, kind of dumb dog who’s content to snuggle his head in your lap while you watch TV. We’ve never been able to train him to do tricks. He’s a listener – he just takes it all in and doesn’t have much to say. And he’s built like a beer barrel with stick thin legs. He just plods along. He used to enjoy walks, but for the last year or so arthritis and a worsening heart condition has made long walks impossible.
He’s been a good and faithful part of our family for almost 17 years, but for months his health has been steadily declining. This weekend, he started having real difficulty breathing and it’s an effort for him to make it outside. He’s not going to go quietly – he’s fighting this every step of the way, but his heart is failing and there’s not much we can do about that. This morning YD made the call and scheduled the appointment for us to take him in to be euthanized.
This service is available at our local Humane Society in a special room for families. We’ll be able to be with him right up to the end, and we'll be able to stay with him until we're ready to leave our friend behind. I know he’s just hanging on for my girls – trying to be the ever faithful friend. So it’s our turn now to be his faithful friends and the best way for us to do that is to take away the pain he’s feeling. Goodbye Benji – we love you and will hold you in our hearts forever.
**************************
Update 3/4/09
Our wonderful dog, Benji, died peacefully in his sleep last night. I'm sure he knew we were taking him in today and he didn't want to cause us any suffering. At abut 2:30 a.m., I woke up because I heard a dog bark. I got up, went pee (first things first) and went to check on Benji. He wasn't in his bed in the living room. I found him laying in the hallway between my daughters' bedrooms. He must have gotten up during the night and went to be close to his girls. He had been dead for at least an hour, so the bark I heard was him saying goodbye in my dreams.
YD had bathed him last weekend and last evening, YD and OD brushed him, trimmed his fur, and cleaned his face so he looked very handsome. We all fawned over him, giving him lots of attention and all the ham he wanted (that was his favorite treat). He was a good and faithful dog, and although we're sad now, he left us with many happy memories.
He was eight months old and would I please, please, please let her bring him home? We lived in a teeny condo and didn’t have room for a dog, let alone the time to re-train this poor puppy who was afraid of being hit whenever he saw someone with a shoe or a broom in hand. But after much begging and many promises to pick up after him, feed/water/walk/clean up after him, I finally caved. His former family brought him over and he’s been with us ever since.
He came to us with the name Ranger, which we changed immediately. He was not a ranger. He was a Benji – right from the start. I wish it had been love at first sight on my part, but he took some getting used to. There was the chewing, which we expected. We bought lots of bones and chew toys, so he never went after my shoes. But he had a fear of being locked up. On his first Saturday with us, I was vacuuming the carpets and had closed him in my bedroom to keep him out of the way. When I opened the door, he had tried to dig through the floor and then the door to get out of the room. A five-foot swath of carpet lay in shreds and the door was chewed almost completely through. I couldn’t get angry at him – he was cowering there with carpet stuck in his teeth and terror in his eyes. Instead I sat on the floor with him and picked all the pieces out of his fur and mouth. He learned then that he had nothing to fear from us. And I fell in love with his gentle and somewhat insecure soul.
I’ve been the one who took care of his financial needs – food, toys, dog treats. But he’s always been my daughters’ dog. They’ve lavished him with love and attention. They played dress-up with him, using their old toddler sized dresses and hats. He’s been their confidante when they were sad. When YD was having problems in school, she once walked off campus in the middle of the day. When the truant officer caught up with her, it was Benji that she took into the canyon with her to get away. When my girls were mad at me for any of the thousands of reasons that adolescent girls are angry with their moms, it was always Benji who heard their complaints.
He’s protected us from the mailman who had the audacity to put the mail through the slot in the door – there were many days (until we hung a box next to the door) that we came home to find the mail in shreds. There were a few times I had to pay the utility bill in person because Benji had eaten it and there was nothing left to mail in with my payment.
Benji’s never been the kind of dog that fetched or chased Frisbees. He never chased kids around the yard. He’s always been a quiet, plodding, kind of dumb dog who’s content to snuggle his head in your lap while you watch TV. We’ve never been able to train him to do tricks. He’s a listener – he just takes it all in and doesn’t have much to say. And he’s built like a beer barrel with stick thin legs. He just plods along. He used to enjoy walks, but for the last year or so arthritis and a worsening heart condition has made long walks impossible.
He’s been a good and faithful part of our family for almost 17 years, but for months his health has been steadily declining. This weekend, he started having real difficulty breathing and it’s an effort for him to make it outside. He’s not going to go quietly – he’s fighting this every step of the way, but his heart is failing and there’s not much we can do about that. This morning YD made the call and scheduled the appointment for us to take him in to be euthanized.
This service is available at our local Humane Society in a special room for families. We’ll be able to be with him right up to the end, and we'll be able to stay with him until we're ready to leave our friend behind. I know he’s just hanging on for my girls – trying to be the ever faithful friend. So it’s our turn now to be his faithful friends and the best way for us to do that is to take away the pain he’s feeling. Goodbye Benji – we love you and will hold you in our hearts forever.
**************************
Update 3/4/09
Our wonderful dog, Benji, died peacefully in his sleep last night. I'm sure he knew we were taking him in today and he didn't want to cause us any suffering. At abut 2:30 a.m., I woke up because I heard a dog bark. I got up, went pee (first things first) and went to check on Benji. He wasn't in his bed in the living room. I found him laying in the hallway between my daughters' bedrooms. He must have gotten up during the night and went to be close to his girls. He had been dead for at least an hour, so the bark I heard was him saying goodbye in my dreams.
YD had bathed him last weekend and last evening, YD and OD brushed him, trimmed his fur, and cleaned his face so he looked very handsome. We all fawned over him, giving him lots of attention and all the ham he wanted (that was his favorite treat). He was a good and faithful dog, and although we're sad now, he left us with many happy memories.
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