When You Don't See His Plan

I have a small dry erase board on my refrigerator where I jot down people and situations I'm praying for. That board has been up on my fridge for years, ever since the kids were teenagers. They brought it home for me one summer from Centrifuge, a Christian youth camp and it didn't take me long to figure out where to put it. Since the refrigerator is the hub of my kitchen and I go past it or go into it many times during the day, I knew I'd be looking at that board often. And as I'd glance at the board, I'd try to pray for those who were listed on it.

Today, with one swipe of a tissue I wiped away the name of my grandchild. "Anika", one little life gone before she had even had a chance to be born. Another dear grandchild who will never run into my arms here on earth. And it just seems so surreal, much as these last weeks have been, ever since we got the news that our daughter-in-law was pregnant again.

Our initial joy was soon tempered with concern when the first sonagram results indicated a yolk sac that was much too big. In my optimistic ignorance, I thought it might just indicate twins. But no, this was an indication that there was a high probability that there was an abnormality with the fetus that would likely result in a miscarriage. And so the waiting began. Hope mixed with concern wrestled with fear every time the phone rang or a sonagram was scheduled or an email popped into my in-box from the kids. What was the news?

As the days went by and Laura remained pregnant I dared to hope that maybe the sonagram had been read wrong. Surely God wouldn't put them through this a second time. So many of us were praying for them and for the baby. Yet the answer that came with my son's call was not the one I had hoped for. The baby had died in the womb. Now it was a matter of waiting for the miscarriage to begin.

My dog comes and rests her muzzle on my lap and looks up at me with that worried look she gets when she senses I'm upset. I pat her head gently and say, "It's OK. It's going to be OK." I believe that and yet the tears drip down my cheeks. I cry for Jason and Laura and the pain they are going through. I cry for David and Joyce and George and I as we grieve this grandchild that we'll never have the chance to spoil. And I cry for Anika. When we celebrate a birth, we not only celebrate the beginning of a life but also the potential in that little one and the opportunities ahead. When we mourn the unborn, we also mourn the loss of all that could have been.

I still will cling to my belief that God's plan is perfect. I don't understand it much of the time but I only see such a small part of it. There is a song that has meant a lot to me over the years and it speaks with such wisdom in situations like this. It was written by Babbie Mason and Eddie Carswell. It's called "Trust His Heart" and the chorus sums up so well what I am feeling and what I know to be true:

"God is too wise to be mistaken

God is too good to be unkind

So when you don't understand

When you don't see His plan

When you can't trace His hand

TRUST HIS HEART."

Male Logic - Lost in the Amazon Jungle

If you've been awake at all in the last year and can read, you've probably spent a bit of time stewing about the state of things in your corner of the universe, your country, and in the world at large. My husband and I have been no exception. Since I'm the more vocal of the two of us, I've probably spent more time expressing my concerns. So he got my attention when my husband came to bed the other night and said, "I think I've got the answer to your concerns over what will happen if our country runs out of oil."

"Oh, really?" I said. "What's the answer.....buy a horse and buggy and join the Amish?"

"No, I just heard on the news that Brazil is now totally independent of any country when it comes to producing their own fuel sources," he stated.

"So what are they doing?" I asked, intrigued despite the late hour.

"They're producing ethanol...."

"From corn?" I interrupted. "Come on....our own country is trying that and look what it is doing to the supply of food to the world's poor and to the cost of food even in our country."

"No, they're using sugar cane to produce it and after they've produced the fuel, they still can produce the sugar," he continued, smiling at me triumphantly.

"Well, that's great for Brazil but I see a few flaws in transferral of that plan to the United States. First of all, there aren't as many places here in the States where you could grow sugar cane. Second, many of the places that you COULD grow it here are in the midst of an ongoing drought. And third, look at the number of major cities in Brazil compared to the number of major cities in the United States. Compare their population to our population. What is a major part of Brazil composed of? Jungle, for Pete's sakes. They aren't going to need anywhere near the amount of fuel alternatives that we would need for our population." I sat back against the pillows and considered him. "I think we need to explore other alternatives like mass rail transit, electronic engines, solar fuel cells, things like that."

"I know their system wouldn't work here," he said. "That's not the point."

"Then what IS the point," I asked. "What's the solution to my concerns?"

"We can always move to Brazil if the U.S. gets low on fuel," he said, and I swear he was NOT grinning.

"What! Are you serious? Just you and me and the 'Boys from Brazil' out there in the Amazon? I don't know. I think we'd have to get pretty low on fuel before I'd consider that. Tell you what, let me sleep on it, OK?" I said as I gave him another long look before turning off the light.

Male logic! It's a scary thing.

If Only It Were That Easy!

Whoever coined the phrase "It's a dog's life", must not have been a dieter. Because between you and me, my dog has it made in the shade when it comes to dieting. Not that she's overweight. Heavens, no! She just has such a thick coat of fur that it always looks like she is about 10 pounds heavier than she actually is.

Now that's Fresca on the left, the white dog who looks like a Chia pet. She's sitting next to her little buddy, Schatze who you've met in some earlier posts. Seriously, the dog has a LOT of hair. And I find that hair everywhere....on the furniture, rolling around on the floors, in my mouth when she jumps up on my lap, and always in my knitting.

The vet makes the same comment every year when I take her in for her yearly shots and checkup. He always says, "Wow, I thought she might be overweight but she's not. There's actually just a little dog under all this hair."

So in the summer months, I usually break down and have her fur shaved down close to her skin to give her some relief from the heat. This causes my son no end of embarassment because he says she looks ridiculous. I think she looks cute. What Fresca thinks is up for interpretation. The point is, after an hour at the groomer's, she comes prancing out looking like she's shed ten pounds.

If only it were that easy for us fluffy human girls. Even if someone shaved my head, I'd still look big. And I wouldn't come prancing out of the beauty shop either.
Yup, sometimes a dog's life looks pretty good. You get pampered, powdered, 10 pounds shaved off you in an hour, AND they hand you a treat to eat as you go out the door. What a life!