Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

"'I must do something' always solves more problems than 'Something must be done.'"--Anonymous

My husband is always telling me I don't have to save the world, but sometimes it seems as though the world--or at least parts of it--shows up on my doorstep.  I don't want to ever be the person who says, "I thought someone else was going to help."  It's not my style.  No, I don't have to save the world, but I am called to help the ones who cross my path.

By now you've read enough of my posts to know that I'm a "pets are people, too" kind of person.  I'm a pet parent, not a pet owner.  My pets will never be as important to me as my boys are, but they come in close.  They are living, breathing creatures and deserve the best life I can give them.  After all, I'm the one who brought them in to my home.  Just like my boys, these creatures are gifts to me, brought into my life for my happiness, for me to care for, love and cherish.  I baby these animals, I spoil them, I lavish them with treats, with love, with homemade food, with beds and warmth and shelter.  I've often joked that if I believed in reincarnation, I'd want to come back as one of my cats.  

So, it deeply upsets me when I see animals mistreated, when I see them abandoned, unloved, unwanted, hungry, and left to their own defenses.  We--society--have domesticated these animals, so it is up to us to provide for them.  Unfortunately, not everyone thinks the way I do.  We have two kitties in our home that were strays in our neighborhood, one of them in the middle of a very cold winter.  Very often in our neighborhood we see dogs wandering loose without collars, most of them aggressive, untrained and unloved.  I see my neighbors yelling at their pets, hitting them, leaving them outside without proper shelter and water on hot days, and generally mistreating these pets they claim to have wanted and brought into their homes.  It hurts my heart and quite honestly, makes me angry.  It annoys me when people make a commitment to a pet, then fall short of that commitment out of laziness.  Once they realize the pet is more work than they realized, but they aren't willing to try to give it a better life, so the dog is relegated to the backyard, or the cat is left to its own devices.  If you can't keep a plant alive, if you don't have the time to devote to watering that on a regular basis, then you shouldn't have pets (or children, for that matter).

Friday afternoon, we had a two little visitors--two sweet little cocker spaniel mixes.  I watched as they wandered our court for a bit, waiting to see if they went home with any of our neighbors' guests, waiting to see if any of our neighbors came looking for them--just waiting to see what happened.  After an hour, and after one of our neighbors screamed at them and hit them, I'd kind of had enough.  Ready to do something about it, I realized they'd wandered into our driveway and just sat down to watch while Noah played basketball.  They had that "Yep, this is the house!  The sign on the overpass said a nice woman lives in the blue house!" look on their faces (my friend Sharon jokes that when Jethro escapes, it's to paint a sign on the overpass about the kind pet lady in the blue house...  It's right next to her graffiti about my gravy from a jar on Thanksgiving...).  They immediately took to Noah, tolerated Avery, but were very wary of myself and Shawn.  Unfortunately, Lilly didn't like them on her property and actually broke through the storm door to get out of the house.  A chase ensued (in true Furr Family fashion, of course---Noah in the lead, Shawn in bare feet and literally pulling pants on as he ran to catch up, and me bringing up the rear in my stocking feet, trying to keep an eye on Avery, who was still on the porch), Lilly was almost hit by a car (she now wears the perimeter collar of shame), and all 3 dogs ended up back at our house safely.  Lilly went in her crate inside the house, and the other two (No Noah, we're NOT naming them!) went in the garage.  I knew it had to be done, so I called animal control.  Because the dogs were eager to follow Noah around, he fed them, gave them water, and spread towels out on the garage floor so they could lay down and wouldn't be cold.  I wanted to hug the deputy who recognizing Noah's attachment to the dogs and theirs to him, employed his help in getting them in her truck.

That's not the end of the story.  I feel invested in these little guys.  They ended up in our care for a reason.  They need someone to care about them and to fight for them.  They deserve an advocate.  They were kind to my children, even loving. Their fur was in very poor shape, they were very hungry and thirsty, they did not have collars or microchips and posters have not been posted about missing dogs in our neighborhood.  I've been calling the shelter to stay updated on them, and no one has claimed them.  Honestly, with the kind of shape they were in, and how they'd been treated based on their behavior, I'm not sure I want their owners to claim them.  Is it okay to admit that?  Everyone, even a dog, deserves to be missed, wanted and loved.  From what I've been told, the dogs are not adjusting well to the shelter, and haven't been very nice to or trusting of the volunteers.  Their quarantine ends on Friday, and then the "decision" about their futures with the shelter will be made.  The people at our local are very devoted to their jobs, and love animals very much, but with overflow being a problem, sadly, there is only so much they can do.  

Instead of just hoping for the best, I'm not giving up.  I'm calling foster and rescue groups, counting on one of them to come through for these sweet little guys.  They, like everyone else, deserve to have someone fight for them.  No, I don't have to save the world, just certain parts of it.

I think the little gold one was smiling while he sat next to Noah.  He wouldn't leave Noah's side.

Back Off, She's My SISTER!

Just because of personal history, I kind of do a little panic thing when I hear sirens if I don't know where all my people are, or if I hear about an accident that has occurred nearby one of them.  It just scares me, and I worry until I hear back from all of them.

Yesterday I was on my way home with my boys when I heard on the radio about an accident near my friend Mandy's office.  Because I'm me, I panicked.  I worried.  I lead-footed it the rest of the way home so I could check on her.

I'm very grateful to say she's fine, and perfectly safe.

But this brought the three of us--myself, Mandy, and Sharon--to a realization.  We aren't just friends, we're sisters.  We realized--and agreed--that God forbid something were to happen, nothing would stop us from announcing ourselves to emergency personnel as family.  As sisters.

We are family.  And we're just good together.

F-A-M-I-L-Y

Four Years Ago Today...

Here's a sweet little memory...

Four years ago today, Election Day 2008, I took Noah to Chik-Fil-A for lunch after I voted.  Halfway through lunch, I threw it up.  Realizing there was a pattern developing, I briefly allowed myself to entertain the possibility that I did not have the flu, that I might finally be pregnant, but I did not dare say it out loud yet.

A few days later, Shawn dared to whisper the same possibility out loud.

And the following week, we had conclusive evidence that the possibility was more than that.  We were finally pregnant.

And so began the story of Avery.

*Side note, just for giggles:  When I told the boys this story last night, I explained to Avery that it was the first hint that he was finally in my tummy.  When I got to the "throwing up" part, he exclaimed, "You frew me up in Chik FiwA?"  Gotta come up with a better way of explaining these things to a 3 year old.... 

That Darn Cat

One of my cats is 17 years old.  Sophie has always been the princess of the group, earning her stripes early on when I was still in college (she was the only roommate I could tolerate).  She has been shoved aside on her pedestal numerous times, first by Shawn, then our children, two other kitties, and two dogs.  I call her The Princess because she came from a breeder, and has always had that "nose in the air" attitude.  Her ousting has not been her choice, and each time someone new has moved in, she's been loud about her displeasure.

Over the past year she's stopped taking care of herself, and her beautiful long fur has become a tangled, knotted mess several times.  The first few times, Shawn and I carefully cut the knots away.  As the knots grew worse and her fur more tangled however, it became obvious that scissors were no longer going to solve the problem.

I looked into having her professionally groomed, but when the bill is almost quadruple what the cat weighs because they have to sedate her, Shawn and I thought, "GAME ON!"  We high-fived each other and agreed we were totally up to the challenge of shaving a 17 year old grumpy kitty.

The first time didn't go so badly.  We wrapped her up tightly in a towel and got to work.  Sure, it didn't look professional, but at least she didn't have knots anymore!  Not to mention she really didn't have much fur left and her head looked like it was floating in space.....

Last night, we got the clippers out again--and Sophie got the teeth out.  She bit me so badly that Shawn had to pry her jaw off my finger.  When I sent a picture of it to my friend Mandy this morning (who is a very smart doctor of nursing!), she replied with, "Go to the doctor.  NOW."  Really?  Over a cat bite?  Nahhhh.  But, Mandy doesn't panic, and she doesn't usually tell people to get to the doctor right away, so I kind of had to give her recommendation and panic attack some weight.  It turned into quite a hassle because my doctor is full for the rest of the week (Already?  Really?), and I had to locate an urgent care facility that accepts our insurance.  I was finally able to find one, and the looks on the nurse's and doctor's faces when I told my story was priceless.  The nurse, I'm quite sure, felt more sorry for Sophie than for me; because it is an animal bite, it has to be reported to the authorities, but she kept saying to the doctor, "Come on.  She's 17!  And she just didn't want to be groomed!  And her name is Sophie, that sounds like a sweet innocent kitty!" Cracked me up more than just a little.  Now I've had a tetanus shot, I have 2 antibiotics and a follow up for Thursday, and I have a very swollen, gross-looking, sore and stiff finger.  I think maybe next time I'll just pay to have my cat sedated and professionally groomed.

Here is Sophie's #catshaming entry:

The princess has tumbled off her pedestal.

Acts of Service vs. Acts of Love

Maybe you don't see the difference, but to me, there is a difference between an act of service and an act of love.  Sometimes they merge, but many times they are two very distinct works.  Then there are the times when acts of service become more like, well, acts of duty.  It's possible that is the distinction I'm trying to make.

For me, my acts of love center around food.  Cooking and baking are my gift (my friend Kelly calls me a "feeder"), and I love being able to share that with others.  It's not only what I want to do, it's what I'm called to do.  God provides the food and the people, and I just help Him make it happen.  *"Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God's grace in it's various forms.  If anyone speaks, they should so as one who speaks the very words of God.  If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God maybe praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever.  Amen."  1 Peter 4: 10-11*  Take my work at the center, for example.  Even if I weren't thanked on a regular basis (which is not the reason I do my work there--Jesus has called me to be His hands and feet), the actions of the people I have the blessing of being able to serve tell me how much I am needed there.  And not to sound arrogant, but I don't think just any person would do.  The way my friend "R" smiles as I serve her favorite tea and toast her bagel just right--that's love.  I love her smile, I love the joy on her face when I've fixed her Lady Grey just right, I love that she feels my love in that one simple act.  And I love being able to do that for her.  When my friend "C" stops by and wants just a cup of my best coffee, a slice of whatever I've baked just for them, and stories about her two favorite Furr children--it warms my heart.  And my dear Mr P, where would I be without him?  The day he came by when Pastor B wasn't there for visitation, and Mr P said he came by just to see me?  Wow (because really, I love this dear man, and that was a huge step for him)!  I am honored to be a part of their lives, and I am blessed by all they share with me.   I often find myself thanking them for allowing me to serve them, and for allowing me into their lives.  I have learned so much from my guests (and not just these three), and they all have such places in my heart.  No kidding, I would clean the toilets at the center for my guests--for all of our clients.  I even take out the trash.  And I don't complain about any of it either.  When the rest of their lives are in upheaval from grief, loss, loneliness or whatever  happens to be going on, our clients can be assured the center will be in order.  They know the coffee will be brewing, the food will be served with love and the tea, should they want it, will be hot.  They know the conversation will be lively, the tissues free-flowing, and the hugs earnest, long and meaningful.  Our hugs and smiles convey things that words simply cannot.  When I leave, I have a tremendous gratefulness in my heart for these people that I simply cannot describe.  Everything I do, I do out of a love, out of a gratefulness for their lives, and out of an honor to be able to serve them, and serving my Father at the same time.

Notice I used the word serve several times?  That's because working at the center is not only an act of love, but it's an act of service to my God.  It is something He has called me to do.  It's how I praise Him, how I show Him how thankful I am for what He has created and blessed me with.  *"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him... Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." Colossians 3:17, 23* He 'rewards' (strictly for lack of a better word) me by bringing His people to me, and just when it looks as though the food might run out, He does His fishes and loaves thing, and there's always plenty to go around.  I will make the distinction here though--my service at the center is not out of a begrudging duty.  It is, in a way, out of a duty to my God, but never out of a begrudging duty.

Another act of love, and of non-begrudging duty/service, is feeding my friends, their kids, and anyone else who comes my way in need of a hot, cooked-with-love meal.  Two of my favorite people to feed are Sharon's boys.  Last night was creamy chicken with rice soup; one boy ate 3 bowls, the other ate 4.  I also served some fresh french bread I'd just made, and you'd have thought it was gold.  They polished off an entire loaf by themselves!  I love to watch them eat, I really do.  They're good for my self esteem.  I served chocolate chip cookies for dessert (I found brown sugar!) and I warmed up plate, after plate, after plate of cookies.  It made me grin like a fool that I could feed these kids like this. When I told Sharon (and texted her a picture of the near-empty bag of cookies that had been full) about this, she said "YOU WARMED THEM UP????  THEY ARE SO SPOILED!"  Someday I'll make a terrific grandmother....  Again, watching them inhale my food conveys things that words simply cannot.  Sharon's boys are always polite, always remember their manners, but watching them enjoy my food conveys more than words ever could.  And when Sharon texts me that my food feeds her soul?  My heart sings.

One other job I have at the center is providing bread and dessert for our monthly pastoral luncheons.  This has become something I enjoy doing, again, because I love the smiles on the pastors' faces as they eat.  During my first luncheon, as one of our pastors took a bite of my bread, he closed his eyes, asked everyone to be quiet for just a minute, and slowly chewed.  When he was finished with his first bite, he declared there is nothing better than fresh baked bread, and it had been a long time since he'd had any (yes, he got his very own loaf the next month).  Another month I made a from-scratch cake with homemade frosting.  One pastor asked if the cake was from scratch, and another playfully smacked his shoulder, saying, "Amy made it!  Of course it is!"  I love how much joy my food brings.  The pastors are able to move on with their business and not worry about their meal, or a place to meet, because of the center, and the food Sue, Joan and I provide for them.  

I do a lot of baking and cooking for families in need, usually families in the midst of grief and loss.  No, my food will not bring back their loved ones.  But what it does do is convey that they are loved and cared for, whether I know them or not.  For just one night, it's one less thing they need to worry about.  They are in no shape to convey a thank you or a smile, and most of the time I just leave it on their doorsteps.  Most of them I will never meet or hear from, some of them I continue to follow from afar when their stories have especially touched me, but it's not about being thanked or meeting them.  It's about doing what I can to make their lives a little warmer.   It's about being Jesus to them.

When I saw our mail carrier out delivering mail during Hurricane Sandy, I knew she deserved more than a paycheck.  This woman needed love!  In the form of bread, of course.  The next day I left a loaf of banana bread in my mailbox with a thank you note for her dedication.  Yes, delivering mail is her job, but you know what?  She could've called in sick, or with any other excuse, but she didn't.  She left the sweetest thank you note for us, signed by all the workers from our post office.  My bread may have made her day, but she will never know how much her note meant to me.

I also love feeding my grandmother.  Her face, the sounds she makes as she eats and enjoys my food, it says it all, even as she's talking about my "exquisite meals."  It was the same with feeding my grandfather.  The week he died, I took some of my lasagna in to him, and his joy is something I will hold in my heart forever.  He was sick, and I knew at the time he couldn't fully enjoy it, nor could he eat as much as he normally would've (the man could clear a casserole pan!), but just being able to take that to him was what I selfishly needed to be able to do for him.

When we give, we receive back tenfold.  We are blessed in our giving, but that is still not why I do it.  Again, I do it because it's what God has asked me to do.  As a Believer, it's what I'm called to do to share Christ with others, to encourage them, and to bless them.  *Therefore, if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind.  Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit.  Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others." Philippians 2:1-4*

The question for all of the above, of course, is: Would is be more difficult to serve if they were less grateful?  I'm sure it would be, yes.  BUT, it's what my Father has called me to do.  He's called me to obedience.

Which leads me to the other side of service and obedience.... So, now the hard part--the service that is out of "because I have to," less out of anything else:  My family.  Lately, serving my family is just that:  service.  It's a duty, it's a job.  Yep, we're going back to "woe is me, I feel taken for granted."  It's hard to serve my family.  I take my job as a mother and provider very seriously.  I make an effort to provide good, wholesome, and tasty meals my family will appreciate.  I used to find such joy in experimenting, trying new things, serving them and making nice meals.  Not so much lately.  My husband watches his waistband, so to watch him weigh, measure and carefully dole out the meals I work hard to prepare, or when he says he can't eat a particular item or meal because of the content,  it hurts my feelings.  When my kids whine "We're having that again?" or "I don't like that!" it hurts my feelings. The one night out of many when dinner actually comes out of a box and Noah sighs, "Oh good, finally, a good meal we can all agree on," usually sends me from the dinner table straight to bed in tears.  Those are the nights I've run out strength to fight, I'm hurting more than usual from everything I do (for them), and I just can't take what they think are jokes or even compliments. When Shawn came home last night and saw "just" the chocolate chip cookies for dessert (FYI, I seldom serve an actual dessert around here unless it's a holiday, special occasion or we have guests, so chocolate chip cookies should've been a huge treat to him) and said something about hoping we'd have something yummy like the chocolate meringue cookies with chocolate ganache since Jake and Ben were here, it hurt my feelings (especially after watching him carefully measure out his soup).  He thinks he's joking, calls me oversensitive when I become upset and doesn't understand why I'm hurt, but it really stings.  When one of them drops something on the floor, or their mess is left in the kitchen (my workspace) with the attitude of "Oh, the maid we don't have, otherwise known as MOM, will pick it up," it stings.  I deserve better.  I am better.  I deserve the respect of having them understand that they need to clean up my workspace when they're finished (after all, I don't mess up their rooms while they're at school), or pick up their other messes. Being a SAHM is a very thankless job much of the time (I've determined most people don't see it as a job because it doesn't come with a paycheck, but let's be real--it's a career), but it doesn't have to be all of the time.  Would it be easier if they were more grateful?  Absolutely.  Does it mean I have to be an less obedient to God, as He's called me to this life?  Nope.  I used to try hard to thank Shawn for the hard work he does for our family, but I've kind of lost of a lot of passion in that, and a lot of things, towards my family, over the past several months.  It's difficult to keep banging my head against the same cabinet door when I continually receive the same results.  Many of the things I do around here I used to do out of love, because I wanted to.  Now, I do them because I have to and because no one else will.  Now, I do it out of duty.

Do I need to grow up and get over this, understanding this is just the life of a SAHM and housewife?  No, I don't think so.  Well, maybe a little.  I don't believe I need to settle for the same dysfunctional and miserable life that made my mother cold and bitter, though.  I believe there is something better around the corner for all four of us.  Some of their attitude, I've created myself by enabling them.  Yes, I absolutely need to make changes in my own attitude, but I do believe it's a two-way street.  They need to see what I do, and be grateful for that.  They also need to do some of these things on their own, and when they don't like it, just be quiet about it.  For my part, I need to return to doing things with love.  I need to return to treating my family with the respect they deserve, treating them as I treat my guests at the center, as I treat my friends and their children, as I treat others I feed and love.  God has called me to motherhood, to be His hands and feet to these children and my husband, and that is part of my act of service to my Father.  I need to do it because I want to, not begrudgingly.  Because with my family, I'm forgetting the most important rule of all, *"Let all that you do be done in love." 1 Corinthians 16:14*