MY SON, MY SON, WOULD GOD I HAD DIED FOR THEE, MY SON

My dog went to the vet's early this morning for some routine dental work.

And came home late late this evening unable to move his tongue or his back legs.

He's going to be fine - but he has had most of this teeth removed, he is still bleeding from one side of his mouth, and he is moaning with almost every breath he takes.

The feeling of deja vu for me is overwhelming.

When my daughter was six or seven, she had to have eight teeth removed surgically. And I could not convince her to take the pain medication when I brought her home - so in about two hours, she was in severe pain.

It's so difficult to see someone suffering when they have no concept of why they are in such agony.

And tonight, driving home with my dog's head in my lap, trying to comfort him and also drive a stick-shift for 21 miles, I had a spiritual insight.

This is what God feels like, most of the time.

He loves us, so completely, and continually sees us in pain, hurting, without any real idea of why we are suffering.

And He wants so much to tell us, "It's just for a moment! It's going to end really soon! It's going to be okay!" And He listens to us whimpering and moaning and wallowing, not understanding that the hurt is just temporary, it's going to leave, and we will gain something from it.

Murray will be pain-free from his teeth that have been hurting him for a long time. But he certainly doesn't understand that right now. And all my reassurances in the world aren't helping.

Heavenly Father, I'll try to be more patient next time when I am hurting, and attempt to trust You more.

SCRUBBED VS. SUPERFICIAL

I have a neat-freak for a daughter.

But just one.

My second daughter has an apartment that makes a male college freshman's dorm room look immaculate by comparison.

We have a continual battle of things like taking out her trash... after TWO WEEKS of accumulation. She insists she can't vacuum her carpet.... because you can't SEE it under months and months of growth of pizza boxes, dirty laundry, papers...

Okay, let's get off that subject, I'm beginning to nauseate myself just by my own description.

But my other daughter is...

Well, let me just say that she is being driven slowly and irrevocably insane having to pick up after a husband, a two-year old and a four-year old... and a 53 year old when I come to visit.

My son-in-law is not a neat freak, but a PRECISION freak. His undergraduate degree is in mathematics, and he is all about measuring and right angles and spacing. He still is a normal male-type of slob - I mean, why pick up clothes that you are just going to put back on again in the morning, and stuff like that - but he also adds baggage (literally) to my oldest daughter's compulsion(s).

And I'm not at all certain where I stand.

Well, actually I do, I'm just not quite certain I wish to make it public.

I am neat about some things... I have to have the kitchen cleaned and the trash emptied before I go to bed. And I have to make my bed... at least before I can crawl back into it.

But a lot of things... ensuring that laundry ends up in the dryer instead of slowly growing mildew left in the washing machine - vacuuming the carpet when the overall color is being determined by the fur shred by my animals instead of the original dyed hue - dusting furniture and ledges instead of relying on our regular winds to blow everything clean when I leave the windows open...

Well, let's say that I do not allow myself to be distracted or encumbered by housework.

Ever.

And I am notorious for doing what I call "overall and sweeping brushstrokes" - which anyone who would like to be polite would call quick and dirty - and if you are honest, fast and of doubtful quality.

Over the past week, I have painted three interior doors some very... definite colors and striking contrasts.

They look marvelous... from a distance of at least fifteen feet.

Maybe just a little bit more.