Subject:
NOT SURE IF THIS IS TRUE BUT IT IS NICE!
A beautiful story. Worth the couple of minutes it takes to read it.
Watch out! You nearly broad-sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't
you do anything right?" Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head
toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A
lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another
battle. "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really
felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled
back.
At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my
thoughts.... dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The
rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do
about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being
outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of
nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed
often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to
his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log,
he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone,
straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about
his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger
man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance
sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood
and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating
room. He was lucky; he survived But something inside Dad died.. His zest for
life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions
and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of
visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left
alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We
hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed
nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became
frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick We
began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up
weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he
prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore
on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do
it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the
mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to
each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain. Just when I was giving
up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that
might help you! Let me go get the article....." I listened as she
read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All
of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their
attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for
a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each
contained five to seven dogs Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black
dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each
one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too
small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the
far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat
down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a
caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with
shades of gray. His hip bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was
his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me
unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer
looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out
of nowhere and sat in front of the gate We brought him in, figuring someone
would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard
nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly. As the
words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill
him?" "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room
for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll
take him," I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me.
When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out
of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got
for you, Dad!" I said excitedly. Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in
disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have
picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want
it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the
house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my
temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad
ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled
angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with
hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the
pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in
front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw... Dad's lower
jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger
in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging
the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer
Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long
hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks
of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday
services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is
feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three
years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends.. Then
late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing
through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night.
I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his
bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the
night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead
beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on.
As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked
the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of
mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the
way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for
family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made
filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both
Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned
to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by
this some have entertained angels without knowing it." "I've often
thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen
before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter... his calm
acceptance and complete devotion to my father.... and the proximity of their
deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers
after all.
Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and
forgive quickly. Live while you are alive. Forgive now those who made you
cry. You might not get a second chance. And if you don't send this to anyone
-- no one will know. But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be
found.
God answers our prayers in His time... not ours...
AMEN?..
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