Loved Like Lucy

Puppy Love

They love each other - most of the time!

If you know me, one of the things you understand is how much I love my dogs. I have two Shih-tzus, both are 9 years old and are from the same litter. If you know anything else about me, it’s that my favorite show of all time is I Love Lucy. So it stands to reason that when I got my pups, I named them after the most iconic TV figures – Lucy and Ricky.

I swore I would never have a small dog. I loved big dogs – the bigger the better. Besides, both my mom and my brother each had a Shih-tzu already, and I needed to be different. But as grace would have it, Lucy and Ricky were God’s blessings to me during a very dark time in my life. They loved me and depended on me, and that is what I needed to help ease my pain and keep me focused on something other than myself. The three of us have been through a lot together; I don’t think it would be possible to love them any more than I do.

Ricky is obnoxious. He has a big,bold personality, and will steal the spotlight at any given moment. He is territorial, and does not play well with other dogs. Lucy, on the other hand, is very much like a cat. She is stubborn and hard-headed. She will do things only on her terms. And if you’re a dog, don’t come near her – she’s too good for you. She will choose you when she’s ready.

Despite being obnoxious and frustrating, they are mine. And I love them dearly. The thought of losing them at any point can bring me to tears. And this gave me a rude awakening about a month ago. Out of the blue one morning, I noticed that Lucy had begun limping. She could put little to no pressure on her back left leg, and struggled moving around. I flashbacked to a year ago when the exact same thing happened to her back right leg. After an emergency vet appointment, I discovered she had torn her ACL and her patella. I remember the ordeal we went through to get her through surgery and recovery; the nightmare of trying to (and giving up) on crate-training her, her incessant barking coupled with the pain I knew she was in, and my helplessness in trying to comfort her. I also knew that this cost me close to $4000 and knew that we didn’t have this kind of money to have to do this again…especially so soon. Seeing her working hard to balance on three legs, I feared for the worst.

That tongue! You can tell how relaxed she is by how far it sticks out of her mouth :)

I tried to walk her that morning. I watched, powerless, as she hobbled slowly from one spot to another. She never indicated that she was in pain, but I knew she was. She loves to be outside, to chase the butterflies and squirrels and smelling everything. But this morning, she looked tired. Her breath was heavy, and instead of chasing the bugs, she staggered to me and sat down. Picking her up, I carried her back home, stifling cries as I feared the diagnosis that was coming.

The Lost Sheep

When I was in college, I heard of this story of the shepherd and the lost sheep. I don’t know the validity of it, but it makes a lot of sense. Clearly, the shepherd’s job is tend to his sheep. He keeps careful and vigilant watch over them, should any predators come or they wander off (as we know, sheep are stupid). It is the job of the shepherd to know each and every sheep, and they know their shepherd – which is no small task considering the size of the flock! Occasionally, a sheep will wander off, leaving the comfort and security of the herd, and find themselves headed towards danger – perhaps a cliff or towards a predator. When this happens, the shepherd leaves the rest of his flock, just to find the one. Upon rescue, the shepherd will break the leg of the sheep. This is not meant to be mean, but in fact, to show mercy. It is during this healing time that the shepherd carries the sheep on his shoulders. He loves and attends to that single sheep, nurturing and comforting it until it is whole. While vulnerable and healing, the sheep develops devotion to his master, learning who he is, the sound of his voice, his smell – all so that he doesn’t make the same mistake again. The shepherd allows the sheep to be broken, not to hurt it, but to save it.

That Stupid Sheep Is…Me?

Carrying Lucy back to the house that morning, I remembered this story. I began babying her, coddling her, nurturing her – doing anything I could to ease her pain. True, I didn’t cause her to tear her ACL (again), but I felt powerless to help her. Despite my efforts, she still wanted to run, to play with her brother, and do all the things that she shouldn’t.

As I reflect on this now, it makes me pause. I feel so overwhelmed in life sometimes. Being Executive Director of a ministry is no small feat. My first priority is to our clients – what they need, what they want, how to communicate to them in a way that allows us to build a relationship with them so that they truly know they are not alone. But I am also responsible for my staff – what they need, what would make their jobs easier, how they need support. More than that, I answer to a Board of Directors – we have to ensure we are within our budget constraints while still adhering to our mission and vision. There are specific policies and procedures to follow daily, some of which I am still learning. And all this does not include my various work on new projects, ongoing fundraisers (currently three are underway for this summer!), grant writing, building maintenance, donor support, etc.

Add to all this responsibility my roles as a wife, stepmother, daughter, friend…and PREGNANT! Whew!

How many times have I found myself lost in my own world? With so many tasks and to-do lists, it is too easy to get sidetracked and lose sight of the only One who has the ability to rescue me and the only One who has the strength to accomplish the impossible. My Shepherd. My Jesus. My Savior. In this fast-paced society, it is easy to get bogged down with obligations and responsibilities and it is even more difficult to relinquish all control and trust someone else to make sure these things get done, and done well. But that is what we are called to do. Relinquish control. Stop fighting. At least, stop fighting God.

If God is all-powerful, and all-knowing, He should then know the best way to ensure everyone’s needs – including mine - are met, right? How much better to give up trying to do things in my own power, and rely on His power and strength instead. It is a daily struggle, that is for sure, sometimes minute by minute as things come up and I think I know better. But in the end, this is God’s ministry. My life is His; all that I do is for Him and I want Him to get the glory, not myself.

So this is where I am. Learning not to give up, but to give in to what God wants – His way, His purpose, His methods, and finding the peace that waits for me there.

And Lucy? She is doing well – better than expected. She continues to be persistent, stubborn, relentless, and wants her own way constantly. But under the close watch of her master, she continues to find healing and be loved more than she deserves….just like me.

                                 “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” Phil. 4:13

Me and my girl 💗

Extravagant Love

My husband is not a showy, extravagant man. He is an introvert and a very private person. I am not. We joke about how I like to have a birthday “month” to celebrate, not a birth-day. He, on the other hand, is happy to receive nothing – no fuss, no stress, just quiet time with those closest to him.

So, with Father’s Day today, or any special occasion for that matter, how do I show him that I love him? How do I unveil my devotion and thoughtfulness, my very heart for the most special man in my life – my child’s father? Without the big parties, lots of friends, lots of gifts – how one celebrates “quietly” is still quite ambiguous in my extroverted mind.

I made the decision that I would serve him – do something for him. I thought that was quite a lovely idea myself…but an idea can be very wonderful until you actually have to do something about it. I had bought him a basket of some of his very favorite treats, a baby boy onesie that had “Daddy’s buddy” on it (do you realize just how few baby boy clothes there are in comparison to that of girls? It was very difficult to find something that seems to me would be so simple!). And to complete it all, I told him I would do one of the chores he has been putting off – mow the lawn.

Now, to be clear, our house sits on top of a hill. At nearly 20 weeks pregnant, it seems like Mt. Everest. Hubby tends to get the front yard done in about 40 minutes. I have mowed lawns before so this couldn’t be that bad, right? I need the exercise anyway, I reasoned with myself. How bad could this be?

For starters, our grass was a little higher than I realized once I had to walk through it to get to the shed where the mower was. Up to my ankles, I imagined all sorts of copperheads, black snakes, rattlesnakes (do we even have those here?) waiting for their next meal – ME. Once I found my way to the shed (which I had never opened myself in my 1.5 years of living here) I had to pull out the mower. And this shouldn’t have been that hard, except there were spiders, webs, and spider eggs in every nook and cranny of that old shed. (Had it really been that long since we mowed our lawn last?)

Ok, so it's not Everest...but it's close!

After waging war with what seemed like Ripley’s Believe it or Not of creepy insects gathered in our shed, I then pushed the mower to the front yard. It started much easier than anticipated, and I began my Great Act of Love for My Husband (Yes, you should have heard trumpets and horns announcing the commencement of this great deed)! All was well until I realized that what went down the hill had to go back up the hill. And, halfway up the hill, I began to rethink how much I loved him. I pushed and pushed, got prodded by trees and sticks from the bushes, had to pull the mower backwards when I got stuck in the trees going downhill (which is not as easy as it sounds); by the end of it all, I was green. I was covered head to toe in grass clippings, dirt, and sweat (where did that come from? It wasn’t even hot!) and God only knows what kind of bugs were on me. I was panting and exhausted. I looked at the time, and it had taken me nearly an hour and a half. And that was just the front yard.

I wasn't kidding -
I sweat worse than spin class!

With my final push of energy, I parked that mower in front of the garage and decided that hubby can wage war against the shed and all its Pandora's Box of hidden creatures when he got home. I was DONE. Sorry back yard- today is not your day.

Once I was inside, and began to recuperate, I began to think about how hard this task of love was. It was supposed to be simple. He made it look so easy. Sure, mowing can’t be anyone’s favorite chore, but he always did it. Without complaining. I had no idea how much effort this took. And when I told him what I did, sure he appreciated it, but he wasn’t the least bit surprised when I told him –over and over again – how hard those inclines were, how many spiders there were, or how difficult it can be to get the edges lined up with the tree line without getting sucked into the trees. And that told me something else…

If he does this all the time, what other things does he do that I take for granted? I began recounting all the little acts of service that he does – dishes every night, taking out the trash, taking care of the pets, paying the bills, making sure our cars are maintained…he never asks for recognition, or for appreciation. He never complains that it has to be done. He just does it. And why? Because he loves me. Because he loves his family.

And how many times do I neglect to thank him? To somehow reciprocate that love? To under value him. Maybe not consciously, but I know that I do.

After pondering this for quite some time, I wondered how many others do I fail to demonstrate my love? I thought of all the people in my life who I have taken for granted. And then I thought of this verse:

“Consider the kind of extravagant love the father has lavished on us- He calls us children of God! It’s true; we are his beloved children.” 1 John 3:1

How guilty am I of taking Him – HIM, GOD, the Savior – for granted?? How much has he done for me that I have ignored, doubted, or disregarded? The sun rises and sets every day. Birds chirp and make glorious melodies. He has brought me joy in place of my pain; He has healed me and helped me. He alone has taken the broken pieces of my life and somehow made something so very beautiful from them. I am kept safe and secure as I go about my daily routine and do I even say thank you? Do I acknowledge in my heart the gratefulness and adoration I have for the One who has done everything for me? Sadly, no; at least not like I should. And yet, how many times have I sought credit for the littlest thing I have done for Him?

How do I repay Him? How do I show God – who is the very definition of love itself – that I love Him? The answer is Love. Love openly and honestly, and with abandon. Especially to those who don’t deserve it. Demonstrate extravagant love to them. Because that is how He loves me. That is how He loves us.

Even if you are without an earthly father this weekend, or had a poor example of a father, you can be sure that there is One who loves you. Truly. Madly. Deeply. And with a love that is far greater, far stronger, far purer than any love you have ever known or will ever known. And He doesn’t care how you come to Him – just come. He asks for nothing from you and will love you whether you love Him in return. He always has, and He always will. That is just who God is.

Thank you God for loving me. Thank you for constantly showing me Your perfect love, even when I ignore and refuse to see. Thank you for those in my life who are physical representations of Your love. Forgive me for not acknowledging You more often and taking this love for granted. And give me the heart and boldness to love like you love – extravagantly, abundantly, and freely. Amen.

So blessed to be loved extravagantly by both him and God

I’m Pregnant?? Now what?

About Me.

I’m used to dealing with crises. As a social worker by trade, being able to handle crises becomes second nature. I have seen it all – drug abuse, overdose, incarceration, bankruptcy, child abuse, domestic violence. Coming from a childhood involving mental illness and domestic violence, I have also experienced many of these traumas myself.

So becoming Executive Director of a Pregnancy Center was a no-brainer for me as my next job (even though I fought it – but more about that in another post). I mean, Empathy is basically my middle name, right? I loved the idea of helping women in crisis – unplanned pregnancy, STD testing, relationship difficulties. I especially loved being able to point them to the cross and being “Jesus with skin on” for those who needed Him. And I thought I could understand them and relate to them. That is, until I found I was pregnant.

Finding Out.

I had been married to love of my life for less than a year. We were planning on having a family, and had begun planning on our family. But it did not lessen the shock and fear I experienced when I saw those two lines on that test.

Yes, there are TWO lines there!

The day I found out, it was only because I knew we were going to have sushi for dinner. I was only one day late, but also knew that work had been really stressful as we prepared for our annual banquet – the biggest fundraiser of the year. I fully expected it to be negative…. Until it wasn’t.

I looked at the test strip in shock. How could this be? Really? It’s such a faint line, so it doesn’t really count, right? What am I going to do? The doubt and fears assailed my mind and heart – even though we were actively planning this. But we didn’t expect this –THIS - so soon.

I walked up the steps to my office at work as staff were slowly trickling in for the morning. I had the test in one hand and my work bags in the other. My office manager met me on the stairs and in a sing-song voice, beckoned me a good morning. I blankly stared at her and she thought something was wrong with me. I couldn’t open my mouth because I knew I would burst into tears. She finally looked at my right hand and the realization hit her – “You’re pregnant!” she exclaimed with such joy that I truly thought she was the one who was losing it.

She hugged me and I lost control. Through my tears, I rambled off a myriad of questions and doubts and fears. Is this really a good thing? How are we going to afford this child? Am I ready? What do I really know about parenting? What about all the ways my life will change? How do I handle this? What do I do now?

The Realization

As I came to my senses, and calmed down, I was finally able to allow myself to feel the joy. I was slowly able to come to terms with having a baby – my baby – and allow myself to feel others’ joy for me. I began to push away the doubts (some of them) and realize that yes, it will be ok. I have a husband who loves me and who loves God. I have a stable house. Stable income. Supportive family and friends.

Taken the day I told my mother ..I had to have the test for proof!

And then it hit me. I have everything you are supposed to have when you are pregnant. Everything. And I was still.this.scared. What about our clients? At best, they might have a supportive boyfriend or husband. Or they might work. But they would be a single parent. Or have no support. Or not have a job. Or be facing eviction. Or living on welfare. Or have no transportation…

Why We Do What We Do

The reality of the work of your local pregnancy center is that we step in when no one else does. When your family turns their back on you. When your boyfriend walks out on you. When everyone from everywhere else seems to be pressuring you to do what they want and think they know what you want. When you have no idea what you want, and you know you just need help. Guidance. Support. For whatever decision you make.

We have had clients who come in because of a rape situation. Or they have come in ready for an abortion. Or unsure how to tell their families because of the rejection they will face. They have been told that their church won’t help them, and they can’t afford to carry the baby to term.

That is our calling. That is why we are here. To be a voice for the voiceless and a shoulder for the broken hearted. It is because of this calling that we have seen families choose life, over and over and over again. And in choosing life, they too are able to renounce the fear that they once felt, as they look with utter joy at the face of their child.

My baby looks like a rotisserie chicken!

I thought I knew our clients before. But I am so thankful that God opened up my eyes and allowed me to see just how much this community really needs us – how they need Him. Being pregnant has done more for me and my compassion for others than any experience before. It has helped me to see God’s children more clearly than I ever have. And in doing so, I can love them with the love that He has for them. Without judgement or condemnation.

And who doesn’t need that?

Me and my hubby, Brooks, taken a couple weeks before we found out we were pregnant