The Blue Stocking with Silver Glitter

 

    

    The fire was roaring, crackling, and popping. It was Monday December 24^th,, 2007, Christmas Eve. All felt right in our home that night. We weren’t waiting on Santa, because we had already received our gift months ago; after almost six months in the NICU, our son was home. We were a family at peace, on a night that defines peace, and we were grateful for a miracle son. You might say that we found common ground that night with another couple that came 2000 years before us.

          No one came bringing gifts, however, but we knew that the night was still special. We didn’t need gold to understand that what we had was precious. In fact, our son’s name was written in silver across a blue sock just above the fire that warmed us. God had already provided our miracle that year, and we were in awe of His grace and mercy. That stocking was a reminder of His faithfulness.

          Still, I couldn’t help but look at Eli’s stocking; his name glistening in glitter, against the fire, across the front of an old blue sock. That sock held his entire body a year before, when he was still struggling for life in the NICU. We couldn’t have imagined this day back then. It seemed impossible. But that’s selling God short. Christmas should tell us what He is capable of. A son born 5 months early is nothing to Him…Mary gave birth as a virgin…enough said.

          Elijah was resting on soft bedding we kept near our coffee table. He seemed entranced by the fire. What little vision he had was focused on the flames that kept us warm. Looking back, it was a prelude of the fires to come. This would be his last Christmas…but we couldn’t have known that then. We celebrated in ignorance…and I’m glad we did.

I’m writing this tonight as Paige puts out our Christmas decorations. Her dad brought a tree down today, as he normally does after Thanksgiving, and it kickstarts our celebration of the Lord’s birth. It also begins a season that challenges us to see the miracle…no, not of our son, but of His. 

          It is because of this day that I can celebrate my own son. Because if there’s no miraculous birth, no crucifixion, and no resurrection, then what do I have to hope for? My son is simply gone; another tragic event in life to be eaten by the worms of this world. But my soul tells me different…and yours does too.

          Something in us tells us that there’s more. When we see a mountain or ocean view, our children’s birth, or another event that stirs us in a place we don’t have words for…that’s God image in us, asking us to see Him…to accept Him and His plan for salvation. Yes, even in a world that shuns His name and all that He has blessed us with, there’s still the whisper from his mouth.

          This evening, I am watching my wife, a woman still hurting from the loss of her son and her mother in the same year, yet still choosing to live a life of joy…choosing to show that joy to our daughter in spite of the heartache that may come from hanging that old blue sock on our mantle. 

    The blue sock, with silver glitter, that can remind us of what we’ve lost…the same sock that can show us what we must look to forward to. The old blue stocking that bears, not only our son’s name, but also the faithfulness of God. The item that may be the greatest Christmas decoration we can put out. It just may be the one sight that helps me understand just what God gave up to give us the joy I celebrate each year...in spite of what it looks like I've lost. In truth...it's one of the many things that keeps me at the feet of Jesus. 

         

          Merry Christmas folks.

Just an Ol' Brown Dog

 

 

She came with our house when we purchased it. She was just an “ol-brown-dog;” one like you would find roaming through any Alabama back road or city street corner. The kind that shelters are full of. The sort that often don’t have a place and a person to love unconditionally.

The previous owner of our home had left her there with her 6 puppies. No food. No water. He just abandoned her; left her to fend for herself for over two weeks. I believe you can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats his dog. I dare someone to try and prove otherwise.

I had met this dog when we first looked at the house. She played with one of the man’s horses in the pasture before coming up to greet me with a great big smile. I love a smiling dog. I had always wanted one, but that’s not something you find every day.

I was puzzled by the name he gave her, June. I was pretty sure that Alabama has a law that forces you to name a smiling dog something to do with their grin. If not, they need to pass that legislation today. Smiling dogs deserve to be recognized.

Once she was ours (when we moved in) her name was changed to Smiley. That just felt right. It seemed to suite her. She was our “outside dog,” because we already had our two Italian Greyhounds in the house, but that didn’t last long.

During the first hard freeze, she leaned up against the wood door, shivering from the cold. The old door was vibrating in its frame, and I told Paige that we needed to put her in the basement. “Just for tonight,” I said. Then the basement door started vibrating. The rest is history. She liked to lay on the end of the sofa that Paige sat on.

Smiley was one of those rare dogs that understands what you want and need from her. She was always where she needed to be, and she always obeyed…always. She’s the kind of dog that you never forget, and one that every person should have before they leave this earth. She was special.

About a year before Maddie was born, one of our friends came over with their small son. He was barely walking. We were talking in the driveway when I noticed that Smiley was always a step behind the boy as he walked away. She wasn’t leaving him, and as he was about to disappear from our sight, I called to Smiley. She just looked at me and through her eyes said, “I’m doing what I was created to do.” Everywhere that boy went, she went. She was a silent sentry shadowing his every step. That was the first time.

When we brought Maddie home from the hospital, Smiley greeted us on the back porch. She sniffed all around her car seat and put her nose against Maddie’s. She welcomed her home. That was fitting I guess since it was Smiley’s home before it was ever ours.

When Maddie first started crawling Smiley was her play partner. She climbed all over the dog, going back and forth across her midsection. Smiley never complained. It seemed like she was happy being a little girl’s jungle gym. Maddie was her person. Smiley was her best friend.

Several years later I was watching Maddie as Paige went to a craft club meeting. I was using the tractor to move the rotten crossties from our front yard as Maddie was playing on her playset. I checked on her each time I drove past, ensuring that she was still there before I moved. I had made several trips to the burn pile already when I drove by the playset again. Maddie was swinging with Smiley looking on just a few feet away, so I drove up the hill to grab another load. I started to back up when I saw Smiley standing behind the huge right rear tire.

“Smiley move!”

She just stood there, looking at me.

“Move dog!”

She didn’t budge.

I was cussing under my breath as I throttled the tractor down and set the brake. I was going to move that dog myself. I turned to my left to exit the tractor in anger…Maddie was standing there. Smiley was just behind her.

I’m sure my face was ashen. I wouldn’t have moved that tractor without laying eyes on Maddie, but Smiley didn’t know that. Tears fell from my face as I embraced the ol-brown-dog. The dog that one man threw away.

Smiley also slept in Maddie’s bed. She was Maddie’s protector. Maddie never worried about the monsters in her closet or the boogie man under her bed. She had Smiley, and Smiley had her.

One day we were walking in the creek that runs in front of our house when I saw Maddie lose her balance on top of one of the huge boulders. She grabbed the fur and skin on Smiley’s back until it was raised 3 or 4 inches from her back. Smiley braced herself; she never yelped or barked. She just tensed up so Maddie wouldn’t fall.

There are other stories I could tell you about her. She was just that kind of dog. The kind that licks your tears away when you lose a son or gives you a smile when you can’t find one of your own. She is where you wanted her to be, doing what you needed her to do. Maddie could roam all over our property unsupervised because Smiley was there. She was a four-legged extension of us.

So, the next time you see an ol-brown-dog walking around looking for someone to love, consider letting it love you. Because you might just be giving a home to the best dog you’ve ever had…the standard by which you measure all others, and the one whom your children will always hold in their hearts. Smiley was that for us.

That ol-brown-dog, that one man didn’t want, wanted us, loved us, and gave us all she had until she had nothing more she could give. And on that day, years ago, she gave us one final gift. She let us know that it was time. She went peaceably where all the ol-brown-dogs go; to a place a dog like her deserves... where I hope she still looks over a special two-year-old boy.

The Last Good Day

  

   

          November 20, 2008 was an ordinary day. Our two-year-old son Elijah had been brought home from Children's Hospital on Hospice a couple of weeks before with a terminal liver disease. We knew our time with him was limited, but we didn't know just how many days or weeks we had left with him. The night before Paige and I had talked about taking a day to ourselves. Eli's issues were at something of a standstill; he wasn't getting better or worse. In retrospect, it was the calm before the final storm. We decided that we would take the next day, and we would enjoy each other before the hectic week of Thanksgiving started. We didn't know then that God was wrapping a present for us. We couldn't have known that night the blessing tomorrow would be.

          So today was the last good day, or, at the very least, one that could be interpreted as such. I took off from work on a Thursday, the day after my birthday, for no apparent reason. We took Elijah and Maddie to Prattville for a day out, even though we knew people would likely stare and make rude comments about his condition. We put out Christmas decorations that night while listening to Christmas music…before Thanksgiving. We had never done that before, and we sure haven’t done it since. There was a lot out of place that day, a lot of decisions we made that still puzzle me to this day.

          There's no way we could have known that in less than 24 hours the beginning of the end would come, and our happiness would be turned. This day in 2008, we simply enjoyed the moment God had given us. Even though in the span of four more days our son would be gone, we didn’t know it. We couldn’t have known.

          Maybe that day I would’ve stayed up longer, went farther, did something more fun…who knows? But what I am certain of is this: God orchestrated a beautiful day, because He knew. He knew what we needed before we did. He allowed us to enjoy the day with each other. He knew it would be the last good memory we could hold on to some 16 years after his death.

          I’m sharing this to force you to think about what you traded your time for today. This could be your last good day, the last for one you love, or maybe the last for someone you need to make things right with. You don’t know any more than we did that uneventful day, so don’t waste the time you have with routine and schedule. Cross out your to-do list and live….love…and enjoy life with those your hold dear, because today may be the last day you have to hold them.

           I don’t remember why we chose to forget our routine a decade ago, and I don’t really care anymore. I don’t recall what I had to do at work that day or what project I needed to finish at home. Those things are forgotten. What I remember is the precious hours spent loving my son and sharing what little time he had left on this earth.

          So, take a look around you today, and forget those things pressing on your mind. Focus on what is pulling at your heart and spend your time with them. You never know when God’s call will bring them home. You never know when an ordinary day will be the one day you will hold on to for the rest of your life.