Her name is Goldie.  She’s the sweetest little thing with a personality that shimmers.  She’s energetic, bubbly, and very curious.  Yes, that’s right we have a new member of the family.  After some thought I took the plunge with a net into the tank and brought home a goldfish.  She’s not some common carnival prize type fish she’s a fancy orange fantailed goldfish who now lives in an overpriced vase I bought at the Colorado Mountain Fair.

Goldie isn’t our first fish.  We started with Woody and Buzz when Luke was in kindergarten but Woody ate Buzz and that left us with just one fish.  He was a great little fish though.  Not particularly handsome for a fish but he was playful enough.  That was back in the days of the more traditional type bowl although it was a little more hip than most.  It wasn’t one of those drum shaped bowls where the mouth is a small circle at the top.  No we had a round bowl where the opening is as wide as the circumference of the bowl.  My Aunt Mabel and Uncle Morris had that kind of bowl and in my opinion it’s much better.  Your fish can swim laps instead of just up and down.

Woody had a great life in his old school bowl and he kept the boys very entertained from his spot on the countertop while they ate at the table.  Something about his circular swimming fascinated them and kept them still long enough to eat a meal thus elevating Woody’s status to a bona fide pet and member of the family.  Then it happened, our first pet crisis and we were totally caught off guard.  I know you’re thinking how can she remember this but trust me it was a big deal so much so that when I asked my friend Arliss to go pick out a new fish with me after tennis one night she exclaimed, “Oh my gosh I remember when the first one died!” 

It was a school day and Luke was in first grade and it was Wednesday the day the class took their spelling pre-test which made hump day tense.  Tense because with his perfectionist personality Luke had to ace the test or he would meltdown because having to take the final test on Friday was completely unacceptable to him.  In first grade it was a ten word test but by the time he hit eighth grade it was twenty-five.  In his entire nine year Lutheran school experience Luke only failed to pass the practice test a handful of times and every time whatever teacher he had would give me a heads up at pick-up time so I’d know what to expect when Luke got in the car.  Spelling for Luke is as consistent as Brett Favre at passing.  He’s all-pro and rarely misses.  Wednesday’s were game day. 

It was the fall and I’d dropped Luke off at school and then got his brother to preschool which left a small little window of time for me to breathe.  Before children a three hour block of time could be completely wasted with no afterthought but with two full-tilt kids every second had to count.  I came home from the second drop-off thinking I’d pay the bills, get the laundry done, and maybe squeeze in some exercise but when I went to grab a glass of water I saw Woody sideways and floating.  I thought surely he had just discovered a new stroke or was playing dead but after a few taps to the bowl it became clear that Woody had swum his last lap. 

I stood there staring at the bowl wondering what in the world I should do.  I had a brief flashback of a fish burial when I was kid where my brother dug a little hole and put our dead goldfish in it and we offered a little prayer.  That was always an option.  The boys and I were walking the beach on Bainbridge Island in Washington with their Grandpa and we found a small dead shark that we named Charlie and buried under Grandpa’s deck so I thought the boys might want to bury Woody.   Giving a shark you don’t know a proper burial suggests you’d probably want to give your beloved goldfish a funeral with maybe even a wake afterwards but who knows?  Anticipating what will go through the mind of a six year old boy is as precarious as guessing what a man in the throes of a midlife crisis is thinking.  It’s not possible! 

That, however, is exactly what living with a six year old hyper-vigilant autistic kid is like.  You have no idea what is going through their minds but you know that when a meltdown happens it’s not going to be pretty so you’re going to do whatever it takes to avoid that.  This isn’t an uncommon experience for many parents but for those with particularly sensitive children it’s all about taking off your shoes and walking around in socks so that the other shoe can never drop.

Unfortunately every parent carries a little baggage with them heading into the job and because a lot of unexpected bad things have happened in my life I’m prone to being a bit hyper-vigilant myself.  I’m not autistic but I can relate to this aspect of my boys personalities because I know how unsettling sudden change can be.  Whether it’s good or bad any new reality that emerges quickly on the scene can trigger a great deal of insecurity. 

That being said the fish is dead and it’s a Wednesday and while I was confident Luke had those spelling words down pat I couldn’t be certain so one more thing in the mix was just too much.  I panicked and then the quest to find a replacement started.  My plan – find Woody’s twin after all he was just your run of the mill goldfish so it couldn’t be too hard. 

My first stop was Walmart because we’d bought Woody there so it seemed reasonable to think I’d find his twin there.  No luck.  All the fish were too small.  Of course they weren’t as well cared for as our Woody and they were younger but these were discoveries I hadn’t reasoned through in my haste to find a replacement so next stop was the only real “aquatic” store in town.  Now of course I’ve swum to the other side of the fish pendulum and we have all sorts of fancy varieties of goldfish that look more like koi fish.  This won’t do so off I go to the pet store where I find myself standing in front of several tanks staring at goldfish.  The clock is ticking and my anxiety level is rising and after a great deal of inspection I find what I think is a suitable replacement. 

I rush home and get the new Woody in the bowl after flushing the old Woody and head out to the preschool pick-up.  This will be the first test.  If Woody II passes Chase’s inspection then there’s a shot that Luke won’t notice anything or at least his observations will all be things I can explain away.  I bring home the boy and get some lunch on the table acting as nonchalant as possible.  Chase eats and nothing is said.  Of course he was a man of few words at the time but still the first hurdle had been jumped. 

Now it’s time for pick-up and I’m nervously optimistic.  One minute I’m thinking about spelling and the next I’m wondering if the water-level in the bowl is just right.  I get to the parking lot and see Arliss who wants the full report since she was fully aware of the morning’s events.  I mention this because I consider her an accomplice in the whole fish bait and switch.  No bad plan is ever hatched alone! (Pardon all the obvious puns here!)

While Arliss and I are talking I see Mrs. Hollatz, Luke’s teacher, come out and as soon as she gives me the nod signaling a successful spelling test I breathe my first sigh of relief.  Luke hops in the car and we head home and I’m hopeful.   Worst case Luke will meltdown but it will only be fish related and not a double whammy of spelling grief and fish grief. 

We get home and head into the house and before Luke even has his backpack set down he spots the faux Woody.  He immediately asks, “What happened to Woody?”  I try for about 30 seconds to play dumb and then lose it and confess that Woody died and as hard as I tried I couldn’t save him and so I went out and got a new fish.  There was a brief pause and then the meltdown started.  Every imaginable question was raised and every answer to those questions was offered.  For example, “Did you take him to the doctor Mom?” asks Luke.  To which I answer, “No Luke I didn’t because they don’t have fish doctors?”  Luke counters with, “Well what about Dr. Patrice she’s smart?”  Then I respond, “Yes, Luke she is but she only works with children not fish.”  Then you can guess he asks, “Why not?” and the silly endeavor of reasoning with a six year old continues. 

After several volleys Luke bursts into tears and goes to his room and this is when I begin to question my parenting skills.  Of course I don’t have much time for that but while I’m keeping the household going the thoughts racing through my mind are all about why and how this has to be so hard?  I’m asking myself why anything can’t be simple.  Why is it that we can’t have a dead goldfish in our house without a meltdown? 

At the time answers to these questions eluded me like a Rubik’s cube.  I could twist and turn my mind through every possible scenario to explain things but ultimately wind up with one or two squares that just didn’t fit.  Everything felt hard with my boys and I was worn out.  Manic goldfish hunting is a sure sign of that.  Whenever you experience a response on your part that is way out of proportion to the stimulus take notice.  You have probably tapped into some deeply hidden emotional hurt.

Yes, I was afraid of the meltdown and that somehow we wouldn’t recover.  Life for parents with a special needs kiddo often involves what is referred to as the DIF/NEI equation.  All children have meltdowns, they sass back, and say no.  Every kid gets sick and all kids like structure and routine.  All parents have to deal with teachers and school stuff.  These things are part of the parenting job description.  The events involved in raising a child with a disability are not that different from the events that are part of raising any child.  The difference is in the duration, intensity, and frequency multiplied by the number of exceptional issues. 

The list of issues for the boys at the time was long and I was worn out.  When Woody kicked the bucket I just didn’t believe I had what it took to go the distance on the fish issue.  Looking back what time and a little perspective have taught me is that if you don’t believe you have the strength to lift any kind of burden be it as light as a paperclip or as heavy as an ox you don’t. 

I didn’t think I could handle it so I couldn’t.  I’m not suggesting here that I thought I had to muster up the emotional fortitude for the situation at hand.  I didn’t think that.  I knew I didn’t have it.  What escaped me at the time is that God would supply me in my need.  In my manic spiral down I’d shrunk God’s power down to the size of a goldfish and a ten word spelling test.   I didn’t believe that, “Nothing is impossible with God.”  The promise that, “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength”, was nowhere to be found in my database.  The normal frustrations of parenting life had been multiplied and amplified so much the voice of the Holy Spirit had been drowned out.   My spiritual vocabulary had been pushed to the farthest corner of my mind because I felt pressed on every side. 

 What I needed to find wasn’t a solution (e.g. a new fish).  What I needed was a quiet moment of reason where the still small voice of God could move from behind the situation and say its okay.  Luke can rebound.  Luke will rebound and so will you.  This crisis which feels like a storm is really just a bump in the road.  Fix your eyes on me not the waves around you.  This too shall pass. I’m with you and I will carry you through this.  This burden is not heavy but the enemy wants you to think it is. 

Now looking at my new friend Goldie I have a perspective that time and perseverance bring because we survived the first fish crisis.  It was several days of questions and more than one meltdown but when I look at Luke across the table he appears unfazed.  When Goldie appeared a bit sheepish the other day I moved the bowl because I didn’t want to see her go belly up while we were eating and I was surprised when Luke noticed.  He asked why the bowl was missing and because I didn’t want to lie I said I thought she might be dying.  I paused thinking he might be concerned and then he nonchalantly said, “Oh well fish die.  It’s no big deal we can get a new one.”  Wow I thought we certainly have come a long way. 

My prayers for flexibility, adaptability, resiliency in the life of my boys have been heard.  My prayers for strength and stamina to go the distance with them through it all have been heard.  Not in response to, but in spite of my manic efforts at times, God has been faithful to provide.  He’s met our needs one day and one crisis at a time and He will meet yours.  He will meet you in the small seemingly insignificant things like a dead fish or a missed spelling word and He will meet you in the big stuff – your anger, fear, shame, grief or loss.  Your crisis is His opportunity to speak if you stop to listen.  You don’t need a solution, you don’t need a replacement you just need to be still and He will show you He is God and nothing is impossible with Him.  Looking into the faces of my growing boys I see that more and more every day.  God is good his mercies are new everyday! 

It’s been a crazy few days around our house.  I knew it would be when the weekend started and ended with a three day tennis tournament.  Granted I’m not the player but every sports Mom knows supporting the athlete takes some effort.  There are schedules to coordinate, meals to be made, bags to be packed, and all sorts of details to be prepared for.  I don’t camp and I wasn’t a Boy Scout but I have adopted the motto “always be prepared” when it comes to a tournament.  If you don’t take a chair you are guaranteed to find your kid playing on a court without bleachers and even if you pack the most nutritious lunch possible he will be hungry again so you have to pack snacks and lots of them.

With even the best of preparation beforehand some detail will be forgotten.  In this case it was the headphones for the Nintendo DS that Chase brings to matches because for Luke’s little brother tennis is boring.  For the one match he was asked to endure not having the headphones was a crisis.  Fortunately, this tennis mom had packed a stash of tootsie pops and the crisis was averted.  However, in anticipation of the next memory lapse a back-up pair of ear buds is now in the tennis bag.  Lesson learned.

Isn’t that how life works?  Despite your very best efforts in all areas of your life unexpected stuff is going to come up and you will find yourself frustrated.  When they say the devil is in the details they aren’t kidding.  I’m not sure who the proverbial “they” are but I know they are right.  Amidst the joys of celebrating lots of hard won tennis victories and what they represented for Luke there have been some really nagging joy stealers.   

Things like a problem with the roof that required fixing, the air conditioning going out, the dishwasher leaking water, the water heater rumbling, and several large limbs from the Elm trees in my yard were brought down by the wind.  All these events were in the fixable category and then there was the people drama which usually isn’t fixable and of course wouldn’t be cool to talk about.  In a short span of time it was a bit much.  Sandwiched between all those things it was my penny anniversary which didn’t go unnoticed by me but I didn’t get the time I wanted to write about it until today.

Yes, Sunday July 11^th was my three year anniversary of penny finding.  Apart from one week while I was in Mexico this last year I have still found at least one penny a day since July 11^th, 2007.  I have to confess that not finding pennies in Mexico was a little hard for me since I’d traveled there my first year of penny finding and still found one every day.  Fortunately, the minute I stepped foot back in the States I found more than a week’s worth.  With such an immediate windfall of pennies I feel comfortable saying that my penny streak hasn’t stopped and for that I’m not only amused but very grateful.  This year’s total was smaller than the previous two with only 1,895 but that’s still a heck of a lot of pennies.  The running total now is 11,841 which when you add the decimal point and dollar sign is $118.41.  Wouldn’t you love it if someone handed you a little chunk of spare change like that?  I would and I have because every penny still means something to me.

The novelty hasn’t worn off.  Saturday afternoon during the tennis tournament when I was watching Luke’s doubles match I looked down and right next to my seven year old buddy Julianna was my penny for the day.  It was mixed in with the rust colored gravel below our feet.  I’d just moved over to sit with Julie because it was ghastly hot and she spoils her Mom and me with her mister.  Nothing beats a spray on the neck with cold water in one hundred degree temperatures!

When I reached for the penny Julie was amused and asked me how I’d noticed it since it was so well camouflaged.  I smiled and told her I have a thing with pennies.  She’s a very curious young lady and wanted to know more.  I told her my story and she responded with a big hug.  Like every kid who hears the story she wanted to see the penny with the sticker on it – the one I call my penny with a note from God.  I promised one day I would show her and then we got back to focusing on the tennis with both of us cheering a little bit harder after a booster shot of penny inspiration.

It was a fitting reminder for me of exactly why the pennies still means so much.  They are a touch point in my day where I stop for just a moment as I pick one up and remember I can trust God with every detail of my life.  It’s a pause that gives me an opportunity to acknowledge that for every pesky thing I have to deal with I have a greater measure of God’s grace to sustain me. 

It’s been said that a great life is made up of lots of little moments and I believe this.  Sadly, I think the opposite can also be true.  A great life can be undermined by lots of little things.   King Solomon speaks of this in the Scriptures when he that says we are to be mindful of the little foxes than can spoil the vineyard. Those little foxes come in all sorts of sly forms and they represent the opposition that comes sneaking into our lives.  You don’t necessarily see it happening but you feel it.  Something seemingly insignificant happens and for whatever reason you find yourself feeling angry, sad, jealous, resentful, fearful, overwhelmed and all too often very discouraged. 

Before you know it you’re slouched over like a grumpy teenager without his video games (God forbid) and you’ve succumbed to the belief that you just can’t take it anymore.  If you have to endure one more set of volleys in this game called life you’re going to scream.  You find yourself making a big fuss out of something that given a little more perspective would probably look silly.  A tootsie pop in your mouth to stop your whining would probably feel condescending but it might actually be just what you need. 

This is why I love my pennies because they are little moments in my day that counter the little foxes that like to sneak into my mind.  They creep up behind me and use my wild imagination to convince me life is falling apart while they nip at my heels.  However, if the pennies could talk I think they would say, “Trust me you can take it – you’re alright.” The penny voice says you can take it because you can put your trust in God.  That is after all the message stamped on the penny not to mention the message of the Bible!  

Replacing the subconscious mindset that you can’t take it anymore with a conscious message saying yes you can is critical. This is a faith-based mindset versus a fear-based one that convinces us we are worn out and won’t make it through any hardship we might encounter.  This simply isn’t true.   Face it if you think you can’t take it anymore then the enemy has won and you can’t. 

Not everyone has a running metaphor to encourage them daily.  I’ve had people tell me they wished they had a penny equivalent and I wish that for them too.   Looking in the penny bowl as year four starts I have forty-two pennies already which leads me to believe it’s going to be another penny rich year and a great one at that.  I’m very thankful.

The last penny of 2010 was found as I was heading home from the supermarket.  It was pouring down rain when I went in.  I’d already found my penny for the day but inside I found eleven more.  I thought surely that was more than enough.  Leaving the store I was happy to find the rain had stopped.  As I was unloading my groceries I spotted another penny.  I had a huge smile on my face because it had already been such a great day how could there be more?   I bent down to pick it up and as I was straightening back up my gaze was lifted and there in the beautiful blue sky was a double rainbow.  Now that’s a great moment!

I’m not one to say that my pennies come from heaven.  It’s a cliché I still haven’t embraced but if I’ve ever had a heaven sent penny moment that had to be it.  I drove home and my entire perspective had been changed.  Rather than thinking about my house falling apart and different folks that have been grumbling with me I thought about Luke shaking hands with his opponent in his final match and humbly accepting his kudos.  I remembered his post-match interview with a reporter and how well he handled it.  Not an easy thing when you are horribly self-conscious.   I thought about running into the kid he beat for the championship at our dinner out to celebrate and his dinner out to be consoled.  Luke went out of his way to be gracious and say hello and encourage him.   Those were the real wins – moments a parent lives for. 

With my last penny in hand I considered calling Julianna to tell her that my penny count had just gone up by twelve knowing she’d be thrilled.  At seven years old she’s easily inspired but I was so wonderfully content with the moment that I just savored it.  I drove home under that rainbow reminded that none of the nagging things waiting for me mattered.  My life isn’t the sum total of those things that bite at my heels and my life isn’t the sum total of the pennies I find.  My life is about what I do with the pennies, what they teach me, and how I use them to chase away anything that would steal away a life filled with rich moments. 

 P.S.  It’s money I’ve found and so it’s money I feel like I should give away.  This year’s pennies went to Light Gives Heat.  It doesn’t cost a penny to read my blog but it does cost this organization something to help the women of Uganda.  If you have any interest in supporting their work check out what they do at http://www.lightgivesheat.org.    

I won’t promise to make this my last post about Buddy Too (B2) our new puppy because he’s just so darn cute.  I’m sure he’ll inspire lots of ideas for me but I don’t picture another “Marley and Me” type story coming from his life with us.  It’s only been a week though so who knows! 

B2 is timid little guy and he sticks very close to his “Mama” as my son Chase likes to refer to me.  I would tell you this is just because he know who feeds him.  My own Mother, however, would tell you it’s because he’s found a spot on my bed where he feels safe and warm so he’s just working me.  One little whimper and flash of the sad eyes and he’s got me under his paw and he knows it.  The little guy follows me around just waiting for me to stop long enough to scoop him up and shower him with attention except when we are outside. 

Out in the big world of his backyard he’s a sight to behold.  For such a shy little guy you might think he’d be intimidated outside but he’s not.   He comes alive.  On his first night in our home last week I was determined that he would go outside before everyone got tucked into bed.  He’s paper trained but he has to be house trained and so determined Mama that I am out we go.  I didn’t expect it to go well but I had to try. 

It was a beautiful Colorado night.  The air was perfectly still with a mix of clouds and clear sky.  Snow was falling and the quiet was piercing.  I took a deep breath in and exhaled with a genuine reverence for the beauty of God’s creation.  I wondered in that moment who it really was that needed to go outside me or Buddy? 

I set my little bundle down and wondered what he would do.  For a few minutes he just sat in a puppy lump on his tail with his paws spilled in front of him and then something, I don’t know what, caught his attention.  Before I could figure out what it was he was off frolicking on the grass.  He’s so small and light that he doesn’t even seem to touch the grass or the snow he just grazes it.  He treads so lightly that you wonder if he’s actually making contact with the surface below.  What gives him traction to move I don’t know but he moves and it’s incredibly fun to watch?

Buddy, however, is not one to let you just watch him he wants you in on things and so before you know it I’m playing chase with a puppy on a snowy night in my high heeled boots and cashmere coat not worried at all about ruining either.  We played for 20 minutes which is a long time for an 8 week old puppy and a 40 something at the end of the day but it was worth every minute. 

Later that night, bundled up in bed I pondered why it is that Buddy can tread so lightly and my steps fall so hard on the ground?  It’s not just a matter of size.  He has an advantage there, of course, but being light on your feet isn’t always a matter of size.  Muhammad Ali could float like a butterfly. 

I think for Buddy and Ali it’s has something to do with resiliency.  Buddy is just a dog, of course, so he doesn’t really ponder all that much but one thing he’s figured out is that when he’s playing if he falls down he can just get right back up again.  No big deal.  It might take a little doing for his uncoordinated puppy body but that makes it all the more fun.  Ali being a boxer knew how to take a punch and keep fighting.  When pushed to the ropes you fight your way out that’s what boxing is about.  Pretty simple stuff really but why is it so hard for some of us. 

I read recently that the elderly, who are typically thoughts of as fragile, are far more resilient than their juniors because they have figured out that they can weather emotional upheaval and still survive.  Resiliency is after all the product of surviving difficult emotionally demanding situations.  A resilient person internalizes the knowledge that they can and will prevail.  Stress only comes into play when a person doubts their ability to overcome. 

It’s doubt that makes a person’s steps heavy.  When we feel confident and capable we are light on our feet but when we question every move we make we hit the ground hard with our uncertainty. 

Unfortunately life can regularly challenge any confident spirit we might have prompting us to question our internal and external resources. 

On my part I forget that, “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength”!  I lose sight of every resilient quality God has instilled in me.  I forget that God has given me a mind capable of solving problems, gifts and abilities, a sense of humor to laugh at myself, family and friends that love me and that with His help I can adapt and change with the circumstances around me.  I can get knocked down and get back up again and keep going. 

This sounds so cliché like a pep talk and I hate pep talks which is funny because I give them all the time.  I hate them because often they minimize a person’s internal turmoil and they tend to ignore the idea that we are opposed in this lifetime.  You can call that opposition whatever you like.  Call it the enemy, Satan, adversity, negative energy or just simply resistance.  By whatever name we all know it’s invisible and it’s insidious.   It’s a destructive force that rises up whenever we are trying to do for ourselves or others something that might be good.  It will take shape in almost any form possible and weigh you down and this is when your steps become so heavy.  You can’t float like a butterfly and everything feels like a bee sting because you’ve given in to resistance lost sight of the resilient person God created you to be. 

What then is the antidote?  For everyone I suppose it’s different.  For me it’s a matter of acknowledging that my heart and therefore my steps are heavy and that I need my perspective changed.  I need the voice of God to be louder in my mind than the voice of resistance so that I believe I will bounce back even if I make a mistake.  When my internal dialogue is saying I can’t bounce back I probably won’t.   When the voice inside of me is shouting that I can - I become more resilient.   I can tread through life with more spring in my step knowing that even if I make a wrong move and fall God will help me get right back up so that I can keep chasing after His will for my life.  He loves me that much and He created me for that much.  I might ruin a coat or even a pair of boots in the process but I won’t ruin my life. 

Just last week I started the crazy effort of moving back into my home in Colorado and suffice it to say I have too much stuff! Anytime you move you always have that period of time where you can’t find this or that and you have no idea at the moment where that particular thing is.  You walk around for days looking for something wondering where it is.  For me it hasn’t been the sofa pillows or mixing bowls, that are indeed missing, it’s been our dog Buddy. 

His absence from this house that I have only known with him in it is palpable.  I knew how much I was missing him when on the first morning I woke up in the house I went down to the laundry room to let him out of his kennel  - only to remember that Buddy isn’t with us anymore.  The next morning I didn’t wake up looking for him but I noticed that when I walked into my son Chase’s room I subconsciously expected to see him sitting on the end of the bed.  This was a favorite spot for him to perch and stare at the path next to our house watching for possible intruders.  He was a faithful guard dog.

Chase noticed right away that the house didn’t feel the same without Buddy.  He’s been talking about another dog for months so I’m wasn’t surprised by this.  He’s an animal lover and was ready for another dog friend right away after Buddy’s passing.  I wasn’t as ready because the attachment scares me.  Like most mother’s, however, I find it hard to resist my son’s charms and so another puppy it is.

Years ago when our beloved Buddy was having health problems as a result of bad breeding practices I swore that if I ever got another puppy it would be from Brien and Sandy.  I only refer to them by their proper names in person.  Behind their backs I lovingly call them the Schnauzer Nazis’.  This is a spoof of the Seinfeld episode about the Soup Nazis - a man so who is so intense about his soup making craft that you can be banished from his shop if you don’t behave reverently. 

Brien and Sandy own a grooming shop and breed and show miniature Schnauzers.  They are passionate about their dogs and won’t let just anyone purchase their puppies.  You have to prove that you will provide great care or you are out.  Fortunately we have some history with them.  When Chase and I walked into their shop and told them we were looking for another puppy Sandy told me she’d just been wondering who her last male puppy would be going to. 

I don’t know who was more excited Chase or me.  We came home and shared the news with his Grandma and brother and everyone was smiling from ear to ear.  We all want another furry friend.  We talked about it and agreed that the new puppy would be named Buddy Too.  He’s not Buddy the second he’s named Buddy “also”.  The first Buddy is irreplaceable and we have no doubt we’ll feel the same about our next Buddy.  In fact, we’ve been told by the Schnauzer Nazis’ that his temperament is very different which adds to the fun.  He’ll be a new friend for us to get to know and love.

As I’ve been rolling all this around in my head wondering why we’re so excited I realized that it’s the loving part that means so much to us as a family.  If I’ve learned anything in the last year it’s that life is a cycle of loving and grieving.   Being alive requires of us experience with both holding on and letting go.  We cling to what we love and yet life requires that we also let go of what we love.  These daily experiences mark our existence.  The two things we do together as humans are experience love and sorrow.  The joy of loving is something we readily embrace but as hard as we might try we cannot sidestep the sources of grief.  They are all around us – violence, hatred, greed, ignorance, revenge and the complete disregard for human life.  The sources of grief are as varied as the grief-stricken. 

I think this is why after a year of riding an emotional rollercoaster with highs, lows, and unexpected twists and turns our little family is looking for something to love together.  We all know it won’t solve any of our problems but we know from experience that something to love collectively will remind us that we are standing next to each other.  We are not alone.  The daily experience of living in a broken world is not something we have to do by ourselves.  The bumps and bruises we endure won’t hurt as much when a pair of hopeful eyes is staring up at us. 

Just like a baby changes a family so will our new puppy albeit on a smaller scale.  He’s going to have to be cared for, loved, and trained.  He’s going to be lots of fun and lots of trouble and this is going to require some teamwork.  His little discoveries will become ours and so will his misadventures.  We’ll talk about him, laugh about him, and probably even complain about him. Then ultimately one day we’ll cry about losing him but it will all be done together and that is where we’ll find the joy.  Life is cyclical.  Endings are beginnings.  Beginnings don’t take away the pain of endings but they do remind you that you are still alive and connected to something bigger than yourself. 

Somewhere down the road of my life a friend of mine and I developed this way of saying the word barbeque that was completely ridiculous.  It sounded more like bar-beee-cue than barbecue.  Whenever the subject of barbecuing came up we would laugh and slaughter the sound of this word with our exaggerated pronunciation.  It was one of those inside jokes that make no sense to anyone other than the people who made it up. 

Since that joke developed I have come to learn that in some parts of the world barbecue is no laughing matter and that poking fun at it is not a good idea.   Fortunately my education started before I moved to Texas where I have to come to decide that barbecue has to be the “state food”. 

If you’re like me and you’re not from the South you might think barbecue is something you do and not something you eat.  Fortunately, I learned this from my husband before I moved to Texas or I would have been completely confused by all the billboards going down the road advertising barbecue.  I would have had this picture in my mind of either thousands of people having cook outs or hundreds of stores selling outdoor grills.  The two pictures go hand in hand but that’s not what is being advertised.  The signs are directing you to countless restaurants all of which claim to have the best barbecue around.  In Texas the number of barbecue joints is comparable to the number of Starbucks in Seattle.  You can find one on almost every corner.

Like most Southern California girls I had no idea that barbecue is a method of preparation that doesn’t involve a grill.  That’s right there’s no Weber and the debate about what wood is the best for smoking meat - could split a family not just a tree!  That debate typically takes place while people are gathered for a meal in the Lone Star state because when folks get together there’s a 99% probability that you are going to have barbecue.  Barbecue is everywhere you go and the standard menu of sausage, brisket, ribs, beans, cold slaw, potato salad, white bread, and cobbler for dessert doesn’t even need to be published.   If you’re from Texas you just know. 

For the out of town folks all this barbecue probably sounds delicious and it is but I’ve got to confess I don’t know if I can take much more.  I feel like I’m drowning in sauce because almost every gathering I’ve been to has served barbecue.  Add to that the take-out barbecue that’s been served at home because it’s a quick easy crowd pleaser and I’m totally saturated. 

With this confession I feel ungrateful for a whole list of reasons and yet I still feel the way I do.  Before you write and scold me please consider that I can make a list as long as you can about all I have to be thankful for.  Having a meal to eat is a certainty for me and a luxury for more people in the world than I can even imagine.  I understand this. 

What I’m saying with my cries is that I miss what is familiar to me.  Moving, getting married, blending families, and figuring out what’s what in one of the largest states in the union has been a little overwhelming.  While it’s all good that much change in such a short amount of time can leave a person craving all things familiar including their favorite foods and barbecue just isn’t mine. 

A few weeks back at the reception for new families at my son’s school while I was sitting with a plate of barbecue in front of me I felt a little bit like the Israelites in the desert complaining.   After such a short time into their journey they started grumbling to Moses and Aaron and worried that they would starve.  They went so far as to say their life of slavery in Egypt was better.  I’ve read the story many times and thought they were very ungrateful to complain after they had just been released from captivity.   Knowing the end of the story and that God provided for them it’s easy to be judgmental and criticize them but lately I have a different perspective.

Change is unsettling and when you are trying to navigate through a sea of it you want to feel connected to something.  The easiest things to feel connected to are your routines and for most of us the routine things in our life involve familiar faces, places, and you guessed it - foods.  There’s a reason we call those foods “comfort foods” and it’s because we associate them with memories that steady our mind. 

I’m not a theologian but I can’t help but wonder right now if all the Biblical commentaries that criticize the Israelites for their complaining in the dessert are missing an important point.  I think the Israelites were missing with their hearts more than their stomachs but didn’t know how to say that.  It’s easier to say a bowl of ice cream will make you feel better than it is to admit that you just want to eat some ice cream with a familiar face and someone who knows something about you and your life experience. 

More than anything what my last plate of brisket and the near meltdown it brought told me was that I need to make a point amidst all the change going on in my life right now to connect to people that I have some history with.  It was a bar-beee-“cue” that I’ve been so focused on physically getting settled that I haven’t paid enough attention to the emotional aspect of feeling settled.  These relationships and the familiarity of them remind me of who I am and the purpose I know God has for my life.   There’s no shame in admitting that I miss what is familiar and comforting.  It doesn’t represent any unhappiness or lack of gratitude for where God has me - it’s just honest.