A Great Heart Goes Silent

   On the 26^th day of May, in the year of our Lord 2015, my beloved Miss Keeter, Warrior Princess, Queen of the Pack, passed from this life.

  How does one put words to something for which there really are no words? This is my pathetic attempt to honor the life and death of my bestest (misspelling is intentional) girl, my Miss Keeter, my friend.

 She came to me four years ago, with bones sticking out all over, such a tall and majestic dog, but so skinny. Her toenails were black and soft, and merely striking them against something caused them to fall off and bleed. She lost a few.  She had been starved, she had been mistreated, she had been beaten, and we know this because when she first came to us, if you waved your hand, or a kitchen spoon, or moved in any manner that she perceived as threatening, she would crouch low upon the ground and pee.

 Despite the terrible background, she was full of a zest for life, and a sure and solid hope that love was possible. Oh how she loved, she would lean in close and groan at the very joy of having her body pressed against yours, and the slightest word of praise caused her to dance with joy, she danced and she leapt and glasses flew from tables, and knickknacks crashed to the floor, and even people stumbled and fell to her great dance.

 My task was to foster her, to get her healthy and to teach her manners, for she had no knowledge of anything. The only word she truly understood was no, and this word caused her to crouch low, and tremble. It was a word that she has seldom heard over the course of the last four years, a word not needed, for she lived to please, and teaching her manners was very easy. I obviously failed with the foster part, and could not bear to give her up.

 She came to me during hard times. Both my sons were having hard times, times that despite all my prayers and all my attempts to help, just were not changing, sometimes becoming worse, and my husband had been laid off, and was working out of state to make ends meet. I really needed to make a difference for something. And along came Miss Keeter. Saving her was an honor, a privilege and over these past four years she has taught me more than any other dog, more than I ever thought possible of a dog to teach.

  Keeter taught me about faith, about hope, about love, about dancing in the rain, about worship, about the joy of a moment, about the power of a simple word of praise, she taught me about tenacity, and that the grit and tenacity required to hold down a 300lb pig can also be useful in other circumstances, and that no matter what, you never give up, you never let go,  you keep moving forward, pushing through, and if you knock a few glasses over, or break a favored knickknack, it’s really no big deal. Many journal writings of mine mention “the big white dog” as do several of my blog posts, some just refer to the joy that she brought to me, the feel of her strong head under my hand as we walked, the laughter at her joyful antics, and some detail the profound things that she taught me, about life, about God and about living.

 Her heart just cannot be described, it was huge, it was fierce, and it was beautiful.  She was my dog, although she loved everyone in the family, she gravitated to me, and there was only one brief period where this was not so. Our soldier son came home from war, came home with the heavy burdens that war can place upon the soul. As a family we labored hard to show him love, to show him grace, to help him come home, but in all outward appearances this was to no avail, we could not break through the barriers that were there. But Miss Keeter did, she gravitated to him, she would sit by his side, at the garage door, him smoking and her just sitting there with him, hanging out, leaning into him. She too had known suffering and violence, of a different kind, but still painful, and I think she sensed the need in him, to just have someone sit, and share the pain, without expectations, without fear and worry and anxiety, but to just sit with him. It is my belief that she is the first of our family to connect with the soul of the warrior who came home. For that act alone she will ever have my gratitude.

  I am grateful for the four years we had, and I am trying hard not to be bitter toward those who mistreated her, starved her during formative years causing the very issues that in the end took her life. My youngest son said yesterday that had they not done the things they had done, we would never have had the joy of her in our lives. So I guess that is a lesson for us all in how God can use the awful things and make something beautiful.

 My Miss Keeter was brave; she endured the pain of the growing gaps in her spine with grace and tenacity. She never cried, it just kept getting harder and harder for her to get up. She would still charge full speed ahead at any perceived threat, and then stumble and limp back to her bed once the threat had been met.  She lived to please, in the good times, just the sound of her name would bring her leaping, entire body wiggling in joy at the summons, but toward the end, her tail would gently thump, I think even that hurt, and she would look at me with sorrow filled eyes, and gradually, with my coaching and my praise, she would slowly rise, taking faltering steps, front legs bearing most of the weight, and she would make her way to me. On top of all this, she lost her sight, and was pretty much blind. I realized that she would never give up entirely, that she would endure the pain for as long as I kept asking her to endure it, and that is when I realized that I could not ask this of her anymore. It was time. The medicine was not working anymore, and it was tearing up her stomach, causing her to vomit blood and messing up her appetite. It was time for me to say enough, it’s okay my girl, you can go in peace.

 For her last day, I gave her extra pain pills, and we loaded her up in the car, it was hard for her to get in the car, but once again with coaching she did as I asked and heaved herself in, with as much assistance as I could offer her 100 lb. body. At first my intention was to take her to a park, where there is a peaceful fountain, a place where I sat many times, but then I realized that this was my place, where was her place? What was her joy? So we went out on the mesa, and we walked, she rooted for the kangaroo rats and prairie dogs, flushed the quail and the jackrabbits. I wished for her sight back, as I watched huge jackrabbits running before her, she could smell them, but she could not see them. Even so, you could see some of the old Keeter come back, her drive to hunt, her joy in the smells, her tenacity as she crashed through the cactus and the thorns, oblivious to the pain. She took joy in crashing through the middle of a giant puddle, and it was good to see her with mud spattered legs again.

 We sat at the car for a bit, and I gazed at the beautiful view, and scratched her head and ears. We had some water and we headed down the hill to the vet’s office. We were early for our appointment, so we sat under a beautiful tree, in the thick green grass, and we rested and enjoyed each other’s company. I praised her and loved her, scratched her ears and kissed her and fed her lots of cheese and fatty bacon. She would try and sit, but you could tell sitting was painful but she was able to lie down and rest.  Too soon it was time, and we walked inside. Tears filled my eyes as I looked into one of the rooms, with door slightly ajar, and saw the blanket on the floor. I knew that was for us. Sure enough we were escorted to that room, and my brave Miss Keeter went straight to that blanket, plopped herself down and stretched out her legs.  I sat with her, and told her how incredibly awesome she was. I fed her bacon and cheese as they made their preparations.  She passed with her great head in my lap, as I scratched her ears, and fed her cheese. She passed in peace.

 On 5/26/15, at approximately 3:30 PM. A great heart went still and I was left with silence.  

“There are various places within which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a Dogo Argentino named Keeter, whose coat was as white as snow, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought, despite the mistreatment she received at the hands of humans. She will be laid to rest in our back yard, by a flowering bush, overlooking her domain.

  Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, she slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else.

For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes she leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are bent to its force, or beside a stream she knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.

If you bury her in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, she will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at her, nor resent her coming, for she is yours and she belongs there.

People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by her footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.

The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of her person.

(Original poem by Ben Hur Lampman, edited for our dear Miss Keeter)

One of my blog posts about the things she taught me:

http://allisgrace.posthaven.com/taught-wisdom-by-a-dog

And here is a beautiful video telling all of what a dog can be to it's human, if the human will only allow it to take place.

 So God Made a Dog

1/2/2016 This morning I watched a video of my Keeter girl as she danced around the living room, every fiber of her being expressing joy in the moment. I miss her a lot.

   I also wanted to add this one photo to her memorial. It was sent to me by a dear friend. Living here in Albuquerque we often have hot air balloons flying over our house and they are almost always visible in the sky over the city. My Keeter girl HATED the balloons. She saw this as a threat and before she lost her sight she would spot them floating in the sky and she would shout out her defiance to them. This beautiful photo shows hot air balloons floating above the clouds, and one of the clouds to the left of the photo looks like a large white dog. Get em Keeter girl!

   That flag upon which you stand and dance is simple fabric dyed with red, white and blue, yet it is a precious thing.  It is a holy thing, to a multitude of people. All who have served, all who have fought and bled, all who have loved someone who fought and bled, to the countless veterans and families who have endured the horror of war for over a decade, it is a precious thing. We understand now, why our fathers, who served in WWII, Korea and Vietnam, weep at the sight of the colors flying proudly in the wind. We understand and we too now weep when we see her flying.

 For me personally that flag upon which you stand represents many things, I remember my father and the stories he told me of the war. He fought in many of the famous battles of the South Pacific, upon a ship called the USS Lavallette.  He covered fallen brothers in flags and sewed them into bags, and stood at attention as their bodies were consigned to the sea. He stood upon the deck and watched as bulldozers opened up great holes upon the beaches of the many islands there, and hundreds upon hundreds of flag draped bodies were buried there. That flag upon which you stand, bore silent witness to all the horror my father endured in the long years of WWII.

 My first born son fought under that flag upon which you stand, in Iraq and Afghanistan. During those dark days my heart was filled with fear and my nights with dreams of danger as he fought. I wept many tears, tears for him, tears for his wounded brothers, tears for the fallen. Those tears, my tears, stain that flag upon which you stand. I joined in prayer with mothers, crying out for the safety of our sons, only to receive word that their son had fallen, he was coming home, in a flag draped coffin.

 That flag upon which you stand, was upon the arm of each one of those young men, as it has been on countless young men across the ages. That flag bore witness as my son, the little boy whom I loved, took the lives of our enemies, it bore witness as he administered first aid to his wounded brothers, and it is stained with the countless tears and heartache he endured while fighting and has endured since and will endure in days to come.

  One Easter Sunday, two young men were severely wounded in Iraq, and that flag upon which you stand, bore witness as a young medic struggled to save them both. One young man died, the other became our nation’s first surviving quadruple amputee. And that flag upon which you stand, is stained with the tears of the family grieving the loss of their beautiful son, it is stained with the tears and the struggle of the young amputee as he begins the hard and often cruel road of learning to live with his new normal. It is also stained with the tears, the sorrow, the nightmares and struggle of the young medic, who did all within his power to save both.

 That flag, upon which you stand, covered the coffin of my nephew Allen, and I sat at his funeral and watched as it was reverently folded, and presented, to his beautiful young widow and her two precious boys. I watched as a little boy, not old enough to truly understand what was happening, suddenly became very serious, as his little heart realized that something solemn, something holy was taking place, and his little hands reached out to take the flag, and my heart near broke in two at the sight.

 You see Erica, that flag upon which you stand, although it might appear to the eyes to be crisp and new, is stained, deeply stained. It is stained with the blood of the countless souls who fell in combat. It is stained with the sweat, and the struggle of a legion of souls who waded through mud, and blood, who endured the most terrible conditions, and who fought with valor throughout our history. It is stained with the tears of the mothers, the fathers, the sisters and brothers and spouses and children who cried out to God and who wept over the flagged draped coffins of their loved ones. It is stained with the tears and the struggles of every single veteran who came home from war, stained with the tears they cry in the night, stained with the struggles of their often overwhelming fight to come all the way home.

 That flag, upon which you stand, although it is but fabric, dyed with red and blue, is a sacred thing to me, and to so very many people, it stands for things that I fear many people cannot understand or comprehend unless they somehow lived some portion of it. 

 Although that flag, upon which you stand, is naught but fabric dyed with color, it is so very much more. When you desecrate it, when you stand upon it, when you dance upon it, your desecrate the honor of each and every soul who fought under its colors, you tread upon our sacred dead, you dance upon the graves of all who bled and died and went to their rest wrapped in its colors.

 You and all who participate in this “challenge” have no understanding of the countless tears that soak that piece of red white and blue upon which you stand. The blood that has stained her, the tears and sorrow that have soaked her, is beyond comprehension.  Some of those tears that stain that flag, upon which you stand, are mine.

 I pray, with all my heart, that you will consider these things. The words I have placed here are but a tiny portion of the magnitude of the meaning of that piece of colored fabric upon which you stand. Whatever you are attempting to communicate through these actions is not being heard. Hate is always an ugly thing, and seldom makes the point intended. 

  I pray you will ponder these things, and perhaps even offer an apology to the countless veterans and families that have been hurt by your actions.

   This letter is written in response to the below video, of one Miss Erica Walker stepping upon the flag, and in response to any and all who have decided to participate in the "Eric Sheppard Challenge."

More information on the Eric Sheppard Challenge: http://www.inquisitr.com/2066139/eric-sheppard-challenge-stomping-on-american-flag-movement-goes-viral-veterans-outraged/

    Much has happened these past few weeks in my life, none of it really that enjoyable. I have been very ill, so ill that I have missed work for three weeks. During the countless trips to urgent care I was told that I have a mass on my lung, so along with the illness I was trying to defeat I now find I very well may have cancer. There were a few other things that were thrown into this mess that are personal to my family so I will not spell them all out here, but I assure you, they added more stress and anxiety to a already full pot.

  So I have spent much time in prayer, and God as always has been faithful. He seldom does things as I would like Him to, but in the end His methods always turn out to be the exact way they should be.

  God brought in people to take care of a great many things these past few days, I cannot name them all without spelling out the personal parts of the story, so I will just say thank you Lord for the man, who was faithful to the request, and made the call that he said he would make, and went out of his way to procure the item that he said he would procure. And thank You Lord for the lady, your servant, who did a deal with me, without even seeing me, or knowing who I was, a deal that allowed me to be successful in an endeavor that looked utterly hopeless to me, and by all accounts should have been hopeless, and yet with You all things are possible.

  And then there was the doctor appointment yesterday, where I learned that the mass was a smudge, and was most likely scar tissue. A full evaluation has been ordered. I was prescribed medication and I actually feel very much better today than I did yesterday. Yesterday I was contemplating going out on short term disability, today I am hopeful that I will return to work next week. I am thankful.

  And thank You Lord, for the message I received, a message that only You know how very much I have yearned for such a message, You know how my heart soared right out of my chest when I read it. Oh Lord, a million of those tears of mine, that You store so carefully in that bottle, at least a million of them were shed for such a message.

  And then I arose from my bed this morning, feeling rested, feeling better and I read the news. There was a report that the city will be shutting down the homeless tent city that is downtown near the railroad tracks. Shutting down means that law enforcement will move in and forcibly remove the people and their belongings, the tents will be torn down, the people told to move along. This disturbed me greatly. As I prayed about this I felt the Lord inspire me to go down there, go down there right now and feed His people. I hesitated. Lord, I have been really sick, and due to unforeseen circumstances we are several hundred dollars behind the eight ball this month already......what will I feed them. And the Lord said "donuts".  So I said okay Lord, grabbed my keys and grabbed a few snack items from the cupboard and headed off to Krispy Kreme donuts. But along the way the Lord said, "Walmart", so I pulled into the Walmart.

  As I entered the Walmart I was greeted by a very special old guy, he was beaming the biggest smile, and with all his heart he greeted me and welcomed me to Walmart........and I saw him. I saw the soul within him, and he was so beautiful, and I smiled right back at him and said hello. He belonged to Jesus, you could just see Jesus shining out of him like the brightest sun.

  As I made my way to the donuts I saw right away that the Lord was as usual correct in choosing Walmart over Krispy Kreme, as I could get bakers dozens for $3.98, so I loaded up.. As I passed the bananas on sale I felt inclined to grab some, so I took about 8 bunches and made my way to checkout.

  As I left, my welcoming friend shouted "have a great day!", and I smiled at him and yelled " you too, God bless!", and his face just beamed like the sun.

  As I got to my vehicle, a huge blackbird hopped on top, with a piece of bread so big that he simply could not get off the ground with it, he kept trying to fly and having to come back down, the bread was just too big for flight, and as I watched him, I felt the spirit of God within me saying "consider the birds of the field, they toil not yet their heavenly Father feeds them".....and I repented of my earlier concern of not having the funds to feed His homeless people today. He was showing me clear as day that He could provide the birds with so much food they could not contain it, and how could I, His child, worry that He would somehow not provide for us.

 (Note: this is not the crow that was on my car, and the bread was even bigger!)

 I jumped into the car and set off for tent city, praise music playing and my soul soaring with a joy that was almost uncontainable. I literally wanted to shout out the windows. I was weeping and singing and thinking, yes, it is me, the crazy lady singing in the car to herself, crying like a baby but not at all sad, rushing off to tent city with a load of cheap donuts and bananas....and it was all good.

 I watched the balloons up in the air over Albuquerque, and thought of how exhilarating it must be to float so high above the city, and yet I acknowledged that my soul this morning was way higher than the balloons. Like my brother Peter so long ago, when he went up on that hill with our Lord, and he said "lets build tents right here and stay", I too wanted to just stay right here in this moment, in this feeling, forever. Sadly it doesn't work that way. There are days when our souls soar high, and there are the days when it's not so clear.

  I pulled up into tent city. It was pretty quiet. I got out and opened up the back of the car, looking down ahead of my vehicle, I saw two people, huddled under blankets, backs up against the bridge. A couple of guys walked over. I told them there were donuts, and water and bananas and to help themselves. I grabbed a box of donuts, and a bunch of bananas and three waters and headed over to the bridge. It was a couple, she stood up as I approached, I asked if they were hungry and she said yes. I gave them a dozen donuts and three bananas and the water. She grabbed me and hugged me. She said "God bless you", and I begin to weep. I could not speak, could not say a word. I could only return her hug. When I finally composed myself, she introduced me to her husband, a disabled Vietnam veteran. She asked me if I had a husband, and I told her yes. You could see that she was devoted to hers. I hugged him too, we said our goodbyes and I returned to the truck.

  There was still donuts and bananas and water and food in the truck. So many see the homeless as criminals and thieves but they were orderly in their taking of items. They were not greedy. As I go to the truck they would come up and take one banana, and I would press two into their hand. A young man came up and asked me if he could get food for his girlfriend, who was pregnant. I gave him a donuts and a bunch of bananas and told him to take several bottles of water.

 It seemed to go a lot father than I expected, and finally the donuts and bananas and the few snacks I had brought from home were all gone and I was left with some water, so a couple of the guys moved the water over near the tents and assured me they would share it with others, and I said goodbye and drove away.

 And I cried like a baby for at least ten minutes after I had left.

 And my soul soars!

Days of winter,

Winds howling cold and bitter,

Birds huddled in trees,

Snow covered mountain top.

Brown dead vegetation,

Much like the hard times,

When you wait with baited breath,

For the warmth and promise of a new tomorrow,

The appearance of death,

At first glance,

But upon keen observation,

Life goes on,

The birds seek out food

The rabbits leave their tracks,

The coyotes sing in the winter night,

Inhale deep,

The cold crisp air,

Feel the wind cutting through your jacket,

Gaze upwards,

Into the cold dark winter night,

See the stars,

Brilliantly shining,

Inhale deep,

The cold crisp air,

Alive, life, even in the winter of things.

 (I did not take the photographs displayed here, they are taken from beautiful photos I have found on the internet.

 I have decided to embark on a different approach to the New Year. I have in the past tried many approaches. I have made resolution upon resolution, and like most, I have only managed to achieve a taste of what I sought to achieve. Last year I tried a phrase, one phrase...He is enough, all is grace. And in this past year I have fallen back on that phrase time and time again. It has proven true. This past year was not our worst, nor was it our best. We struggled a lot, and in many ways are still struggling. I reckon life is a struggle and fully expect to be wrestling with something all the days of mine.

 So this year I decided, after reading a book "My One Word" to choose a single word. Being a Christian, and with this being a Christian book I of course prayed about this word, and meditated on it and on myself. I sought to search myself, to look with my eyes open at all of me, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

 In the looking I noticed something about myself, a lot of which is due to the type of person I am. I am a helper, a person that God has gifted with mercy, and because of that gift I worry and fuss over others a lot. So much in fact that I often forget to actually live myself. I find myself often in a state of waiting. I waited for my kids to get through their tough teen years, then I waited on Adam to safely graduate Army basic training, I waited on Josh to graduate high school, waited on my husband to return from working out of state, waited on Mel to get better, waited on Adam to return from Afghanistan, waited on just a little more income, waited for the deep pain of loss to pass, waited on Post Traumatic Stress to get a little easier to deal with....waited..waited....all with baited breath, sometimes with my chest all twisted up inside, sometimes without even realizing that I was waiting.

 Once this concept of waiting to live was fully embedded in my brain, I began to ponder it further and to think of how often all of us forget to live in our attitude of waiting. We wait for payday, holding out breath, holding our closed wallets, we wait for the work week to end, for Friday to come, we wait on many things.

 Now waiting is a part of life, there is no getting out of having to do it, but the question is this, are you fully living in the waiting? Or are you waiting to live?

 For me, the answer was easy. I often put living aside to serve the needs of others, and to wait for them to be happy, to be safe, to be healthy, to get that last thing they need to be okay. Nothing wrong with serving the needs of others, that is what God has most called me to do, but He wants me to fully live while I am working.

My one word is LIVE.

 In the act of waiting without fully living, we miss things. In waiting for Friday, we fully miss the young man that just needs someone to talk to for a few moments, on Thursday. In waiting, without fully living for the son to come home safe from war, we miss all the other folks drowning in their own problems, we think ours the only thing to focus upon, and we miss out on being a blessing to others and to God.

 So this year I want to live. To live fully in the right now, to live it well, to count the moments, to take in the scenery, to be a shoulder to cry on, a hand to reach down and pull someone up, to feed the hungry, even if it's only one sandwich, to rescue a dog even if it is only a small contribution to that effort. To see God in everything and everyone, to see His hand in the sunrise and the sunset, to see His marvelous artistry in the flutter of a small bird at the feeder.

 I want to stop holding my breath. I want to never hold my breath. No matter what is going on around me. I want to be able to shoulder the sorrow that life brings and live. I want to trust always in His promises no matter what the circumstances around me might be screaming out. I know Him, He is faithful. He has proven it time and time again. No need to hold my breath and worry. Trust Him.

 I want to live. For "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me."

 I researched the word "live" and to be "alive" To be alive is to be animate, to be around, to be awake, to be breathing, to be cognizant, to be conscious, to be dynamic, to be existing, to be functioning, to be growing, to be knowing, to be viable, to be vital, and many other descriptions. 

 The antonyms of "live" are also very eye opening.  To be dead, to be apathetic, to be dispirited, to be inactive, to be lethargic, to be non-existent. All of these describe places where I have been as I waited, with breath held tight, chest weighed down, for something to pass, so I could live again, breath again.

 Yet in Christ none of that was necessary. His promises are true. He has promised to be with me, to bear my burdens, and to give me a life of joy in Him. it is I who chose to hold my breath.

 So here's to 2015, may it be a year of life, abundant life, in Christ, lived for Christ, poured out for Christ, lived with eyes wide open, taking deep breaths of all He has to offer.

http://myoneword.org/