© 2019 David’s Harp and Pen
*DISCLAIMER: Certain names, places, and situations have been changed to protect the innocent from harm and the guilty from embarrassment.*
In my never-ending quest to become a better writer, I decided it would be a good practice to start trying new things and then blog about my experiences. My first new thing to try was a cigar, for two reasons.
The first reason was that one of the guys from Beer and Bible opened a cigar shop. (If any of you are in the vicinity of Dickson, Tennessee, please stop by Big Boy’s Cigar & Lounge, especially if you are a career politician with a large discretionary income and poor money management skills.) Big Boy is one of my best friends, and so when he opened his shop, I got to learn a thing or two about cigars. When I picked up my blogger hat again and was searching for something to try and then report on, I thought, “Why not try a cigar? If it goes well, I can move on to something more adventurous, like flamethrowing or skydiving.”
After Beer and Bible one night, Big Boy talked me through the process of cutting the ends of the cigar and then lighting it with something that felt like a flamethrower. I had asked him which would be a good stogie to try for a newbie, and so he hooked me up with an Atsiniki Nanaiya.
I didn’t know what to expect. My only other smoking experience heretofore was taking a drag from a cigarette when I was 12, and it was not an experience I cared to replicate. Cigars are different from cigarettes in that one doesn’t inhale cigar smoke, and they don’t burn as fast. We sat on some swings behind the bar where we had our Bible study, and there was something rather peaceful about smoking the cigar while in motion with the cool spring breeze blowing against my skin.
The most surprising part of my experiment was the way the flavor of the cigar changed the longer it burned. When I first lit it up, I tasted a mocha flavor. I don’t like coffee, so I was not a fan of that initial puff. As time passed, the flavor changed to a slightly sweet and spicy mixture of cinnamon and ginger, and finally, to notes of citrus, like a blend of lemon and orange zest. Big Boy said that is a regular phenomenon among cigars. I must say the I liked the last flavor better than the first or second, and I’m glad I kept at it long enough for the flavor payoff at the end.
My second reason for wanting to try a cigar is that a pivotal scene in one of my favorite movies of the last decade or so involves cigars. Miss Pettigrew Lives for Day is about a regimented and uptight governess named Guinevere Pettigrew. Miss Pettigrew has never really taken any risks or had any fun. After getting fired from the last in a string of governess assignments, she, through a misunderstanding, ends up as the social secretary for rising starlet Delysia Lafosse. Her new employer turns out to be a hot mess, juggling relationships with three different men simultaneously.
Nick, one of the boyfriends, shows up at the penthouse just as Phil, the second boyfriend, is leaving. Nick accuses Delysia of unfaithfulness when he sees an ashtray with a recently smoked cigar in it. The cigar clearly belonged to Phil, and Delysia’s cover was about to be blown.
“Since when do girls together smoke cigars? Hmm? Answer me that,” accuses Nick.
Miss Pettigrew, a clergyman’s daughter, who has never done anything wild, seemingly unChristian, or impulsive in her life, walks over to the ashtray, puts the cigar to her lips, lights up, takes a few puffs, and says defiantly to Nick, “If I want to smoke cigars, I’ll damned well smoke cigars, thank you very much, and to hell with your opinion!”
“What, they’re yours?” Nick asks, dumbstruck, yet thoroughly convinced.
“You betcha, Baby!” Miss Pettigrew declares triumphantly.
A large chunk of the movie deals with what kinds of people we are under pressure, in new surroundings, or when the heat is on. Miss Pettigrew started out unsure, but as time went on, she found strength, adaptability, and daring she didn’t know she had. She began pretending to be someone she wasn’t, but as the day passed, she was, in fact, becoming the best and truest version of herself.
I think about Miss Pettigrew and that cigar I smoked. They started out off-putting and out of place, but the longer they went, the better they became. That’s how I want to be, too.
Sunday, May 19, 2019
Sunday, April 28, 2019
Liquid Courage
© 2019 David’s Harp and Pen
*DISCLAIMER: Certain names, places, and situations have been changed to protect the innocent from harm and the guilty from embarrassment.*
Six years ago, my life was changing in ways that scared me. My health was in bad shape, I was dealing with turmoil in my closest relationships, and I felt all around displaced. I knew relationships were important, but I was finding it harder and harder to put myself out there.
I had heard folks talk about Meetup, so I decided to give it a shot. One group met to watch pro football in sports bars near me, so I signed up. The group organizer and I talked several times on the Meetup website before the game and I was excited at the prospect of making new friends.
Game night rolled around, and not only did no other invitees show up, neither did the event organizer! I stayed until well after the game ended. I contacted the event organizer several times, but she never responded. I never got an explanation, and the Meetup group folded.
It would be two years before I would give any other Meetup groups a try. New, even more drastic changes had hit my life during that time which made the necessity of community more urgent. I did a search in my area of Christian singles groups, and found a few promising ones, but one in particular caught my eye: Beer and Bible Nashville.
I read the group description, and it wasn’t confined to singles. At first glance, it was intimidating. The group was studying the Bible at various craft beer venues around town. I don’t drink. I can’t drink for medical reasons. Also, the group seemed to be geared towards and comprised mostly of men. I was dealing with a broken heart that, three years after the fact, wasn’t showing any signs of healing. I told myself that the setting would be too scary and awkward, and that I wasn’t ready to be in a group where I may very well be the lone woman. God had other plans.
I talked to an old friend of mine one day, and, as was our habit, we bemoaned our lack of social life. She complained about how hard it was to meet men, and that church singles’ groups were made up mostly of women. I mentioned Meetup and Beer and Bible, and my friend said she wouldn’t want to go because she would be uncomfortable in a group full of men. Something about our discussion hit me the wrong way. I thought, “Okay, so a group with mostly women isn’t appealing, but we don’t want to try a group of mostly men, either. Are we falling into the trap of not trying something new because we think conditions are less than optimal? Are conditions ever optimal? Maybe I need to think about what I can learn instead of being scared.”
I looked at Beer and Bible again. The sense of intimidation intensified on the second look. Then I realized something⸺my reason for not wanting to go was the very reason I needed to go.
We often want big change in life, especially when we’re hurting or recovering from something, but big change is usually comprised of small decisions. We want to live differently, and we expect God to wave a magic wand and turn us into someone different instantly. That’s not how it works, though. Courage isn’t created in a vacuum, and neither is the ability to relate to others. It comes from doing things that scare us, forcing ourselves to relate and risk being vulnerable. I needed to do those things in a low-stakes setting. I decided to put my fears aside and check it out.
My first time at Beer and Bible, I was scared out of my mind, but there was another girl there, which made me feel better. I didn’t drink, but it didn’t seem to be an issue for anyone else.
The next meeting, I was the only one who showed up. The organizer had cancelled it, but I didn’t see the email and went to the restaurant. The circumstances reminded me bitterly of a situation with the guy who had broken my heart years before. I am not a crier, but I found myself crying in front of the hostess, so I ran out to my car, and bawled my eyes out, in private. I decided I was going to give up on Meetup entirely; that making new friends was too hard. But then God let me know that my conditioned response of running away and isolating myself was no longer an option for me.
I returned to all the Meetup groups, and am so glad that I did. For a while at Beer and Bible I was the only girl, and that was okay. I learned how to make small talk. I learned to overcome my fears and even lead discussions during the Bible studies. I met some fantastic people who have become dear friends. In some of the Meetup groups, I also met some scoundrels, which I had feared, but that was okay, too. I learned how to set boundaries. I learned how to have difficult conversations. I got a lot of practice in being a good judge of character.
With all the folks I’ve met in Meetup groups, the most important thing I’ve learned is that all of us are hurting. All of us are scared. All of us are looking for a comeback. There’s no shame in that, and the irony of it is that knowing others share your fears often produces a surprising amount of courage.
For a while, Meetup’s slogan was, “Find your people.” I am happy to say I did. I found myself and my nerve, too.
THE END
*DISCLAIMER: Certain names, places, and situations have been changed to protect the innocent from harm and the guilty from embarrassment.*
Six years ago, my life was changing in ways that scared me. My health was in bad shape, I was dealing with turmoil in my closest relationships, and I felt all around displaced. I knew relationships were important, but I was finding it harder and harder to put myself out there.
I had heard folks talk about Meetup, so I decided to give it a shot. One group met to watch pro football in sports bars near me, so I signed up. The group organizer and I talked several times on the Meetup website before the game and I was excited at the prospect of making new friends.
Game night rolled around, and not only did no other invitees show up, neither did the event organizer! I stayed until well after the game ended. I contacted the event organizer several times, but she never responded. I never got an explanation, and the Meetup group folded.
It would be two years before I would give any other Meetup groups a try. New, even more drastic changes had hit my life during that time which made the necessity of community more urgent. I did a search in my area of Christian singles groups, and found a few promising ones, but one in particular caught my eye: Beer and Bible Nashville.
I read the group description, and it wasn’t confined to singles. At first glance, it was intimidating. The group was studying the Bible at various craft beer venues around town. I don’t drink. I can’t drink for medical reasons. Also, the group seemed to be geared towards and comprised mostly of men. I was dealing with a broken heart that, three years after the fact, wasn’t showing any signs of healing. I told myself that the setting would be too scary and awkward, and that I wasn’t ready to be in a group where I may very well be the lone woman. God had other plans.
I talked to an old friend of mine one day, and, as was our habit, we bemoaned our lack of social life. She complained about how hard it was to meet men, and that church singles’ groups were made up mostly of women. I mentioned Meetup and Beer and Bible, and my friend said she wouldn’t want to go because she would be uncomfortable in a group full of men. Something about our discussion hit me the wrong way. I thought, “Okay, so a group with mostly women isn’t appealing, but we don’t want to try a group of mostly men, either. Are we falling into the trap of not trying something new because we think conditions are less than optimal? Are conditions ever optimal? Maybe I need to think about what I can learn instead of being scared.”
I looked at Beer and Bible again. The sense of intimidation intensified on the second look. Then I realized something⸺my reason for not wanting to go was the very reason I needed to go.
We often want big change in life, especially when we’re hurting or recovering from something, but big change is usually comprised of small decisions. We want to live differently, and we expect God to wave a magic wand and turn us into someone different instantly. That’s not how it works, though. Courage isn’t created in a vacuum, and neither is the ability to relate to others. It comes from doing things that scare us, forcing ourselves to relate and risk being vulnerable. I needed to do those things in a low-stakes setting. I decided to put my fears aside and check it out.
My first time at Beer and Bible, I was scared out of my mind, but there was another girl there, which made me feel better. I didn’t drink, but it didn’t seem to be an issue for anyone else.
The next meeting, I was the only one who showed up. The organizer had cancelled it, but I didn’t see the email and went to the restaurant. The circumstances reminded me bitterly of a situation with the guy who had broken my heart years before. I am not a crier, but I found myself crying in front of the hostess, so I ran out to my car, and bawled my eyes out, in private. I decided I was going to give up on Meetup entirely; that making new friends was too hard. But then God let me know that my conditioned response of running away and isolating myself was no longer an option for me.
I returned to all the Meetup groups, and am so glad that I did. For a while at Beer and Bible I was the only girl, and that was okay. I learned how to make small talk. I learned to overcome my fears and even lead discussions during the Bible studies. I met some fantastic people who have become dear friends. In some of the Meetup groups, I also met some scoundrels, which I had feared, but that was okay, too. I learned how to set boundaries. I learned how to have difficult conversations. I got a lot of practice in being a good judge of character.
With all the folks I’ve met in Meetup groups, the most important thing I’ve learned is that all of us are hurting. All of us are scared. All of us are looking for a comeback. There’s no shame in that, and the irony of it is that knowing others share your fears often produces a surprising amount of courage.
For a while, Meetup’s slogan was, “Find your people.” I am happy to say I did. I found myself and my nerve, too.
THE END
Friday, April 19, 2019
Rejection's Silver Lining by Sharon Lurie
© 2019 David’s Harp and Pen
*DISCLAIMER: Certain names, places, and situations have been changed to protect the innocent from harm and the guilty from embarrassment.*
What do a blog about overcoming infidelity and a book about freelance writing have in common? An important answer to the questions “What must I do to be ready to date?” and “What must I do to become a paid writer?”: “Be able to handle rejection.”
How, then, does one practice how to handle rejection? I considered going into a Republican Facebook group and declaring my love for Hillary Clinton while, at the same time, going into a Democratic Facebook group and declaring my love for Donald Trump. However, that is not so much learning how to handle rejection as it is learning how to handle death threats. 😉
Rejection is not something any of us like to deal with, but all of us have to face it at some point. It’s similar in its stigma to failure, except where failure means we did something wrong, rejection sends the message that we are something wrong.
Several years ago, I was in the process of both trying to find paid writing work and putting myself out there to meet people when I stumbled upon this article from TIME—make rejection a game! Jia Jiang spent 100 days asking strangers for things like special-made doughnuts, driving a police car, and playing soccer in someone’s backyard. He asked for small but unusual things every day in order to build up his resistance to getting rejected. He said it helped him greatly in cultivating the courage to start his own business which, like starting out in writing or the dating scene, requires the ability to hear and deal with “no.” And dealing with rejection was something that requires regular practice.
I decided I wanted to conduct a similar experiment, and the first week or so I was surprised at how often my requests were granted. However, I soon learned, as a single guy friend who was afraid of re-entering the dating scene told me, “The worst someone can do is NOT say no.”
I confided in someone I trusted, someone with whom I had a lot of history, about some ongoing struggles I had experienced. No cross words had ever passed between us, and I had always felt secure in my relationship with this individual. It turned out I could not have been more wrong.
This person responded to me with a lifetime of venom and contempt towards me, as if this individual had been storing it all up for a special occasion when I was vulnerable to unleash it. This person had never before criticized or spoken angrily to me. And in one moment, all the security I felt in my relationship with this person went up in smoke. It destroyed our relationship, and we’ve not spoken since.
There are some experiences that wound us deeply, and then there are some that are so traumatic and unexpected that they cause an internal paradigm shift. This was the latter.
I became afraid of opening up to anyone. Even asking for little things of others became a Herculean task for me. I began to question every long-standing relationship I had, wondering if the other people in my life were going to turn on me so violently and without warning.
Fast forward to 2019, and I faced a similar situation. I agonized whether I should open up to someone else, and for several days, I had crippling flashbacks of the previous incident. When I prayed about it, the Scripture that kept coming to mind was John 14:6: ”Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
I realized something important: sometimes the truth is ugly. Sometimes we find out the person we thought loved us really didn’t. Sometimes we find out life isn’t as easy as we’d hoped it would be. Whatever the hard truth is we discover, though it may sting painfully at the time, it will ultimately be liberating to us in the long-term.
In my case, I found out someone I loved and thought highly of didn’t reciprocate that esteem, and it hurt for a long time. However, I needed to know this about this person. Had I not found out, the betrayal could have come in another, more intense form later. In the long run, I was liberated because I no longer have a covert narcissist in my life messing with my head.
I also discovered a hard and painful truth about me: that I was not the judge of character or healthy relationships I thought I was. This, too, though, turned out to be freeing, because it forced me to take an intense look at how I relate to others, and to realize that an absence of conflict in a relationship is not an indicator of its health, but rather how well the two people handle the conflict when it arises.
Avoidance of potential rejection is a Sisyphean undertaking, because it requires us to sell our souls again and again to denial in the name of comfort, and the pursuit of comfort is an ultimately cruel and insatiable taskmaster. Making knowing and living the truth at all costs is the only way to live. Not everyone will like us. Not everyone will believe in us. Better to find out sooner rather than later, because if I am entrusting my life and relationships to God’s control, I can rest assured that getting rejected on the outset is God’s protection of me down the road.
In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis said, “In religion, as in war and everything else, comfort is the one thing you cannot get by looking for it. If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth -- only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin with and, in the end, despair.”
I need not fear to know the truth about anything, how someone thinks of me, or even the ugly parts of me that eventually rear their ugly heads. One of the Names which Jesus uses for Himself is the Truth, and if He lives in me, there is no freer or safer relationship.
THE END
*DISCLAIMER: Certain names, places, and situations have been changed to protect the innocent from harm and the guilty from embarrassment.*
What do a blog about overcoming infidelity and a book about freelance writing have in common? An important answer to the questions “What must I do to be ready to date?” and “What must I do to become a paid writer?”: “Be able to handle rejection.”
How, then, does one practice how to handle rejection? I considered going into a Republican Facebook group and declaring my love for Hillary Clinton while, at the same time, going into a Democratic Facebook group and declaring my love for Donald Trump. However, that is not so much learning how to handle rejection as it is learning how to handle death threats. 😉
Rejection is not something any of us like to deal with, but all of us have to face it at some point. It’s similar in its stigma to failure, except where failure means we did something wrong, rejection sends the message that we are something wrong.
Several years ago, I was in the process of both trying to find paid writing work and putting myself out there to meet people when I stumbled upon this article from TIME—make rejection a game! Jia Jiang spent 100 days asking strangers for things like special-made doughnuts, driving a police car, and playing soccer in someone’s backyard. He asked for small but unusual things every day in order to build up his resistance to getting rejected. He said it helped him greatly in cultivating the courage to start his own business which, like starting out in writing or the dating scene, requires the ability to hear and deal with “no.” And dealing with rejection was something that requires regular practice.
I decided I wanted to conduct a similar experiment, and the first week or so I was surprised at how often my requests were granted. However, I soon learned, as a single guy friend who was afraid of re-entering the dating scene told me, “The worst someone can do is NOT say no.”
I confided in someone I trusted, someone with whom I had a lot of history, about some ongoing struggles I had experienced. No cross words had ever passed between us, and I had always felt secure in my relationship with this individual. It turned out I could not have been more wrong.
This person responded to me with a lifetime of venom and contempt towards me, as if this individual had been storing it all up for a special occasion when I was vulnerable to unleash it. This person had never before criticized or spoken angrily to me. And in one moment, all the security I felt in my relationship with this person went up in smoke. It destroyed our relationship, and we’ve not spoken since.
There are some experiences that wound us deeply, and then there are some that are so traumatic and unexpected that they cause an internal paradigm shift. This was the latter.
I became afraid of opening up to anyone. Even asking for little things of others became a Herculean task for me. I began to question every long-standing relationship I had, wondering if the other people in my life were going to turn on me so violently and without warning.
Fast forward to 2019, and I faced a similar situation. I agonized whether I should open up to someone else, and for several days, I had crippling flashbacks of the previous incident. When I prayed about it, the Scripture that kept coming to mind was John 14:6: ”Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
I realized something important: sometimes the truth is ugly. Sometimes we find out the person we thought loved us really didn’t. Sometimes we find out life isn’t as easy as we’d hoped it would be. Whatever the hard truth is we discover, though it may sting painfully at the time, it will ultimately be liberating to us in the long-term.
In my case, I found out someone I loved and thought highly of didn’t reciprocate that esteem, and it hurt for a long time. However, I needed to know this about this person. Had I not found out, the betrayal could have come in another, more intense form later. In the long run, I was liberated because I no longer have a covert narcissist in my life messing with my head.
I also discovered a hard and painful truth about me: that I was not the judge of character or healthy relationships I thought I was. This, too, though, turned out to be freeing, because it forced me to take an intense look at how I relate to others, and to realize that an absence of conflict in a relationship is not an indicator of its health, but rather how well the two people handle the conflict when it arises.
Avoidance of potential rejection is a Sisyphean undertaking, because it requires us to sell our souls again and again to denial in the name of comfort, and the pursuit of comfort is an ultimately cruel and insatiable taskmaster. Making knowing and living the truth at all costs is the only way to live. Not everyone will like us. Not everyone will believe in us. Better to find out sooner rather than later, because if I am entrusting my life and relationships to God’s control, I can rest assured that getting rejected on the outset is God’s protection of me down the road.
In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis said, “In religion, as in war and everything else, comfort is the one thing you cannot get by looking for it. If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth -- only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin with and, in the end, despair.”
I need not fear to know the truth about anything, how someone thinks of me, or even the ugly parts of me that eventually rear their ugly heads. One of the Names which Jesus uses for Himself is the Truth, and if He lives in me, there is no freer or safer relationship.
THE END
Monday, January 14, 2019
Puppy Chow: The Final Chapter by Sharon Lurie
© 2018 David’s Harp and Pen
Bruno, my partner-in-crime-fighting for seven years, died on January 14, 2017, exactly two years ago today. He was the best dog a girl could have. I think about him a lot around Independence Day and any time there are fireworks going off. Bruno was fearless about many things, but fireworks weren’t one of them. Whenever he heard them -- or thunder -- he would hide under the bathroom sink.
Bruno taught me much about being secure in God’s love during his life, but even more so in his death.
Bruno had developed cirrhosis of the liver, which is common in dogs (I was unaware of his drinking problem 😉). The veterinarian said there would be good days and bad days. He had made several miraculous recoveries, and I really believed he had a few good years left in him. I was proven wrong.
When it became clear Bruno wouldn’t recover from his last downturn, the veterinarian prescribed some new medication for him and said if he didn’t recover within 10 days, he wouldn’t recover at all, and I had to look at euthanasia.
During this time, Bruno couldn’t walk. I had to feed him baby food using a syringe. Whenever I would try to move him, he would growl, fidget, and try to bite me. I tried to use a muzzle to prevent this, but he wouldn’t let me put it on him. (Bruno, in his heyday, was a big boy who weighed over 90 pounds.)
I don’t have children, so Bruno was the closest thing I’ve had to my own child. I can’t describe the levels of helplessness and terror I felt, both in not being able to ease his pain and not being able to prevent his inevitable separation from me. I think C. S. Lewis said it best in A Grief Observed, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
The dreaded day came when I had to take Bruno to be put to sleep. I had made arrangements with some friends to come to the house to help me carry Bruno to my car, and then we would all go to the animal hospital. The friends called and said they would be extremely late, too late for me to get to the animal hospital on time if I waited for them.
I am a survivor of narcissistic and spiritual abuse. An abusive relationship, whether romantic or platonic, rewires the brain in the same way an addiction does, and this is because of a phenomenon called intermittent reinforcement (for more information, click here). Something I’ve learned in breaking away from an abuser and from friends recovering from addiction is that stress often triggers relapse. Whenever we feel unable to cope with the adversity in front of us, we gravitate back to that bad person or that bad habit because it’s familiar and gives us a sense of control, even though the relief offered is short-lived.
I was afraid and confused about how I would get Bruno to the animal hospital on my own, and I feared doing anything to make him suffer any more than he already was. I began considering calling someone I had no business calling. I rationalized this in my head telling myself that I needed help in this situation, my other friends had let me down, and there was no way I could handle this alone.
I looked down at Bruno, who looked up at me with total trust. He knew he was my baby and I was his mama, and because of this I remembered who I was.
I knelt down beside him and prayed, “God, You say I am the Bride of Christ. You say I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. You don’t want me running to the Enemy for help. He is telling me I have to call you-know-who because I can’t do this all alone; but I am not alone. I am never alone. You are with me. Prove the Enemy wrong, God.”
I then wrapped Bruno up in his comforter, and with a power I know did not come from me, I gathered him in my arms and carried him successfully to my car. Bruno didn’t bite or squirm, unlike all my previous attempts. I made the appointment after all, cuddled Bruno, and told him I loved him for the last time.
There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my goofy fur baby, nor the hell on earth from which I walked away. God has healed me in ways I didn’t think possible. The restoration process isn’t over yet, and I still feel tempted at times to look back and abdicate the freedom my former captor sought to destroy. Then I remember how Bruno trusted me even when he was scared and in pain, and I am able to trust in God the same way, and more so, because God’s love and resources for me are limitless. When terror comes to tempt me in my recovery, which it will, I am able to resist, because I remember the day I was able to carry my fur baby because my God was carrying me.
The End
MILK!!!!!!!!
Bruno, my partner-in-crime-fighting for seven years, died on January 14, 2017, exactly two years ago today. He was the best dog a girl could have. I think about him a lot around Independence Day and any time there are fireworks going off. Bruno was fearless about many things, but fireworks weren’t one of them. Whenever he heard them -- or thunder -- he would hide under the bathroom sink.
Bruno taught me much about being secure in God’s love during his life, but even more so in his death.
Bruno had developed cirrhosis of the liver, which is common in dogs (I was unaware of his drinking problem 😉). The veterinarian said there would be good days and bad days. He had made several miraculous recoveries, and I really believed he had a few good years left in him. I was proven wrong.
When it became clear Bruno wouldn’t recover from his last downturn, the veterinarian prescribed some new medication for him and said if he didn’t recover within 10 days, he wouldn’t recover at all, and I had to look at euthanasia.
During this time, Bruno couldn’t walk. I had to feed him baby food using a syringe. Whenever I would try to move him, he would growl, fidget, and try to bite me. I tried to use a muzzle to prevent this, but he wouldn’t let me put it on him. (Bruno, in his heyday, was a big boy who weighed over 90 pounds.)
I don’t have children, so Bruno was the closest thing I’ve had to my own child. I can’t describe the levels of helplessness and terror I felt, both in not being able to ease his pain and not being able to prevent his inevitable separation from me. I think C. S. Lewis said it best in A Grief Observed, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
The dreaded day came when I had to take Bruno to be put to sleep. I had made arrangements with some friends to come to the house to help me carry Bruno to my car, and then we would all go to the animal hospital. The friends called and said they would be extremely late, too late for me to get to the animal hospital on time if I waited for them.
I am a survivor of narcissistic and spiritual abuse. An abusive relationship, whether romantic or platonic, rewires the brain in the same way an addiction does, and this is because of a phenomenon called intermittent reinforcement (for more information, click here). Something I’ve learned in breaking away from an abuser and from friends recovering from addiction is that stress often triggers relapse. Whenever we feel unable to cope with the adversity in front of us, we gravitate back to that bad person or that bad habit because it’s familiar and gives us a sense of control, even though the relief offered is short-lived.
I was afraid and confused about how I would get Bruno to the animal hospital on my own, and I feared doing anything to make him suffer any more than he already was. I began considering calling someone I had no business calling. I rationalized this in my head telling myself that I needed help in this situation, my other friends had let me down, and there was no way I could handle this alone.
I looked down at Bruno, who looked up at me with total trust. He knew he was my baby and I was his mama, and because of this I remembered who I was.
I knelt down beside him and prayed, “God, You say I am the Bride of Christ. You say I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. You don’t want me running to the Enemy for help. He is telling me I have to call you-know-who because I can’t do this all alone; but I am not alone. I am never alone. You are with me. Prove the Enemy wrong, God.”
I then wrapped Bruno up in his comforter, and with a power I know did not come from me, I gathered him in my arms and carried him successfully to my car. Bruno didn’t bite or squirm, unlike all my previous attempts. I made the appointment after all, cuddled Bruno, and told him I loved him for the last time.
There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my goofy fur baby, nor the hell on earth from which I walked away. God has healed me in ways I didn’t think possible. The restoration process isn’t over yet, and I still feel tempted at times to look back and abdicate the freedom my former captor sought to destroy. Then I remember how Bruno trusted me even when he was scared and in pain, and I am able to trust in God the same way, and more so, because God’s love and resources for me are limitless. When terror comes to tempt me in my recovery, which it will, I am able to resist, because I remember the day I was able to carry my fur baby because my God was carrying me.
The End
MILK!!!!!!!!
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