God-Send

Posted on by H.J. Hill

I thought I would recognize a God-send when I saw one, but Stella surprised me.

Blessings are odd things. They are not always wrapped in shiny paper. They don’t always announce themselves. Once in a while, they show up as stinky, wrinkly, smooshy-faced, barrel-shaped bulldogs with faces that, as one neighbor put it, “only a mama could love”.

The day Stella came had been a rough one for me, a confusing mess that represented everything my job had become – a sinking sand pit with me stuck in the middle. Her unexpected arrival jolted me, but not enough to get me unstuck. When my son left to pick up food and a bed for her, she promptly pooped on the floor at my feet. In hindsight, in her place, I might have done the same.

Not an auspicious start.

I cleaned up the pile, promising myself that it was the last thing I would do toward taking care of this dog. My son brought her. He would have to take care of her. That selfie promise lasted, well, maybe a couple of days. My eyes kept straying over to where she slept, watching for signs that she was going into labor. I checked her water bowl. Was it full? Was it clean? The times I was pregnant, I wanted a generous supply of clean water.

As the weeks limped along, I realized Stella’s first blessing to me. She forced my mind off of myself and onto another. Not another human. Another creature.

Stella still paws me, claims me, clings to me as if she’s afraid that no one will keep loving her. After all, it didn’t work out before.

If only I could make her understand.  

“Stella, I thank God for you. You are not a mistake. God brought you to me at the perfect time. You. Specifically you. Of all the dogs on the planet, He chose you and brought you here. I am glad that He did. It shows how much He cares for you. And for me. An answer to prayer shines like a star. You came right on time, Stella. Not a moment early, not a moment late.”

So keep your eyes open. You never know when a disguised blessing will appear, even one in the form of a four-legged, walking barrel.

 

© H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

 

Not the Dog I Prayed For

Posted on by H.J. Hill

The first time I saw Stella, I didn’t like her. Easy dogs are easy to like. Well-mannered, cute, sweet-smelling, obedient. Stella did not fit that bill. She did not meet my definition of cute. She smelled awful. She farted constantly.

Stella is an Olde English Bulldogge. A bulldog. Lazy old me with a bulldog.

I had prayed for a dog – a small brown and white dog with a long, narrow muzzle and a quizzical look on its face. It had been almost 5 years since my little Corgi, Susie, had died. I felt I was finally ready.

“Dear Lord, please send me a dog I can help, a dog I can be good to, the little brown and white dog that I am seeing in my mind. Oh, and no shedding, chewing, bad smells, or pooping and peeing in the wrong places.”

(In other words, I wanted a windup toy dog that I could turn on and off with the push of a button. Lazy old me.)

Three months later, Stella came. She did not wander up. My son brought her. She was pregnant and within a couple of weeks of delivering her litter. I didn’t expect anything good when Stella showed up. I expected more work, more mess, more dirt.

But then I hadn’t expected much of anything good for a long time. It’s hard to talk about failures. They come in so many varied shapes and sizes. Sometimes they come in strings and, after a while, if you don’t break free from quicksand thinking, you get stuck. You start tolerating life, not living it. (And here’s a secret – occasionally failure is success in disguise.)

I started tolerating Stella and shifted to feeling sorry for her. I looked at her hang dog face night after night as she awaited the birth of her puppies. Poor Stella would lumber up to me, begging for a smidgen of attention.

One day I realized that Stella and I looked a lot alike. Hang down heads. Hang dog faces. God can use anything to get your attention, even a bulldog.

“God knows what He’s doing, Stella.”

She looked at me doubtfully with her sideways bulldog stare. “God knows what He’s doing. Do you?” She didn’t have to say it. It was written all over my face.

So where will all this lead? I don’t yet know. The Lord answered my prayer with a bulldog. She was not the dog I prayed for. She was the dog I needed.

And she did fit one item on my mental prayer list. She was brown and white.

 

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved