"Watch
out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than being
punched in the nose. I turned my head toward the old man in the seat beside me,
daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I
wasn't prepared for another battle with him.
"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't
yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding
far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and
settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to
collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain.
The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do
about him?
"Dad had been a lumberjack most of his
life in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in
pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling
lumberjack competitions, and had placed often.
The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his
powers.
"The years marched on relentlessly. The
first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same
day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He shook his head
disgustedly and stomped back into the house.
He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age,
or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
"Four days after his sixty-seventh
birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a
paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
"At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an
operating room. He was lucky; he survived... But something inside Dad finally
died all together. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow
doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm
and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether.
Dad was left alone.
"My wife, Sue, and I asked Dad to come
live with us on our small farm. We, were afraid to let him by himself and we
hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust and bring him
back to some sort of normalcy.
"Within a week after he moved in, I
regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized
everything I did. I became frustrated and angry. Soon I was taking my pent-up
anger out on Sue. We began to bicker and argue.
We never said it out loud but I knew we both wished he wasn’t living
with us.
"Finally, Sue decided to seek out our
pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling
appointments for us. At the close of each session we prayed with him, asking
God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
"But the months wore on and God was silent.
Something had to be done, but what?
"One day when I was nearing my breaking point, I sat down with the phone
book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the
Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that
answered, but it was in vain.
"Just when I was giving up hope, one of the
voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let
me go get the article."
"I listened as she read. The article
described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were
under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved
dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
"I drove to the animal shelter that
afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to
the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the rows
of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired
dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied
each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too
small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far
corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down.
"It was a
large black lab, one of the dog world's aristocrats.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones
jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention.
Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
"I pointed to the dog "Can you tell
me about him?"
"The officer looked, then shook his head
in puzzlement.
"He's a funny one. Appeared out of
nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would
be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His
time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly
"As the words sank in I turned to the man
in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?""
""Sir," he said gently,
"that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog.""
"I looked at the pointer again. The calm
brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.
"I drove home with the dog on the front
seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping
my prize out of the car when Dad walked out onto the front porch.
""Ta-da!
Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.
"Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in
disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have
picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want
it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
"Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and
pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's
staying!"
"Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me,
Dad?" I yelled even louder.
"At those words Dad whirled angrily, his
hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing. We stood glaring at each other like duelists,
when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad
and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
"Dad's lower jaw trembled and then dropped
as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The
pointer waited patiently. After a moment, Dad was on his knees, hugging the
animal with tears in his eyes. This is
the first time I saw my day with an emotion other than anger in a very long
time.
"It was the beginning of a warm and
intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the
community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent
reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even
started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne
lying quietly at his feet
"Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable
throughout the next 11 years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made
many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne’s cold nose
burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at
night. I woke Sue, put on my slippers and went to my father's room. Dad lay in
his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the
night.
"Two days later my shock and grief
deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's empty bed. I
wrapped his still form in the rag rug that he had slept on. As Sue and I buried
him, near their favorite fishing hole, with tears freely flowing from our eyes,
I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring
Dad's peace of mind.
"The morning of Dad's funeral dawned
overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked
down the aisle to the pews reserved for family.
"I was
surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made during the last
three years, filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute
to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.
"And then the
pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2 and read:
""Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by
this some have entertained angels without knowing it.”"
"The pastor
then said, "I've often thanked God for sending an angel to someone in need".
"For me, everything dropped into place,
completing a puzzle that I had not seen before.
Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter...his calm
acceptance and complete devotion to my father…and the proximity of their deaths
were not a coincidence. Suddenly I
understood. It was not me who restored
my dad’s “peace of mind”. I finally realized
that God had answered our prayers after all.
"Sometimes we
go through life blinded to the simple blessings that God affords us. We pray for help and then do not recognize
when God answers our prayers.
"In this
story they prayed for God to “soothe their Dad's troubled mind”. They were waiting on God when the fact is,
God was waiting on them, to act. When they finally did act, their answer came
in the form of a dog.
"Was this an
angel? We can only speculate. What we do know is that there was a prayer
prayed, and, there was a blessing given in an answer to that prayer. Was this from God? I’ll let that up to you to decide. ( https://bible.org/illustration/old-man-and-dog )
