I sat in the tufted leather chair with Davis staring at me from the other side of the large conference table. Our lawyer friend sat between us and, armed with pens in hand, we were ready to sign and date a stack of official papers. We weren’t splitting up. We were signing end of life documents which were all based on the presumption that we are of sound mind- something that’s, at times, debatable. We’d recently had some living wills done and were also giving our old wills an overhaul. No one was being written out or anything dramatic like that, but situations always change with time. 

We’ve had wills since the kids were born. Back then, it listed their guardians and backup guardians in the case of our untimely demise. At that point, we were young, our skin was taut, and death seemed like such an impossibility. A will was more of just a formality. I know young people die, everyday, but the low odds kept the notion tucked way back in the recesses of our minds. But, as I’m now about to hit the halfway mark of the 50’s and Davis has crossed over the rickety bridge to the 60’s, I guess we’re at the age when we feel more of a push to finalize those unpleasantries no one wants to discuss. Living wills, of course, prevent one from lingering in a hopeless vegetative state hooked up to machines, but won’t allow for any premature unplugging either- in the event the children try to move things along to keep some non-refundable reservations at a tropical resort or something like that. I suppose the next thing we’ll need to do is get our burial plots secured, so Davis isn’t tempted to stick me in one at the back of the cemetery by the dumpsters that he finds at a steal.

I think it was when I crossed over into my 50’s that I started to think differently about life and death. About legacy and purpose. About time and resources. If you want to get a realistic perspective on how fast your material footprint will be erased, you just have to watch children break up their parents’ home after they’ve passed. They’ll claim a few things for themselves, and divide the rest between sell, donate, and trash. In a month or two, everything their parents built, collected, treasured, and accumulated is emptied out, dispersed, and a for sale sign is in the yard of the house they’d worked so hard to buy. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s the natural flow of life and death and the passing of the generations and we have no reason to believe the same won’t be true for us when we’re gone. Our kids don’t live in Mississippi now and will have no use for our house or too many things in it. That’s just reality. 

I came across a 1,600 year old quote by John Chrysostom that paints the picture well- “We are only temporary guests on earth. We recognize that the houses in which we live serve only as hostels on the road to eternal life. We do not seek peace or security from the material walls around us or the roof above our heads. Rather, we want to surround ourselves with a wall of divine grace; and we look upward to heaven as our roof.” 

Days like Monday remind us that this is a fallen, broken-down world. Not just remind us- they smack us right in the face with that reality. The audacity of evil is staggering. The growing appetite of wickedness to plant its flag on higher and more brazen summits is revolting. The arrogant smirk of depravity is chilling. As Christians, we are not at home here. Thank God. We’re not at home here, where innocent, little children are murdered in their classroom. The Bible says we don’t belong here- we’re “citizens of heaven.” We’re checked into this hotel, but we’re not staying long. The only things that will last past our eulogies are the treasures we store up in that permanent place where we’re headed. The rest of it’s on borrowed time. While we’re here, let’s make wise investments with our lives and the resources God has trusted to us. We all have a purpose. A difference we can make for God’s kingdom. 

“Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many rooms; if that were not so, I would have told you, because I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I am coming again and will take you to Myself, so that where I am, there you also will be.” John 14:1-6

Night, 

JONI 

Have there been times in your life when you wished you could wear a sign around your neck to explain something about yourself or your current situation? Maybe you thought it would save a lot of questions or speculation about something that’s going on at the time. I’ve had plenty of those and could even use some signs right about now. For instance, currently, we could use one in our yard. Maybe one of those big flashing ones with the arrow. “Yes, we dug up our landscaping and we are fully aware that it looks awful. Waiting on landscaper consult.” This would explain that this is not a permanent minimalist look we’re implementing and would quell any neighborly concerns. I’d also like to have a sign to wear when I’m out walking Otis, “Yes, I know- you’ve seen me outside more in the last month than in the entire 19 years I’ve lived here. Fostering feral dog from Wal-mart. Call 911 if it appears warranted.” That way, all the neighbors, who drive past us on their way to work, could read it as I sail by like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade ballon on the end of Otis’s leash. It would explain the situation and answer any questions anyone might have about my sudden oneness with the outdoors and from whence this untamed hound came. 

I could’ve benefited from some signage that time I knocked over a maxi pad display with my shopping cart. “Please, just keep moving and pretend you don’t see me over here re-stacking this pallet of feminine products.” A few years ago, I would’ve liked a sign to explain a fresh, raised scar in the middle of my neck. “Neck surgery, not a throat slashing.” I’ve wished for Davis to have a few signs- “Joni wasn’t home when I got dressed. I put this shirt with these pants myself.” Yesterday, I could’ve used one on the back of my car as I was taking Ruby to the vet. “There’s a nervous dog standing on my center console, which is why I’m making turns like a 97 year old who can’t see over the steering wheel.” And I (and anyone else who drives a newer vehicle) could definitely benefit from an illuminated sign permanently strapped to the top of my car. “My lights ARE on dim.” 

Other helpful signs include but are not limited to: 

“I know, I know. I have a hair appointment next Tuesday!”

“No, I’m not crying. It’s allergy season.” 

“This is just the primer.”

“I’m normally a more patient person, but I’m menopausal.” 

“I’m buying these Depends for someone else.”

Those are all silly signs, I know, but I’ve had days when my sign would’ve relayed a much more serious message and I know you’ve had those, too.

“My daddy is dying with cancer. I may be smiling, but my heart is completely broken.” 

“I miscarried and I’m still mourning on the inside.” 

“Waiting on test results. Sorry if I seem distracted.” 

I remember when I struggled with postpartum depression issues after one of my babies. It may have been one of the darkest times I’ve ever had. I’d never experienced anything like that before or, thankfully, since. I didn’t want to go anywhere but there was a party that I felt obligated to attend. A party- that was the last place I wanted to be. I was on the verge of tears when Davis and I drove up, but I took a deep breath and got out of the car with my heart pounding in my chest. It had taken everything I had just to get dressed and look party-appropriate. I went in and smiled and laughed and tried to do all the normal things, but I was really just wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible and get back to a place where I didn’t have to pretend. If I’d had a sign that night, it might have said, “I’m a mess. I haven’t slept in weeks, my hands are trembling, and it’s taking every bit of energy I have just to hold myself together.” 

I know a lot of people who are going through some tough things right now. Really tough things. Everyday, we pass people and, if we knew what their sign would say, it would likely break our hearts. Most of the time, we smile and carry on like everything is fine. We’re really good at pretending. Maybe social media has made us that way. Maybe we were always taught that a lady keeps her business to herself and doesn’t air her problems. But, sometimes, the words that bring the most relief are “me, too” spoken by a close confidant. Or “I prayed for you, this morning” from a trusted friend. Or just ordinary kindness from a stranger who knows nothing about our situation. 

Since sign wearing isn’t really a thing, maybe it’s safest to take what Ian Maclaren wisely wrote to heart, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” May we, especially as Christians, never be the reason someone’s bad day gets worse. May we never speak words that break someone’s spirit. May our words never cause someone to go backwards in their struggle. May we use words that draw people toward life and hope in Christ because everyone is or will be or has just come from a difficult place. Life is hard. It really is. We rarely talk about it and we don’t carry signs. So may we treat everyone the way we’d want to be treated on our very worst day. Just in case it happens to be theirs. 

“Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” Proverbs 16:24

“God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.” 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

Happy Weekend, friends!

JONI 

When I was a little girl, my mother would get me involved in some of her holiday and special occasion preparations- especially in the kitchen. As you know, I grew up between two boys in a neighborhood full of boys and I’m certain she wanted to make sure I was adequately trained in more than just the rules of whiffle ball, the fine art of fishing with night crawlers, and the delicate skill of releasing a firecracker before explosion. All very important in their own right, though. 

In January, I wrote about a stray dog affectionately called Otis. If you missed the backstory of Otis, you can go back and read about him. Well, last week, a woman posted on a lost pet page that a dog had shown up at her friend’s house and she was trying to help her find its owner. Pam, one of the rescue group on Otis’s trail, saw the post and that’s where the rest of the story begins. 

The first sighting of Otis was about 4 months ago- at least, for us. It was assumed that he was a hunting dog and was abandoned in a parking lot near the place he was usually spotted. He’d been seen running toward random white trucks on a couple of occasions, so we wondered if his human may have driven a white truck. No one knew how he ended up there, really. It was all speculation. Whatever his story, Otis was out of place and had become a rambling man. A man on the run. In survival mode. On high alert. He let no one touch him or get anywhere close. He was always on the move. Solitaire was his game. 

But, he drew a lot of attention because of the paths he traveled. He liked a retail/restaurant section of town where he captured the eye of many-a-sympathetic woman who would stop and try to help. An accumulation of dog food bowls left for him grew quickly. Besides enjoying the food they left, Otis would accept none of their help. He was a proud man. He made regular appearances on the local lost pet pages like the sampling below. He was becoming a real local celebrity and was often referred to as “baby” in the posted pleas for help. Otis never appreciated being called baby online. It was bad for his image. He’s a man’s man, after all. 

A drowsy Otis is taken into custody by Amber.

The homeowners, who reported the wanted man hiding out on their property, after the capture. 

We loaded Otis in the back seat of the truck and Amber sat next to him. The first stop for Otis would be to the vet. We’d noticed, weeks earlier, that he had a bad injury to his tail and there was really no telling what else. He stayed overnight after having a good work up, being neutered, and having his tail removed. The vet suspected he chewed it off after it became caught in something. What was left was so infected, she decided it was best to bob it. He’ll also have to be treated for heartworms in the coming months. Other than that and being underweight, Otis was pretty healthy and estimated to be 1-2 years old. 

Bloodshot-eyed Otis arriving at the animal hospital and wondering where it all went wrong.

Otis left the vet on Saturday and and checked into our inpatient Off the Streets program here. If anyone has experience in taking vagrant hounds and turning them into a semi-civilized canines, it would be Ruby’s adoptive parents. Here at the Happy Hound Halfway House, we specialize in hounds who have lost their way and need a fresh start. Davis and I plan to foster and love Otis for a few months until he’s done with his heart worm treatment. 

Otis sporting his new tail. It will be more attractive to the ladies when the fur grows back. Is there anything more southern than a couple of hounds lazing around on the front porch? 

Otis has really taken to Ruby. Although freshly neutered, he still tries to flirt with the ladies around the neighborhood. They say it takes a few weeks for the hormones to work their way out of the system which I’m sure is not surprising to any of us. None of the neighborhood girls have met his advances with kindness. Otis will soon learn that subdivision women are not like those women he met on the streets. They are looking for long term commitment. He has a lot to learn about becoming a proper southern gentleman in the coming weeks. 

Otis meets some of the more refined ladies. 

We’re currently working on being happy in our kennel at night and making progress. Night one and two involved howling for two hours before falling asleep. Last night- only 15 minutes of howling so we’re making progress. He’s sleeping 12 hours each night. I think it’s the first time he’s slept on anything soft in a while and he’s finally able to let his guard down enough to sleep soundly. We’d see him sleeping in the grass on the side of the road when he was homeless. After five months of solitude, it only took one day here before he was crying at night because he was separated from us. Dogs really do crave human companionship. 

We’re learning about the leash and we’re taking a lot of walks. A. Lot. Of. Walks. Otis is accustomed to walking all day, every day. I want him to be tired when he’s tucked in each night, so we’re keeping the road hot. I’m currently on the rescue hound weight loss program. Down two pounds since Saturday. This will certainly help Ruby to lose a few, too, which is needed. If anyone is interested in this program, contact me and I will loan Otis out and retrieve him when you’ve reached your desired weight. 

Otis and Ruby mole hunting

Goose hunting

and napping in the sun. 

Some may think it’s just a dog, but no one wants to see a living thing scared and suffering. Otis eats like he’ll never see food again and still startles easily but is learning to trust us more each day. The noises Otis had been used to- big trucks, car horns, and loud sirens have been replaced with kinder sounds here outside the city- birds singing, roosters crowing, geese honking. The once untouchable boy has taken a liking to affection and nuzzles us for pets. He’s reminded several times a day in a gentle voice that he’s a good, good boy. In time, large doses of love and tenderness will heal his little spirit. 

And now you know the rest of the story of the dog named Otis.

Otis would like to thank a few people who helped him along the way. He sees now that he only delayed good things for himself during those months of resistance. First of all, my animal loving friend, Betty, was the one who named him Otis long before his capture. She fed him when he was a stray and started referring to him as Otis. It stuck. He looks like an Otis. James and Pam made many trips from another town to set up their traps on several occasions. They tried so hard to catch him before the really cold weather arrived, but it didn’t happen. They’re professionals and help so many people trap their lost animals who are scared and run away from help. Tracie is another dog rescuer. She helped with feeding Otis and whatever else was needed from her. Teresa loaned her insulated dog house to the effort, so he’d have somewhere to escape the cold wind. My dog loving friend, Shelley, made a generous donation to Otis’s care. All the people who cared enough to post about him or pulled over and tried to help him to no avail. And last but not least, Amber, the rescuer. What a great gal! She took the ball and ran with it. She stuck with it and finally got that boy. Amber has done everything in her power to help make fostering Otis as easy as possible for Davis and me. I’m so glad Otis introduced us. 

Well, I have to get to bed, so I’ll be well-rested to walk, walk, walk tomorrow. 

Night, y’all. 

JONI 

. 

Well, I’ve been home sick this week. I was supposed to go on a little day trip with a friend on Monday but woke up feeling bad. Later, I found out it was Covid, so I’m so glad I didn’t pop some Advil and power through like I was tempted to do. Anyway, who knows where I got it, but my bet is Buc-ee’s. We stopped on the way home from the mountains and I ran inside while Davis pumped gas. The people were shoulder to shoulder in there and, after a few minutes, I realized most of them were coughing. It was a little bizarre. You could almost see the germs buzzing in the air like houseflies. I could have put my drink back and left, but I was really in there to get one of those brisket sandwiches and I wasn’t leaving without it. There are some things worth a roll of the dice and, well, here we are, one incubation period later. Who knows. I could’ve picked it up anywhere but- yeah, I’m going to leave my money on Buc-ee’s. 

All things considered, I don’t have a lot to talk about this week. Unless you want to hear about the tribulations of breathing out of one nostril or my flirtations with Afrin addiction. Yes, they’re doing some fine work down there at the Afrin nose spray factory and I don’t think we recognize that enough. I could offer my reasons for recommending Puffs Plus Lotion over Kleenex Soothing Lotion. Ruby and I have taken a lot of naps. Then, we’d get up and look out the window across the foggy, dreary landscape and sigh. I did finish watching The Crown and just loved it. I may have to start it again. 

I don’t feel like I’m really missing anything by being on house arrest. I don’t know about where you live, but it’s been so overcast here. Wet, cloudy, cold. I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun. Now don’t get me wrong- I’m all about some cold, overcast days, but even I’ve reached my fill of the damp darkness. I’ll look back in mid-July when the sun has scorched the earth’s surface and think what a fool I was. Most of my friends have been longing for the warmth of the sun and longer stretches of daylight since October. This January did seem particularly gloomy and dark. I’ll give them that. The weatherman has used the sunshine graphic for tomorrow’s forecast. I’m surprised he even remembered where he kept it, but we’ll look forward to it becoming a reality. Take heart, warmth lovers, soon enough we’ll be sweating through our clothes, slapping mosquitos, and our legs sticking to the car seats. Won’t that be great fun? 

Just wanted to check in with you even though I didn’t have much to say. One of my resolutions for the new year was to post once a week. Such as it is, I hated to drop the ball this early. I hope y’all see some sunshine this weekend. Be careful out there. It’s an awfully germy time of year! 

Until next week-

JONI