There was a time, when Danny was in Iraq, the van was in Kansas City and the new puppy was in the hospital that I really didn't know what to do. The kids were in Cedar Rapids with Crissy and I was as alone as I had ever been.
I had had it. Really and truly had it. I remember very clearly having it out with God and He just sat there and took it. What the hell did I do to deserve such a shitty week? He didn't answer. He just let me rant and rave and swear and hate and break the phone and cry and cry and cry. I accused Him of awful things. He didn't make up excuses or try and talk His way out of it. God just listened.
Normally one feels better after all of the above, but I didn't. I spent that week waiting for the other shoe to drop. The van was gone. There was no getting around that fact. And there was nothing I could do about it. I hoped it was in a ditch somewhere, looted and burned. (Unfortunately, it was not, it was in Kansas City and only looted.)
The new puppy, LRS Louise, was dying. We had had her only a few weeks. She was my "Danny's gone to war" puppy. She was meant to keep all our spirits high. That was not what happened at all. She died an awful death that could never be clearly explained.
And then, there was the torment of Danny being gone. He was so frustrated that he couldn't help me and I was so angry that I was left to do this all on my own. I didn't consider for a moment that he was hurting, probably more than I was.
I truly waited for the next horrible thing to happen. They happen in threes, don't they? So it just seemed like there should be one more unbearable moment in this week. And there was, see paragraph two. I chose to be all alone. I didn't want to let any of my family or friends in to my battered heart. People were reaching out to me and I was pushing away. I just wanted to wallow in my misery. I wanted a parade of people begging to help just so I could refuse them. And I wanted nothing to do with God.
But here is the thing about God (or whatever you want to call it)He just doesn't go away. In those darkest days, and only now can I admit how dark they were, He stayed beside me. When the vet called to tell me that LRS died in the night, He sat on the step next to me, ready to comfort me. When I threw the phone and cursed His name, he ducked out of the way and He understood. When the police called to tell me that the van was found intact but pretty trashed, He gave me his shoulder to lean on. I pushed it away.
Alone and bleeding. I remember that day. A fresh mound of dirt was in the back yard. I didn't go to work. I had broken one phone earlier in the week. I wasn't answering the other one. My arm throbbed and my eyes were red and puffy. I knew that Danny was in Iraq at his wits end. He knew I was in bad shape, but I wouldn't let him reach me. There had never been a moment in my life as horrid as the moment I was in.
And it wasn't because the van was stolen or the puppy had died or that Danny was gone. It was that I had somehow allowed my heart to become so angry that I was going to chose to hurt myself and hurt those that loved me the most.
And then I started to see the light. And by light, I mean the light yellow coat of a dog that never, ever left my side. He followed me from room to room. He had sat on the step next to me when the vet called. He sniffed the pieces of the phone as it layed on the floor. He pressed his head into my chest after I cleaned my cuts. He put his head in my lap. His heavy head matched the heaviness of my heart. He walked beside me as we went out to the fresh mound of dirt and he took all my tears into his coat as we sat in the grass by her grave. And I knew that I hadn't been alone that week. I wanted to be, I wanted to be cursed and alone. But the Lord had Barron there to keep an eye on me. And nothing was going to happen to me on Barron's watch.
It took me a long time to heal the wounds of that week. When the kids came home, and there was a lot of life back in the house, my heart didn't hurt as much. They mourned our puppy, but knew to transfer their sorrow to joy in Barron. He was eager to help everyone find joy again. The van was stolen by illegal aliens from Mexico. For several weeks, I would not wait on anyone fitting that description at work. I wanted to blame everyone instead of the two people that were guilty. I came to terms with the fact that no one was going to get in trouble over the theft. I forgave them because I really couldn't have that darkness in my heart. I still have the scars on my arm. Though they have almost faded completely. Danny and I had to wait until he was home from Iraq to really talk about it. It still comes up on occassion. That week became my reference point for all other pain.
I had often said that Barron was my guardian angel in a fur coat. He often proved that to be true, but never like he did that week. If I was home, then he was beside me. The clip of his nails of the floor as we walked about. His heavy sighs in the night as he laid on my floor. His silent appearance when I needed him most.
I was not foresaken, I was not left alone to suffer. God was there with me. In that yellow dog.
After that week, my faith shifted ever so slightly. My anger towards God started to subside and I let Him in again. I told all my problems and worries to Barron, but I knew that God was evesdropping and I no longer minded. Bad shit happens to everyone, and sometimes it happens all at once. But it doesn't happen when we are all alone.
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