Missing Dogs, Quit Wit, and Termites In The Middle Of Nowhere

It had been a LOOOONG and eventful day, much like the majority of them lately, and we were all too fatigued to have our normal spirited discussions on the way home. Instead, I was admiring the neon red sun over the soccer field. I pointed it out to the kids. "Wow," I said, "I've never seen it hazy enough here to be able to stare directly at it like that." I was proud when J. noticed "it sure is a beautiful sunset." Looking to turn the moment into a spiritually profound comparison, I began explaining how the dirtier the atmosphere is, the more brilliant the sunset. "It's actually the dirt the air that makes the beautiful colors." I tried to tie it all together with a discussion of sin and beauty from ashes and all that stuff. J. was obviously in another frame of mind. "So you mean, when we get home and I DON'T take a bath, that will make me even more handsome!" That semi-toothless smile was plastered ear to ear!

He is, quite literally, the wittiest, most funny person I have ever known. I ADORE that kid!!!

So much has happened around here the past few months that life inside our four walls resembles almost nothing of what it was this time last year. Much of it has been good, and some more of it will be once we can jump a few pretty high hurdles. I realize, of course, that life will ALWAYS have another hurdle up ahead of the one that's just been cleared, but lately the sheer amount of things to accomplish has left us needing to slow down to a steady trot for some rest for just a while.

The most obvious to those who are a regular part of our lives is that I have finally finished my training. Yes, I am now officially a Certified Pesticide Applicator, properly trained to eradicate termites from either your new or existing home! No, I did not set about this as part of some dream or desire. But I did it! Our family business was left in a lurch after legal changes that required new training. Of course, all of the men in our family work full time and could not sacrifice a week of their lives to attend the necessary classes. So I went back to the Alma Mater I left 18 years ago on a scholarship transfer for a degree in Broadcasting Communications. If you had told me way back then that I would eventually be returning nearly 2 decades later to become a professional bug killer, there would have been no need for laughter. It would have been so out of the realm of reality that my only reaction would have been to silently wonder what on earth you talking about and whether we were even participating in the same conversation.

But I made it. I spent each day from 7:30 am to nearly 5 p.m. (he let us out early!) with a 1/2 hour lunch break and 15 other all male students in a portable building in the middle of nowhere about 3 miles off campus. The men spit a lot and they left the toilet seat up in the bathroom (which I don't blame them for) they weren't planning on sharing with a girl, but they were all very polite and accepting and not overly politically correct, but also not chauvinistic, either which of would have made me uncomfortable.

At night, I would relax before returning to the hotel by driving around town trying to recognize all the similarities and differences since I was there as a mere kid. There were so many of both. My old apartment, the department store that lent clothes to our volunteer project, the lake which is now on the OTHER side of Main Street. The grocery store where I worked was gone and replaced by a small mall we never had and the campus had doubled in size. But most of all the memories that came flooding back of my two years there were strong. And though they weren't bad, they still left me missing my family and my current life. I felt glad for the previous experience of living there, but even more happy that I now have a wonderful family and the non-monetary job that I never envisioned back then when I was chasing and capturing all that career success. I'm just too blessed where I'm meant to be to miss it.

The other big event of our lives of late happened about a week ago while my parents were here visiting to see my son's first traveling band concert. (He is so talented, if I may throw that in!) My parents came with me to pick the children up from school on Friday and we immediately drove from school to the downtown Arts Festival. I'm not sure that we have ever missed it. Even though the rides there are now far too juvenile for my kids to enjoy outright, they love the tradition and memories of the little train and Ferris wheel they have ridden since they have been old enough to have memories. A gentle misty rain and a pretty stiff wind made our time even more interesting, but the fun of it all was still very much there for us.

That is until I got "The Call." I needed to ask my breathless husband to slow down so I could make more sense of what he was telling me, but first I had to excuse myself from my children. That's because I didn't want them to hear me repeat words like "the dogs," "missing," "bloody," or "shotgun." At least not until I could string them into an intelligible event that I could then repeat more tactfully when the time was right. I asked my husband what needed to be done next and we agreed that he needed help at home and since they would learn it all when they arrived anyway, I had better break the news on the way home.

The short version is that both of our dogs escaped out of their pen and were missing. My husband went to look for them while we were all blissfully unaware at the festival. He was just about to give up searching after three hours when our mama lab came crawling, dazed and bloodied, up an embankment toward his truck as he was headed home. She had been shot and was absolutely shaking in fear, but had come out of hiding when she had recognized his vehicle. He took her home and was needing us to tend to her so he could go back out in search of our other dog, L.'s offspring. S. was no where to be found by night fall. The next day we made posters and my dad and oldest son and I went to put them along the main road. Of course, all of this was to prove to our children that we had done everything possible to get our dear friend back, but my parents, husband and I were already pretty convinced he was most likely not in a returnable state. After hammering the last sign in, I told my dad I wanted to turn around and drive back toward the sign to make sure a motorist without knowledge of it's placement would readily see it. I turned the car around and fell in behind a truck with a dog in it. A black dog my son excitedly pointed out. I sped up to satisfy to him that we would chase any lead, but certainly not expecting what happened next. "He has a red collar!" D. screamed, just as the dog- yes, OUR DOG - took a leap out of the truck bed upon recognizing our vehicle. He was on a leash that got hung up on something in the back of the truck and was being dragged as the truck rounded a corner into a neighborhood. My dad leaped out and yelled the driver down as I sat frozen and too confused to react by how fast it was all happening. But, cutting the story down to size and maybe some of the miracle of how amazingly it all played out, the dogs were returned to us! They were a little worse for the wear of their naughty journey a full 1/2 mile away from home. But they are doing well now. And the children have seen first hand what it's like when God honors their prayers for a miracle with a "Yes." Oh, how they prayed!

Yep. Life is always headed Somewhere. There's no such place as Nowhere. Not even a portable building in a wide open field three miles from the next nearest building.

I just need to remember that when I'm THERE. Amen?