“Life can be treated either as a journey to be enjoyed or as a set of milestones to cross.” ~Anonymous

Milestones.  I have been hearing that word a lot lately.  A few weeks ago when I turned 50, a number of people referred to that as a "milestone birthday."  Maybe it was - the AARP certainly thinks so - they won't leave me alone!  And then there's my precious granddaughter, Lydia.  Every month since last September, on the 29th, we talk about the monthly milestones she has achieved, along with all of the developmental markers she has accomplished.  Each of those milestones for her are important to those of us who love her, and certainly something to be celebrated!

The origins of the word "milestone" date back to the third century.  The Romans first used them in their enormous network of roads to help travelers mark their progress - actual stones, set along the roadway.  Today, our US highway system uses mile markers for the same reason.  In a figurative sense, a milestone marks progress and achievement.

But just like literal milestones only appear every mile, milestones in our lives only occur at certain intervals.  We mark the milestones of our children's growth and development as infants, and then we note each milestone as they begin their school years - being promoted to the next grade, recitals, concerts, birthdays.  Then come the bigger milestones - turning 16 and getting a driver's license, graduation, beginning college.

As we grow older, it seems the milestones become fewer and farther between.  We have the early adulthood milestones - college graduation, marriage, the birth of our children, and then we turn 30... then 40... and then 50....  We welcome our first grandchild, and then each one after that, and those are big events.  We celebrate birthdays and holidays, and every large milestone in the lives of those we love.

But again, every day is not a milestone.  Most days are just part of what can sometimes seem like a monotonous journey.  Some days between those milestones can even seem arduous, like we are climbing uphill the whole time.  Maybe I even catch myself looking ahead to the next milestone, unable to simply enjoy the journey.  I know this can be especially true for young parents who are in the throes of child rearing.  I remember those days of thinking, "I can't wait until they can..."  If we're not careful, we can become so busy anticipating the next big milestone that we completely miss the simple joys of the in-between.

Today is seemingly one of those in-between steps for me.  My calendar contains the usual Thursday notations and plans.  No weddings to go to, no graduations to attend, and according to Facebook, none of the 480 friends I have there will even celebrate a birthday today.  But as I await the next major milestone that may come, this day is a part of my journey, and that makes it important.

Today, Lord willing, I will get to have the usual breakfast and dinner time with my husband.  I will enjoy the antics of our puppy, and the zest for life that she relishes each moment.  I will welcome a group of godly young ladies into our home this evening, as we meet to study the Bible together.  And I will go about the usual household chores as I prepare for their arrival.  I will likely hear from one or all of my children today, and I may even enjoy a new photo of our precious Lydia, or a random selfie of my journey-loving son.


And, as with most days, there will be little things that occur that perhaps I did not anticipate - bumps in the road, or possibly a surprise, unexpected curve, with a nice downhill coast.  None of those things are especially newsworthy, or even worth a Facebook post.  They certainly would not be described as milestones.  But added together with all of the other normal, seemingly mundane days, today is an important part of my journey.

Susan B. Anthony wrote, "Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these.”

Our lives our measured by these . . . indeed.  As I grow older, I do look back with fondness at the milestones in my past, and I look forward to those yet to come.  But more than that, I find myself enjoying even more the space between those markers.  The everyday, seemingly normal, moments.  Today.  This moment.  I pray I will make the most of it.

"The differences between friends cannot but reinforce their friendship." ~Mao Zedong

Jeff and I have been enjoying the past few days in San Diego, California, and on Tuesday we went to the world-famous San Diego Zoo.  It more than lived up to its reputation - we saw myriads of animals up close, and enjoyed the day immensely.

As we perused the different areas of the zoo, one exhibit in particular really caught my attention.  It was the Cheetah exhibit.  We all know that Cheetahs are cats - large, spotted ones that live in Africa and parts of Asia.  They are the fastest animal on earth, and can run 68 - 75 miles per hour in short bursts.  They are BIG cats - adults can weigh anywhere between 83 and 145 pounds.

But at the San Diego Zoo, there's something very unusual and unique about the Cheetah exhibit.  As we approached their area, I did a double-take -- this is what we saw...

Yes, that's a dog.  A lab mix, to be exact.  Living with a Cheetah.  The San Diego Zoo regularly pairs these two unlikely companions.  Cheetahs are by nature fearful animals.  They would rather run than engage in a fight.  Any new or unusual experience results in an instant impulse to flee.  Dogs - especially labs - are just the opposite.  They are friendly, enthusiastic, and good-natured.  They love people.  And apparently, they also love Cheetahs!

The San Diego Zoo pairs a shelter dog with a baby Cheetah at about three months of age.  They begin slowly at first, allowing them to smell and investigate each other through cage walls.  Eventually, they allow them to share the same space, monitored closely by keepers.  After they become comfortable, a life-long friendship is formed.  The zoo is even able to take the Cheetahs out as "zoo ambassadors" with the accompaniment of their dog friend.  The dog is the "caretaker," always concerned and seeing to the needs of their cat companion.  And the Cheetah takes their cues from their dog leader - in any new situation, if the dog is comfortable, so is the Cheetah.

Fascinating.  

And this made me think of people, and how we interact with one another.  Proverbs 27:17 tells us that "as iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend."  But for iron to truly sharpen iron, it needs resistance.  In other words, two blades can't really sharpen one another, any more than two Cheetahs can give one another confidence.  I need different people, personalities, and characteristics influencing my life to make myself better. 

I thought about my family and friends - the people I feel closest to in my life.  And without exception, they each possess qualities that I do not, but wish I did.  There's my ever-patient husband, who has helped this once extremely impatient person grow in that area by his awesome example (and patience) over the past 28 years.  I have others in my life who are out-going and fun-loving, who have taught my more serious-minded self to relax a little and have fun.  Then there are the service-oriented people - the givers - who have inspired me to be better at that as well.  And one friend in particular who lives several states away, I love because I can ALWAYS count on her to tell me EXACTLY what she thinks about what I am doing, without reservation.  Her opinion sometimes differs from mine, but I appreciate her candor and her willingness to share that with me.  She makes me better.  I could go on and on - in fact, I spent the entire month of November 2012 doing just that, as I posted a blog entry a day about the diverse group of people in my life who have shaped me - and continue to shape me - into who I am.

We all have others who are close to us who have characteristics that we likely view as negative.  These folks are good for us as well - they help us to work harder to avoid those attributes in our own lives.

Cheetahs and dogs.  I never would've paired them.  But the dog gives the cheetah confidence and comfort, while the cheetah provides the dog with companionship.  The trade-off for each is beautiful to behold.  And it makes me thankful for the diverse group of people who form my circle of family and friends.  

"Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." ~Proverbs 31:30

I don't remember when I met her.  I know it was during my childhood that Sarah Taylor moved with her family to my hometown, and they began worshipping with us.  Her children - Karen, Kathy, and Hal - were a little older than me, but they became my friends.  And the remainder of my childhood, through adolescence and into adulthood, the Taylor family became a special part of my life.

Bro. Taylor served our congregation as an elder, and the whole Taylor family had a deep love and reverence for God.  I remember as a very young girl observing their family - their love for each other, and their love for God - and thinking to myself, "THAT'S how I want MY Family to be someday."

I was always impressed with Sis. Taylor's knowledge of the Bible.  She KNEW the word, and knew it well.  Her Bible was well-worn, and you could see her hand-written notes in the margins.  I remember the few occasions I had to sit in her Ladies' Bible class, and I still remember things she taught there.  But more than that, I remember the personal instruction I was blessed to receive from her.  She not only knew her Bible, but she was passionate about her love for and service to the Lord - perhaps more than any other lady I have ever known.  She was continually working to uplift, encourage, teach, and save the lost.  She saw everyone she encountered as a prospect for the gospel.  Every single time I read Titus 1:3-5, which states, ""Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled," I think of Sis. Taylor - she was the embodiment of that passage - that's who she was, and that's what she did.

The Taylor's son, Hal, was one of my closest friends in high school.  He went to Texas A&M, and had a roommate there named Jeff.  Long story, short - for the past 28 years I have lived as Jeff's wife. And I have the Taylors to thank for that, in large part - without that connection, I probably would've never met Jeff Stewart.

While we were dating, Jeff would travel from College Station and Dallas to Longview most weekends.  A lot of those weekends, he stayed in the Taylor's home.  It was always a treat to spend time with them on those weekends.  And my favorite thing about that was the Monday after those weekends, when I would go by the Taylor's house to return their house key from Jeff.  Usually, it was just Sis. Taylor at home, she would invite me in, and we would visit.  I particularly remember the Monday after Jeff proposed - she had a lot to say to me that Monday.  Wise words about marriage, being a wife, and making a home.  She gave me a stack of books to read - all biblically based - and talked to me about those books when I had finished reading them.  Because of Sis. Taylor, Jeff and I transitioned quite easily into marriage.

When the girls were born, we decided early on that the first born would be named Sarah - after our beloved Sarah Taylor.  We had a couple of reasons for that - for one thing, the Taylor family was largely responsible for the fact that we were a family at all.   But more than that, I could think of no one better for my daughters to emulate than the godly lady who had that name.  At the time of the girls' birth, the Taylors had moved to Florida.  But they came by to visit one day when they were back in Texas when the girls were about nine months old, and Sarah got to meet Sarah.


I always wished that our Sarah could really know the great lady she was named after, but we made sure as she grew up that our Sarah at least knew the legacy behind her name.  We had a few occasions to be in Florida when our Sarah was older - the first time when she was about 15, and then again when she was 17.  Both times, we made it a point to travel to Tampa to visit the Taylors, and so that the Sarahs could spend a little time together.  One of those trips was a family vacation to Disney World.  And I remember that to ME, the very best day of that vacation was not Magic Kingdom, or EPCOT, or even the beach.  It was the day we spent with the Taylors.

I could fill many pages with my memories of Sis. Taylor and her family.  Like how she was our go-to person for anything medical (she was an RN), and once saved me from the horrors of a hornet sting, as well as doctored my laryngitis on my wedding day.  Or the time a group of us young folks showed up at their house after having a flat tire in their Cadillac that their son was driving - that's a story in itself!  Not only was she a spiritual guide for me, but she was a very spunky and funny lady.  She loved to laugh, and loved to love and enjoy others.

Sarah Taylor passed from this life yesterday.  And even though I had not seen her in the past eight or so years, and our relationship was limited to correspondence, I felt an emptiness when I heard she was gone.  Sis. Taylor was special to me, and to my family.  I know she was special to many others as well, and her influence and the good that will live on after her cannot be measured.  It lives on in the things she taught me, both by her example and her words.  It lives on in her children and grandchildren.  And it lives on in a young lady who wears her name - a Sarah who is now a young wife and mother, who knows the legacy behind her name, and honors that name in the way she is living and serving God.

John wrote in Revelation 14:13, "And I heard a voice from heaven saying, 'Write this: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.' 'Blessed indeed,' says the Spirit, 'that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them!'”  Yes, blessed indeed is Sarah Taylor.  And blessed am I to have known her, and to have been loved by her.

BOY: [boi] n. 1. A noise with dirt on it.

Twenty-three years ago today, I gave birth for the last time.  Being the seasoned mother of twin two-year-old girls at the time, I thought I had this motherhood stuff down pat!  After all, our girls had very different personalities - one liked to be cuddled and rocked, while the other preferred being left alone with her blankey.  One was more emotional, while the other was more nurturing.  One took a pacifier, and the other relied on her fingers.  One was bold in her approach to any physical obstacles, while her sister was extremely cautious.  So what could possibly be different about this new baby, I asked?

Plenty.

For one, he was a boy.  I remember before we had our boy, one of my friends who had two boys at the time called me one day.  As we visited on the phone, she said, "Sorry, I have to go - Conrad is standing in the middle of the dining room table!"  Conrad was two.  My thoughts at that time were something to the effect of, "Why are your children out of control?"  I got the answer to that when our boy entered our world - boys are just different!  (I thought about that conversation many times later when I was retrieving Caleb from the middle of our dining room table. . . )

Caleb came into this world "all boy."  He would play while humming his own action music.  This sometimes got him into trouble during church.  He would also make sounds - car sounds, truck sounds, lawnmower sounds, airplane sounds, and on and on.  The girls and I would just stare at him in amazement - where did he come from?  When he couldn't find a toy gun, Caleb would make one out of his sisters' Barbie dolls - bending them at the waist, their legs formed the barrel, and he would run around making gun sounds, shooting us with his self-created pistol.

Not only was Caleb a boy - which was a whole new animal for me - but he came with his unique personality.  If you know Caleb, I don't have to explain. And if you don't know Caleb, I really can't explain it.  Caleb has NEVER met a stranger - from the time he was a little tike in his stroller, he would draw unwelcomed attention to us in the library as he very LOUDLY told other patrons "Hi!"  This behavior also carried over into our worship assemblies - as the men who served the Lord's supper passed by, I would have to be quick with my hand over Caleb's mouth to muffle his loud, enthusiastic greetings to them.  And then there was the grocery store, where he liked to stand in the back of the cart and belt out his favorite Bible class tunes - The Ten Plagues Song was his all-time favorite.  Imagine the looks I got when he - in his operatic voice - enthusiastically ended with "...locusts, thick darkness, DEATH OF THE FIRSTBORN!"

Caleb loves people, and Caleb loves life.  As a result of those two qualities, Caleb is well-known by a lot of people.  For most mothers I know, the pattern of motherhood is the same - your child is born and grows to the point where they have friends, and your identity changes.  You become "Johnny's mother" instead of your name.  This continues until sometime during high school, when your identity changes back to "Mrs. Jones."  With me, my identity never changed back - I'm still known by many as "Caleb's mother."  Last year while at a work event with Jeff, two different women I had never met before came up to me and asked a question - not "are you Jeff's wife?" - which is what you would think they would ask, considering the setting.  No, they both asked, "Are you Caleb's mother?"

My "baby" - that boy who changed our lives in the Stewart home - turns 23 today.  I could write volumes about Caleb, his character, the things he does in service to God and others, his love for people, and what a unique and special young man he is.  But all of that would just embarrass him.  So, I'll just say Happy Birthday, Bud!  No mother has EVER had a better son - I say that without hesitation or threat of refutation.  YOU'VE taught ME all of your life - to see things through the eyes of a boy.  To love people.  To find wonder and laughter in every little thing in life.  And to take myself a little less seriously.  I am a different person than I was 23 years ago - better - because of you.

The biblical Caleb was described by God in Numbers 14:24 as ..."My servant,...who has a different spirit, and follows me whole- heartedly."  We couldn't have thought of any better name for our Caleb - because he does have a different spirit and he follows God wholeheartedly.  I am thankful every day for our children, and the unique blessings each one has brought to my life.   I could write two very similar stories about Sarah and Becca, and what it means to be a "girl mom," and how two girls born on the same day into the same family can bring so much variety to a family - that will be two more posts for two different days.  But on THIS day, I'm especially grateful that on February 5, 1993, God saw fit to make me a boy mom. THIS boy's mom.   The best "noise with dirt on it" that I could ever hope to have.

"Grandchildren are God’s way of compensating us for growing old. ~Mary H. Waldrip

"Which is better, being a Mommy or a Mimi?"

That is the question that Sarah asked me recently when she and Lydia came for a visit.  My initial response was, "Being a Mimi, by far!"  I was thinking at the time about the fact that grandparents get to enjoy all of the great things about grandchildren with none of the responsibilities of parenting.  But as I have thought about that, I would have to say that being a mommy and being a Mimi are equally wonderful - just in different ways.

This same weekend last year found our family gathered in College Station to celebrate Caleb's 22nd birthday.  And it was on that occasion that Sarah and Ryan shared the news that Sarah was expecting.  I can still feel the emotions I felt that day - the surreal joy of knowing that our firstborn was carrying her firstborn.  Tears well up even now as I remember that day.


The ensuing eight months were filled with great anticipation, as we monitored every doctor's appointment, ultrasound image, and pregnancy symptom.  I enjoyed the excitement of watching Sarah's belly grow, and putting my hand there to feel Lydia move.  We soaked in the pictures of the nursery, and the fun of a baby shower.  And then on September 29, we relished every moment of that day - from the text message updates from Ryan, to holding the brand new, precious, sweet baby Lydia - my first grand baby.

Since that day, my life has been filled with Lydia moments - helping out the first few weeks after she was born, cuddling and rocking during the middle of the night, seeing her smile, changing her diaper, walking her back and forth in front of the Christmas tree lights, giving her baths,reading to her, cheering as she rolled over, and the list goes on and on.

Lydia turned four months old yesterday.  I know I am new very new at this Mimi stuff, but I have learned a few things from my experiences so far...

Being a Mimi has reminded me of my Granny.  I think more often about the relationship I had with her, and now in reverse I have that same relationship with Lydia.  My Granny loved me like I love Lydia.  I can appreciate that more now that I am a Mimi. Granny was special to me, and I KNEW that I was uniquely special to her.  I especially treasure the times I spent with her after I was grown - no one else was ever as consistently happy to see me walk in the door as Granny was.  I look forward to sharing lots of similar experiences - and more - with Lydia.

Becoming a Mimi has also caused me to have more concern for the state and future of this world.  Following the natural course of things, Lydia will live in this world much longer than I will, and even longer than her parents, if the Lord wills.  And that gives me great concern.  It also causes me to pray more about the future of this world, and to pray for Lydia's future and faith.

Lydia causes time to slow down.  I've noticed that when Lydia is here, sometimes I don't get a shower until  noon.  And I also tend to stay up later than usual at night.  The laundry doesn't always stay caught up, and the house usually becomes unkempt.  But all of that is more than ok - because that just means that I'm enjoying the precious moments spent with our sweet grandbaby.  I could do nothing but spend time with her, and that would always be a perfect use of time.

Lydia takes me back to Sarah's infancy.  Although Lydia looks more like her daddy, she shares a lot of the same characteristics of infancy with her mommy - like the way she sleeps with her arms spread out.  As children grow, we tend to forget all of the sweetness of their babyhood - Lydia brings all of that back to my mind in a very vivid way.

Likewise, Lydia's presence gives me a whole new love and appreciation for Sarah.  Sarah is such a great mommy!  I watch her and am moved by the love she has for her little one - the same love I have for her.  She reminds me of the extreme joy I felt over every little milestone, and the anxiety I felt over every little difficulty when I was a new mommy.  My daughter, who is now a mother - now she gets it.  She REALLY gets it in a way that can only be learned through experience.  And I love observing that through her!

And finally, Lydia has brought a whole new love to my life.  The love between grandmother and grandchild is as unique and special as any other love.  That precious baby girl has literally turned my world upside down!  I have this picture to the right as the background on my phone . . . And whenever I need a smile, I just look at it.  I mean, seriously - have you EVER seen anything so precious?  I relish every moment I get to spend with her, and I miss her when she's gone.  And then, I eagerly anticipate the time I get to see her again.  Every picture, every Facetime experience, every video, and every personal interaction is so precious and so treasured by this Mimi.



Four months.  Actually a whole year.  And in reality, over 25 years.  So blessed, and so thankful for this precious child who made me a Mimi, and for the three children who made me a Mommy.  Both of those roles are incomparable blessings too great to describe. These offspring make the future so bright.  Psalm 127:3 states, "Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward."  And Proverbs 17:6 says, "Grandchildren are the crown of the aged..."  What a heritage and reward.  And what a crown.   Blessings that truly overwhelm.

"Conspicuously absent from the Ten Commandments is any obligation of parent to child. We must suppose that God felt it unnecessary to command by law what He had ensured by love." ~Robert Brault

On September 21, 1990, I became a mother.  And my life has never been the same.

My children.  Sarah, Rebecca, and Caleb.  There is no way to adequately describe what those three young folks mean to me.  And our tribe has grown, as we've added Ryan.  And Lydia ... sweet Lydia.

These children have consumed my thoughts and prayers since I first learned I was pregnant with the girls in February of 1990 - actually, even before then.  I think every other mother is the same way - at least the ones I know.  And while I have a life separate from my children (which is not only necessary, but healthy), they are each a part of me.  My heart is so wrapped around each one of theirs, that I feel a unique connection with each of them that I feel with no one else.  As Elizabeth Stone put it, they are pieces of my heart, which are now walking around outside of my body.  And when those pieces of my heart hurt, I feel it in a very real and literal way.  Likewise, nothing brings me more joy than their joys.   Every mother knows exactly what I am talking about.

What has been eye-opening for me in this journey of motherhood is that the job doesn't end.  It only changes, and in some ways it grows more difficult.  When I was a new mother, I was under the mistaken impression that when the children grew up and left home, my job would be over.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  And while I continue to have concern for each one of them in the physical things of life - their health and safety - the overriding concern that I have learned will never end is my concern for their spiritual well-being.

 The New Testament is replete with warnings of the dangers of worldliness.  And while I need to take heed for my own soul first, by extension those "pieces of my heart" continue to be my concern as well.  Yes, they are mature, responsible adults, and I believe each of them is doing their best to live a godly life.  But none of us are beyond falling - if you think you are, read 1 Corinthians 10:12.

These thoughts occurred to me last month as I was reading Job.  Here was a man whom God described as one of a kind, when he told Satan, "Have you considered my servant Job?  There is no one on earth like him.  he is blameless and upright; a man who fears God and shuns evil."   And yet, Job was also a parent, and he was vitally concerned with the spiritual welfare of his grown children.  Job 1:4 tells us that, "His sons used to go and hold a feast in the house of each one on his day, and they would send and invite their three sisters to eat and drink with them.  When the days of feasting had completed their cycle, Job would send and consecrate them, rising up early in the morning and offering burnt offerings according to the number of them all; for Job said, 'Perhaps my sons have sinned and cursed God in their hearts.'  Thus Job did continually." Umbreit translates the phrase "cursed God in their hearts" as "may have dismissed God from their hearts."  In other words, Job's concern was that his children might be so overcome by the world, that God would be dismissed. Isn't that the same concern we all have for our children?  And isn't it the same concern we even have for ourselves?

Job's children were grown - they lived in their own houses.  But Job was still concerned about their spiritual welfare.  They were out of the purview of Job's authority, but he still made offerings for them to God.  Continually.  I believe that there was nothing more important to Job than his children's standing before God.

The three souls that began as human beings inside of me, as the result of choices Jeff and I made, will live eternally.  What a sobering thought.  Ultimately, each of them will make their own decision about how they will live their lives, and whether or not they will continue to serve God.  They are doing that right now - in Houston, in Irving, and in Nacogdoches.  As a stay-at-home mother, a young professional, and a nursing student.  THEY choose each day to live for Him, or to forsake His Word; to give in to temptations, or to remain pure.  And each of them will be judged accordingly - and individually - for the choices they make.  But my primary goal as their mother - the one thing that consumes my prayer time more than anything else - is to do everything within my power to see each of them, their spouses, and their children in heaven.  And so I, like Job, "make offerings" for each of them.  Continually.  And not only for them, but for my son-in-law and my granddaughter, who are also now "my children."

Meyer wrote, “What a beautiful example is furnished by Job to Christian parents! When your girls are going among strangers, and your boys into the great ways of the world, and you are unable to impose your will upon them, as in the days of childhood, you can yet pray for them, casting over them the shield of intercession, with strong cryings and tears. They are beyond your reach; but by faith you can move the arm of God on their behalf.”

What comfort.  What encouragement.  The three I love more than life itself, their spouses, and their children - along with the other children in my life whose souls I cherish - are loved by God even more than I can love them.  And He hears my prayers on their behalf.  And yours.  Growing up is hard.  Being a young adult in a godless society is difficult.  Let's all strive to be more like Job, as we pray earnestly and fervently - continually - for our children.

"We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment." ~George Eliot

He was just a dog.  He came to live with our family in 2001, when he was about a year old, and he came with "issues."  When we tried to play with him, he would cower, and tuck his tail.  We think he was probably punished for playing as a puppy.  Jeff finally gained his trust enough that Buster would occasionally play a game of tug, but he always did so with his tail tucked - he never quite got over his anxiety in that way.

But even though he wouldn't play, he was great at cuddling.  His favorite place to be was in someone's lap, or curled up against someone's back as they slept.

He loved his kids, but they left every day and went to school.  Buster never liked to be left alone, so he soon became "my" dog - he followed me everywhere I went, always underfoot.  Sometimes I would accidentally step on him, he would yelp, but immediately come wriggling over to me, wagging his tail, as if to say, "It's ok - I know you didn't mean it!"  When I would be cooking in the kitchen, he would curl up and sleep on the mat by the sink.  He usually slept in his bed in our bathroom, but when Jeff was gone out of town overnight, Buster would curl up right next to my side of the bed, as if to say, "I don't want you to be lonely, and I'm here to protect you."

 Next to sleeping and staying close by my side, Buster's favorite thing was to go for walks.  The kids would get him all pumped up by asking him, "Do you want to go for a walk?"  And Buster would excitedly turn circles by the door until the walk ensued.

He also enjoyed getting the newspaper every morning back in the days when we subscribed to the printed newspaper.  Jeff would ask him if he was ready to go get the paper, and his reaction was the same as described above.

He was just a dog.  But he was our dog - my dog - for 15 years.  During those years, the kids grew up and left home, other dogs (and hamsters) came and went, we experienced sickness and death, joy and celebration, and Buster was there through it all.   He loved us - his family.  Whenever we would "horse around," tickling or wrestling with each other, Buster would bark and growl as if he was worried that someone was seriously getting hurt.  And no matter how long (or short) we were gone from home, Buster always greeted us on our return like it was the happiest moment of his life.

Last week we said goodbye to Buster.  He had declined in health over the past few years - he was deaf, mostly blind, and had quit eating.  He wasn't able to go on walks anymore, or even cuddle with his humans.  He slept most of the time, and when he was awake, he seemed to be uncomfortable.  He no longer ran to the door to greet us - most of the time, he wasn't even aware we had left.  So last week, we did the merciful thing, and we let him go.

Yes, he was just a dog.  An animal.  But I sure have missed him this week.  Buster taught me a lot in his 15 years.  I couldn't find the source of this quote, but think about "what a beautiful world it would be if people had hearts like dogs."  What if I enjoyed every little moment to the fullest, even something as simple as going outside to get the newspaper?  And what if a walk around the neighborhood invoked the same wonder in me?  Imagine how it might help if I could silently snuggle up with someone I love in a moment of hurt when words fail me?  Or how it might make someone feel if I quietly walked by their side in the difficulties of life?  Wouldn't it be wonderful if, when we get "stepped on" by others, we could immediately forgive, not holding a grudge, and forget - REALLY forget it ever happened?  And if we were fiercely protective of each other, think about the hurt feelings we could avoid.

Robin Davidson wrote, "The Lord in His wisdom gave us three things to make us to make life bearable; humor, hope and dogs.  But the greatest was dogs."  I think God gave us much more than that to not only make life bearable, but enjoyable.  And I'm not sure I would go so far as to say the greatest of those was dogs.  But they do have their place, and I'm thankful God gave us our four-legged, furry companions.  Especially Buster.  He was just a dog, but he served us well.  Rest easy, old friend.