“Welcome strangers
into your home, they may be angels in disguise." ~ Hebrews
13:2
Before his accident, my son Arthur
had been a great prosecutor, renowned for his many victories. He’d gotten a little cocky on a crotch-rocket,
rounded a corner way too fast, and paid a horrific price.
Thankfully he survived . . . but something inside him died. Life’s zest evaporated. Offers of help were sarcastically rejected. He sits for hours in his wheelchair, a cup of coffee
staring back black as sin and bitter as he feels. I’d hoped the fresh air and rustic ambiance
of my small farm would help him adjust.
But self-pity makes his skin crawl with disgust.
We often argue. Even
our pastor tried to help, hoping a more direct line to the Almighty would
soothe Arthur’s troubled mind. God’s been
silent so far.
Just when I’d given up hope, I read an article suggesting pets
can sometimes ease the loneliness of depression. Dogs seem
perfect – they love even genocidal maniacs.
"I'll take him," I said without hesitation.
At home, Arthur wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I’d wanted a dog, I’d have picked
out a better one than that bag of bones.
Take it back!” he waved scornfully
Anger burned inside me. "You'd better get used to him, son.
He's staying . . . or you’re leaving!"
We glared at each other like hated enemies, when suddenly
the dog wobbled toward Arthur and carefully raised his frail paw.
That marked the beginning of an intimate friendship. He and “Smoke” explored the countryside,
taking long hikes down dusty roads. They
spent reflective moments on the banks of the old trout pond and even started
attending Sunday services together. As
his bitterness faded, Arthur and Smoke made many new friends.
Late one night, Smoke’s cold nose burrowed into my bed
covers. He’d never done that
before. I ran to Arthur’s bedside, where
he lay motionless. His spirit had left
quietly during the darkness.
My grief deepened two days after the funeral when I
discovered Smoke lying peacefully beside Arthur’s vacant bed. Wrapping Smoke’s lifeless form in his
favorite rug, I buried him near the trout pond before silently thanking him for
restoring Arthur’s peace of mind.
Suddenly the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle
that I’d not seen before: that random article, Smoke’s appearance at the animal
shelter . . . his complete devotion to Arthur . . . and the proximity of their
deaths. God had answered my prayers
after all.
Almighty Father, thank you for our
pets. They teach us to love unselfishly,
to live each day to the fullest, and to grow old with dignity. Teach us to return what they’ve given us to
others in need of inspiration. Amen
