Unrequited Love

Unrequited Love conjures images of a bespeckled pock-faced boy, mooning after the cute girl in his algebra class, where he continually intimidates the class with his precociousness, eradicating any possibility said girl would feel comfortable attempting a conversation with him.

Or the 13-year-old girl screaming out her love at the concert of the latest teen heartthrob.

Or the 50-something wife and mother now sidelined by her husband chasing a younger skirt.

Or the widower trying to navigate the online dating system to replace his lost love.

But unrequited love also describes the mother of the newborn, smitten with her daughter who placidly sleeps oblivious to her mother’s affections until hungry.

That same daughter later drives off to college without a backward glance, rejoicing at new freedom while her mother mourns her absence.

Or the son who waits every Saturday for the father who never comes despite constant promises.

Or the grandmother who lies daily in a nursing home without visits from dozens of grandchildren.

Or the woman who calls her friend and leaves messages of concern but never receives a return call.

Or the employee who shows up for the meeting that no one remembered to tell him had been canceled.

It even applies to the road I pass while driving to my parents’ hometown, the old road that snakes next to the mountains and the river, now abandoned for the new four lane road, the one blasted through the mountains, displacing centuries and tons of rock while the old road still faithfully offers passage to the same place.

And every time I reach the point of choosing, I wish to take the old road, to enjoy its turning, to appreciate its faithful service, but haste chooses the new road, the waste of good mountains, and I tell myself next time.

And that faithful road remains waiting, wondering what it did wrong.

And I wonder how often does haste lead to unreturned affection?

Race, a great conversation ender

Race needs to be talked about. But know that you will nearly always be misunderstood. Yet it still needs to be talked about.

Yesterday I had an experience that made me appreciate my church, and I wanted to tell them so. This morning I included it at the end of my sermon. Someone misunderstood. But I still needed to say it. Here's what I told them.

Two years ago I started taking exercise classes. The first instructor was white and most of the participants were not only white, but upper middle class. Then I found a class closer to my house. The instructor was white but the participants included several African Americans and people seemed more middle class. I felt more comfortable, this is the world I am most familiar with.

Two months ago I switched to a new facility owned by an African American with all the instructors and most of the participants being African American as well. So on a typical week when I make it to class four times, I am the only white person present.

Yesterday I was tired from traveling all week, and I felt during my class not only the physical exertion but also the emotional strain of the discomfort of being the obvious person different from everyone else. Realizing that made me appreciate all the people who are constantly in that situation. I can retreat to my white world if I chose, but many people can't do that.

And I especially appreciate my church, because on a Sunday morning when most of America worships with people of their own race, my congregation has the courage to cross that line and fellowship across those racial barriers.

And I"m glad we talked about it today, even though someone misunderstood, hopefully we got that straightened out. It's not that I don't like being the minority in a group, but I was just acknowledging that at times it's hard to ignore the discomfort and strain that creates, for everybody in the room. We all need to experience that, more often, to be more understanding of the reality many never escape.

Thank you Lord for those who face that daily and still stand strong.

Dogless

Dozens of brightly colored Easter eggs await my consumption, but I only like the yellows and I've lost my egg partner who came when she heard me peeling one and patiently waited to help me out with the whites.

I can go out my front door for my walks without her barking, I used to leave by the back door which she accepted as me driving away.

Last night I got up out of my bed without worrying about stepping on her.

We cleaned up the dog hair and it's not back this morning.

I'll have to remember how to use a broom when I drop food in the kitchen, a habit hardly used in my adult life, since I've been without a dog only for weeks at a time on three occasions.

The verdict is still out on whether we'll again enter the world of dog ownership. Meanwhile life seems a bit less impactful, as no one is home to notice.

Rest well Sunny. I'm glad not to hear you panting and circling and falling down anymore. But for sure the silence is deafening.

Dogs

As a preschooler we had a boxer chained in the backyard named Lady. For me she was scary. Later we got a miniature schnauzer, but my dad didn't like having a dog in the house having been raised with hunting dogs, so that dog had to live at my granny's. When my dad left later, I wanted the dog back. He was a mean dog to all but family, and they put him to sleep and told us he died.

At 18 my brother found a beagle mutt puppy at the restaurant where he worked and brought her home. For the first time I had my own dog. She chewed up everything, so I named her Trouble. Shortly after that I moved in with my dad. I had to travel one weekend and left Dad and Trouble alone together, and that created a bond. He was now sold on house dogs and had several more over the years. He loved her even though she chewed on his high school diploma.

Trouble came with me when I got married. Roger too was skeptical, until he also found himself one on one with her for a weekend while I was gone. After that she had him wrapped too.

Trouble had a great temperament. With other dogs she never started a fight but would defend herself. With people she would protect me at all costs but if I accepted someone she was friendly. In the first house Roger and I lived in I could not see out the door when someone knocked. If Trouble stood wagging her tail, I knew a friend stood on the other side. If she barked, I needed to go to the window to see.

I didn't know how Trouble wouldd respond when Nora was born, but she adopted her as another charge. When Junia was born we put her out in the living room in a cradle. Our friend John came by to see her, and bent over the cradle. Trouble saw John weekly at our home for Bible study. When he bent over, Trouble stood on her hind legs between him and the cradle and barked. Later that day my dad came, who lived hours away and only occasionally visited, and Trouble didn't make any move when dad picked up his granddaughter. She understood.

Trouble lived to 18. The day after she died, my son Luke wanted to give her his leftover milk from his cereal. We took it out and poured it over the porch where we buried her. She had been unconditional love all my adult life to that point.

After that we adopted an older dog from friends moving into a retirement home. We only had him a couple of years and he got into everything, so I never got attached.

Next we took the family to the pound to pick a pet. They chose another beagle mutt we named Regal, about 10 months old. She was cuddly and fun and the kids adored her. She died at only four years old, somehow paralyzed, and some of the kids never gave their heart to a dog after that.

Christmas of 2000 we adopted a two year old shepherd mutt named Sunny from a man who was getting married and his new wife didn't want the dog as part of the package. I'm glad my spouse didn't feel that way about Trouble.

Sunny was sweet and energetic and had no manners as her former owner allowed her to jump on him then he'd pick her up. We took her to visit my mom in Jackson and she climbed the 6-foot privacy fence. But she never ran away, just waited for us to return.

That next February I lost my mom unexpectedly and Sunny sensed my grief. She hung close and comforted me and has been "my" dog ever since. She has loved chasing tennis balls with Luke on our concrete backyard, and would keep going until she ran her paws raw and couldn't walk the next day. She would go on runs with Wesley even though she wore out before he did and he'd have to drag her home.

She hasn't gotten along with other dogs, but like Trouble she's been great with people. She tolerates children, including those who knocked on our door this week and asked if she could come out and play. She's convinced children who were afraid of dogs to like her and give other dogs a chance.

She's smart too. Once she got in the van that I had loaded up to take Nora to college. I looked out the kitchen window and told her to get out and get in the house, and she did. She sleeps next to my bed and waits patiently for morning. I can get up and go to the bathroom and she stays curled on her mat. But when an alarm goes off, she's up. She lays next to me at my computer and when the email program says, "good-bye," she stands up figuring we're going downstairs.

Sunny has lived a good long life, even getting to go on vacation with us to Lake Walloon a couple of years ago. Sadly she has reached a point of needing permanent rest. As any pet owner knows, it's hard to say good-bye. Thanks, Sunny, for again providing me with unconditional love with fur on.