love - This Little Light

August 31, 2021August 31, 2021

More light, less right

I listened to a great and eye opening sermon this Sunday (at home folding laundry). The basic message was that we need to remember to be a light for people – giving them inspiration and making them feel loved – instead of trying to convince them what is technically right (their doing wrong) but meanwhile hurting them. The example he gave was that age-old story of the woman being brought before Jesus to be stoned for adultery. Jesus could have just as easily let her get stoned to death and been technically right according to the old testament, but, instead, he chose grace and shined the light on her.

I know very much that I have been guilty of trying to force people into my interpretation of right – social issues, medical issues, political issues. But what I need to be doing is spreading the light of love. I have struggled so much with dealing with our current atmosphere and trying to decide when to comment on something, knowing I’m not going to change anyone’s opinion, and when to just let it go and try to be that happy person.

I have found that much of my depression and anxiety is linked to what’s going on in the world and why people are being so stubborn as well as all the negative energy and messages people are openly sharing. My friend sent me a meme that basically says that back in the day before internet and social media, we would only occasionally get hit in the face with bad news, but now that we have access to everything all the time, the amount of bad news is just overwhelming and we’re likely not made to deal with that much. I just need to let it all go. If people don’t want to listen to what the experts are saying and self medicating or denying doctor’s recommendations, then there’s no way what I say will matter. It’s like we say in the veterinary world ‘You can’t care more about your patient than they (client) do”

If people want to spew hatred toward things that are harmless but it makes them feel uncomfortable, I can’t change that. I just need to let it go. But, for sure stand up for someone if you know it’s directed to hurt that person. If I think people are sinning and going against Jesus’s teachings, I cannot change them, I cannot make them a project – that’s all for me, all selfish. But, I can show them love even through it and hope that through my love and support they will also see the light and come around to doing good.

I’m 100% guilty of posting things that are not constructive just to prove a point or make fun of someone for their science denial. But I would like to start anew and ask that you do too. Remember ALL the people who will see your message and if you can think of one person it might offend, don’t do it. Let’s also stop making fun of people for being offended and calling each other snowflakes. Literally everyone is offended by something, so making fun of others for being offended by something is only creating more hate and division in the world.

As far as being Christian goes, you may feel the need to make proclamations directly toward someone or in a general statement that individuals are “sinning”, but as Jesus said, “Let the sinless cast the first stone”. We need to show EVERYONE love (except like mass murderers of child abusers, etc) or they will see that we are Christian, only feeling the hate and rejection we are saying our God will show and that just makes them turn away from the light. You can’t save someone whom you have already rejected as wrong. We are all sinners, but God loves us all.

Sometimes I blur the line when I comment on something to give a different light or to politely correct misinformation, but it’s gotten harder and harder with people being anti-evidence based medicine. I try sometimes to stop the anger and fear before it gets out of hand. I really wish people would exercise their brakes more than their gas pedal. In other words, if you see something that seems offensive, makes you angry, get riled up, etc, STOP. Question the information, do a quick internet search for unbiased information (though I understand that is really hard), think about what is being claimed. Does that make sense? Is there an important part of the story that’s being omitted? Don’t just take the information from a meme and run with it, causing inflammatory reactions and a domino effect of false information. False information can be like juicy gossip that is fun to share and get others riled up like you, but it’s not the Christian thing to do.

One example of this out of control freaking out: My friend is running for school board and when she went out to talk to people about what they want to see, she met one person who said she heard the schools were going to be replacing Math with critical race theory. My first reaction was to laugh super hard. This information makes no sense, is completely preposterous, and perpetuates the fear and hatred that people suck up like a dry sponge. Just stop, think, criticize, ask God, then move on. If you don’t 100% know it’s true, don’t spread it. Be the light. Lead others out of the dark areas of their brain to analyze and be with God and His light.

There’s plenty of toxicity in the world without spreading lies and hurtful things that will just cause more fear and hatred. Let’s be better, let’s be the light. What ever religion or nonreligion you are, this can be achieved just by being a good and thoughtful person. Love others and forgive others like you would yourself. Give them the benefit of the doubt and if they’re no hurting anyone, let it go. Don’t be a bully. BE. THE. LIGHT.

Love you all, sorry for the rambling post. I’m just 24 hours out of anesthesia and a tad loopy. (had laparoscopic diagnostics done looking for endometriosis and all they found was endosalpingiosis – no clue what that means, but it’s nice to not be in constant pain as long as my post surgery drugs last)

February 2, 2020February 2, 2020

TT: Let me brag about my Wife

I’m going to take a moment to brag about Emily, my wife and love of my life. She is a wonderful and caring person who pours her heart into everything she does, whether it’s her family or her work. Emily loves being a veterinarian; she loves helping animals in need, and she does her absolute best with every case she takes on. There are numerous examples of Emily trying as hard possible to save a life. She has saved countless animals, both farm animals and pets, from a huge array of issues, everything from trouble birthing to trouble breathing. She brought a pig home for the weekend to make sure he got the best care possible (I will never forget Winston). We have four pets in our house right now, and three of them Emily saved from being euthanized. In this post I’m going to tell you the incredible story of how Dr. Emily saved Merlin, Penelope, and Catina.

Merlin is our three legged Saint Bernard. He will be 8 years this coming Valentines Day, and we have had him for all but three days of his life. Merlin’s first hours of life were rough ones. His mother (for an unknown reason) killed most of the puppies in Merlin’s litter. There was only one puppy that was unharmed, most of the puppies died, and Merlin had his leg severely mangled. Merlin’s original owner rushed him to the vet to try and save the leg, and, as luck would have it, that vet was Dr. Emily. Emily tried to save the leg, but the limb was too far gone. After a day it was completely clear that Merlin’s leg needed to be amputated. The owner did not think she could handle dealing with a two day old puppy that had to be bottle fed, and kept away from his mother. The owner elected to euthanize, but Emily couldn’t do it. This puppy still had a lot of life in him, he wasn’t dying, he just needed a lot of work and a lot of love. I’m sure the original owner was ecstatic when Emily offered to adopt Merlin, she didn’t want to put the pup down, she just couldn’t take care of him. The owner gave all rights to Emily, and, just like that, Emily and I had a Saint Bernard. I believe Emily preformed the amputation that day (she said it was like operating on a chicken wing) and Merlin came home at three days old.

**Merlin just a few days old**, **you can still see the sutures in his stump.**

Merlin spent the first week or so living in a box (you’ll see this is a common theme for our pets for some reason). Merlin needed to be fed every few hours, and we had to wipe his bottom with a warm clothe to stimulate him to pee and poop. He was good training for Emily and me, we got him in February of 2012 and India was born in September of the same year. As Merlin grew, he had to find a new place to sleep, the box wasn’t cutting in after a few weeks, and he eventually found the bath tub. South Carolina is hot for a Saint Bernard, but the bath tub was nice and cool, plus, we could leave the bathroom door cracked and the room would cool down even more. As Merlin grew, it became clear that he couldn’t walk normally. Unlike most three legged dogs, he had never originally learned how to walk. He wouldn’t stand on his back leg, but instead pulled himself around using a quickly developing upper body. To this day, he doesn’t have much muscle on his rear leg. Emily saw this issue, and, instead of giving up and excepting that this is how Merlin would live, took him to another veterinarian who was a chiropractor and rehabilitation specialist who adjusted him and rented us a cart that supported his hind end with wheels. He hated that cart, but Emily worked tirelessly with Merlin, getting him to put more and more weight on his back leg, and learning how to walk. It took a solid year, but Merlin learned to walk, he can get up on all three legs and get around pretty well (he actually runs after the deer for short bursts). Most people that meet him, don’t realize he’s three legged.

At first, Merlin wasn’t given a chance at life, but now, because of Emily and her great heart, he has lived way past what anyone expected (Emily’s first boss told her Merlin wouldn’t make it to 3 years old). Merlin is about to turn eight, and he’s slowed down but he hasn’t shown any sign of stopping. Emily loves Merlin, and Merlin loves her right back (it’s obvious that Merlin cares for Emily way more than he does for me).

Penelope is the second of our three pets that owes her life to Emily. Penelope came into Pol Vet as an emergency. A good Samaritan, brought her after finding her in the ditch on cold Michigan morning. Emily was the Doctor available and rushed to see the kitten. Penelope’s body temperature was dangerously low and she was already on the way out. The good Samaritan gave up any claim on the kitten and left. Emily could have put the kitten down, and no one would have faulted her, but that’s just not Emily. Emily has a big heart and a great love, and she saved that kitten. It was very intensive and all the staff at the clinic did all they could for the kitten. Warming blankets were put all around her, a heating pad was next to her, anything to get her temperature up. At one point while trying to warm Penelope back to a good body temperature, her heart actually stopped. That kitten died for a few minutes. Emily, through drugs and chest compressions, brought Penelope back from the dead. Penelope came home with Emily that night for close monitoring. I called the kids over to see the kitten, and that’s all it took. Emily blames me for us adopting Penelope. She says that I showed the kids a kitten and you can’t take a kitten away after the kids see it, but I know Emily really just loved Penelope and she was looking for any excuse to adopt her.

Penelope, of course, survived her brush with death and hypothermia, she is, however, an odd cat. She’s not one for petting, she’ll playfully (and sometimes not quite so playfully) attack the hand that dares pet her. One of Penelope’s favorite games is to attack the feet of anyone that walks around the corner she is lurking behind. Penelope will, from time to time, get on the back of the couch and start licking any head she can reach. Social grooming is good, right? Penelope has worked her way into all of our hearts, and she is with us today, because Emily is so loving and caring that she couldn’t take the simple way out, but, instead, worked tirelessly to save Penelope’s life.

The third pet that Emily saved and gave a home to is our loving cat Catina. India named her Catina after a song she learned in kindergarten, “C” is for Catina Cat. Much like Penelope, a good Samaritan found a sickly kitten and brought her to Pol Vet. The good Samaritan didn’t want to keep the sick kitten but she couldn’t just let it suffer. Catina came into the clinic with a horrible upper respiratory infection. Her eyes had ulcerated and were crusted shut. Catina couldn’t have been more than six weeks old, and, for her eyes to be that bad, she must have suffered with that infection for most of her life. Catina stayed at the clinic for couple of weeks. Emily was treating her eyes, giving her antibiotics for the infection, and pain medication. Catina was terrified by everything. She hated the treatment, she hated us, and she was miserable. We kept her at the clinic because that is what she knew, and she seemed somewhat comfortable in her kennel, surrounded by her blankets. Emily would take her out and handle/play with her every chance she could. It was very important to give her positive attention to try and get her to trust us, and Catina slowly learned to trust Emily.

Unfortunately, Catina’s eyes never improved, and they had to be removed. The enucleation went well, Emily performed it of course, but Catina’s trust in us took a hit. After the surgery, Emily took Catina home, and Catina lived in a shallow walled box in our closet. While we were home, Emily would disappear from time to time, and I would find her in our room sitting by the closet door talking to Catina. It took weeks of talking to Catina and lots of bloody scratches and bites before the kitten would even let Emily touch her. Slowly, and through Emily’s great and loving effort, Catina began to trust Emily and then the rest of the family. Emily was the bridge that brought Catina into a life of love and happiness. For the first months of her life Catina had only known pain, but Emily gave her love.

Catina now rules the upstairs part of our house. This blind cat runs around the entire upstairs chasing toys and playing with the kids. We find her jumping on the beds and exploring all sorts of nooks and crannies. Catina is starting to brave the stairs (she’s come down about half way) and, when she does finally come all the way down, Catina and Merlin will properly meet for the first time. Because of his leg, Merlin can’t climb the stairs, and we kept Catina away from the dog to limit her stress when we brought her home. Catina is now this fearless cat that is confident and brave enough to explore and run around the house even though she is blind. And she can do all of this because Emily gave her that confidence and trust to do so.

January 16, 2020January 20, 2020

By request: Our wedding!

I got a request from a reader to write about my marriage to Tony. If anyone else has any suggestions let me know.

Tony and I dated for 4 years before we got engaged. Our relationship up to that point certainly was not perfect. We had already broken up twice. Each time was a dreadfully, emotionally taxing, tear-filled hour to hour and a half until we got back together. Both times for silly reasons because I have a trait that is purely unique compared to other women where I read too far into things and create problems where there were not any. *wink*

I suspected the “question” would be coming up shortly when I discovered some of my rings missing from my jewelry box and knew Tony had taken them for sizes to get just the right ring. I was excited and didn’t say anything to him because, even though I knew it was coming, I wanted to feel surprised. Tony has never been good at taking initiative on gifts and surprises, so I was very excited to see what he had planned for this memorable moment in our lives.

Finally, the fairy tale moment arrived. I came home one evening after classes and work to a house (trailer) filled with lit candles. It was beautiful and I was touched. Then, I saw Tony, standing over by the dining table waiting for me with dinner all set out and ready. He said he made me dinner and then we sat. Then we started to eat. Then he started some small talk. We continued to eat. It got a little awkward, surrounded by candles, huge sweeping romantic moment it was supposed to be and we just chewed chicken in silence with a few awkward words in between. Then, like infinity and 20 minutes later, he shuffled off his chair and got down on one knee and sputtered out some loving, adorable words, and finally, placed the ring on my finger. The ring he had been so careful preparing for and sizing and researching. He had swiped three of my size 7 rings, taken them with him in shopping, picked out a ring, then carefully placed the beautiful size 4.25 on my finger. It didn’t go past the first knuckle.

Let’s skip ahead 1.5 yrs when we finally got married. It was the summer after my first year in vet school. Tony was working as an OR nurse at UGA vet school in Athens and we were planning to get married at my dad’s house – the one I grew up in. We were trying to keep costs down in any way possible. The most money I spent on individual things was my dress – bought on clearance for <$500 – and the tent. We had the most amazing friends and family who contributed to the affair. My uncle (the absolute best cook of meats on the grill) cooked barbecued chicken and pulled pork. My cousin’s wife is a pastry chef and made my cakes. (Good cakes too – not covered in fondant – red velvet, chocolate with peanut butter icing, strawberry, and something else that was amazing I just can’t remember.) A friend of Tony’s family volunteered to be the photographer to build her portfolio. Tony’s youth minister was the preacher marrying us. Tony’s mom, a hair stylist, did all the wedding party’s hair. My cousin played the guitar for the ceremony on a rocking chair on the front porch of the house – he played “Time in a Bottle” when I walked down the aisle.

**Kim – master baker**, **but helping with veil. Fabric like $13 at a craft store. Ring of flowers picked and braided that day by me.**

**Tony’s mom (in the middle) – master hair dresser**. **My mom on the left sewing my veil**

We used my MP3 player just plugged into the sound system that came with the tent for music during the reception, we went out and bought all the decorations including mostly fake flowers and peacock feathers, but we also went to the flower shop the morning of the wedding (which was also the day before Mother’s day) and bought up all of their flowers that were white or purple and made due. We borrowed tables and chairs from the church the youth pastor was from.

The ceremony started. It was a balmy evening with a romantic haze (okay, it was smoke from the Florida fires.) My cousin beautifully played acoustic guitar. The wedding party came down the aisle. Then the ring bearer (my niece from my sister); then the flower girl (my niece from my brother) who made about 3 circles around a tree before she was finally ushered onto the aisle. Then I came down and the preacher started talking. We had written our own vows and it was all going beautifully when the deep guttural sound of a choking dog pierced the serenity. People tried to ignore it, but there was my beloved childhood dog, Maybelle a lab/pointer thing (nowadays maybe called labrointer or a pointador, but back then, just a mutt) chewing on a deer leg – she was fine, but my mother was mortified.

**Tony with ring bearer and me with flower girl**

The preacher finally announced that we were married and told us we could kiss when I was attacked. Like it was going to fall off, Tony grabbed my head in both hands and kissed me so suddenly I was more stunned and embarrassed than flattered. (I’ve never been much for PDA anyway). I even tried to push him away a little. After that, we announced the reception would be in the back yard and would everyone please grab the chair they are sitting on and carry it to the reception – again, my mother was mortified.

**Notice the fist in his abdomen – preacher thought it was funny**

The reception was laid back and fun, we ate rich southern dishes such as barbecue, macaroni and cheese, lemonade, sweet tea, and red velvet cake. Our first dance song was “Dance, Dance, Dance” by the Steve Miller band. We had a dry reception on the surface for the benefit of my grandmother who was stringently against drinking alcohol, but we had a keg stored behind a flap of the tent. Unfortunately, the word didn’t get out that there was alcohol because of the fear that my grandmother would find out, so only a few people partook. By the end of the night, Tony and I left for our hotel where we were staying before we left for Greece the next morning. My dad’s side of the family, though, probably the only ones aware of the remaining keg, stayed. My siblings and cousins all stayed up past midnight drinking and jamming out to the music on one of their car stereos, which then died and had to be jumped off. Somebody passed out in the grass and got eaten up by fire ants. Somewhere around that time my dad awoke to them blasting and yelling out the lines to “Say It Ain’t So” by Weezer which he thought was appropriate for the situation.

Our trip to Greece was another fun adventure. Maybe another blog.

January 14, 2020January 20, 2020

I appreciate it, but you’re wrong about me

Warning: stream of conscience type writing to follow so if you’re not a fan of James Joyce – whom I was forced to read in high school as a “classic” and thought he was a little overrated. I mean, I feel like literary critics/buffs sit down to read these things, see that the grammar is not atrocious, but fall asleep in the middle of it, snort awake and shout “Classic!” so as not to lose face in front of their peers. Where was I going with this? oh, yeah – then you probably won’t like this post. Also; religion; racism; and homophobia.

One time, when I was on a farm call for a cow, I don’t even remember what for, but I remember at the end of it, the farmer was so impressed with my demeanor he said “You must have been raised in a church. I can tell” I was certainly flattered, I understood what he was trying to say, but he was wrong.

I was raised in the deep south where EVERYONE had a church, normally southern Baptist, but some heathens (according to the Baptists) that were Methodist. I was raised without God. My parents were considered “hippy parents” where hippy was a derogatory word in the south. I didn’t mind. Although everyone who has ever called me or my upbringing “hippy” have never been able to consistently tell me what that means, I still ask anyone who says it. I took it as a compliment because if being “hippy” means caring for EVERYONE, loving and respecting everyone no matter who they are or what they believe (kind of like Jesus), then I was okay with that. No. I was proud of that.

My only experiences with church when I was growing up was to go when we visited grandma and occasionally if I had a sleep over with a friend who went to church. Both sets of my grandparents lived in Abbeville, GA. Wilcox county. My parents were next door neighbors when they met. Just to give you a feel of this place, they made national news when they had their FIRST racially integrated prom in April of 2013 (NOT 100 years ago, 7, less than S.E.V.E.N. years). My father has an experience when he was a child where he was going to church and a small group of young black men came up to the church steps and were stopped. They asked, very peacefully, if they could come in and worship, but the deacons all lined up to block their way and they were turned away.

When my sister became pregnant with a black man’s child, she received a letter from my very dear grandmother. A woman who had dedicated her life to worshipping Jesus; had never missed a day of church unless tragedy struck; volunteered for any and all events to help others; spent her last years when she could no longer walk knitting hundreds of sweaters for children in need; had even been one of the first teachers to volunteer to teach at the first integrated school when my mother was a child. A woman, who sent my young, scared-senseless sister a letter stating how disappointed she was in her and how much shame and teasing my sister would bring her family, but what was worse than anything to her was how my grandmother’s church would never be able to accept the child.

Then, of course, there were the friends I had who were avid church goers but would state things like “but if I ever brought a black man home, my father would kill me!” or “they need to stop blaming the system and just go out and get a job” then turn around and ask the receptionist if the person calling asking about a job “sounded black” because he “didn’t care, but some of the clientele might” and yet somehow, these people still claim not only to be not racist, but also followers of Jesus (not white). I won’t even get started on the unmentionables such as homosexuality – I mean we all know that’s why God is destroying the earth through global warming – which is also a hoax. *insert sarcasm* – my sister (you know, the one that shamed our family with her mixed race child – the child who, by the way, is now 20 and excelling in a pre-med degree at CSU) is a meteorologist (not on TV) and dedicates her life to studying weather patterns.

So, you can see why, as a young person, church was not attractive to me. I was raised by parents to love everyone and treat everyone with respect and people who I would think should be the epitome of love and acceptance were some of the worst. I started attending a church when I started dating Tony as his family were avid goers. I was attending a Sunday school session with one of the deacons when there was a small argument/discussion about how Jesus would only accept those pure of heart and how homosexuals were evil (or whatever) and I finally spoke up and said “Jesus said to love everyone, Jesus IS love, we should love everyone as we love Jesus” and the older, very bald man wearing thick black rimmed glasses (think Judge Doom from Roger Rabbit ’88) stared down at me – a teenage girl daring to speak to a grown man – with a half smirk and said “I’m not talking about that HIPPY love!” and went on with his speech.

I eventually moved to Michigan and had children that I thought might benefit from some socialization. We picked a church rumored to have a fantastic youth/childcare program and started attending. I went there with a chip on my shoulder and lots of grains of salt, prepared to put up my mental dukes and a wall around me. It wasn’t as I expected. The message was about love and acceptance and I began to soften. We joined a small group trying to get more involved and to further socialize our young children as Tony was a stay-at-home dad back then. It was there that I was introduced to the most lovely group of people I have ever met associated with a church. They taught me so much, including how every sin is equal in God’s eyes, but that He loved us so much that all those are forgiven. So, let’s say for a moment that homosexuality is a sin – so is going out in public while I’m on my period or wearing clothes of two different materials or eating shellfish. We’re all sinners, so we should stop telling each other that; just let it go and love and support each other.

These people because some of our best friends and their kids became by kids’ best friends. It was so refreshing to attend a church and socialize with people where it was all about love and acceptance. I slowly started coming out of my shell. I had always been afraid for people to know I was Christian because I knew how I felt about Christians or ones proclaiming to be in what I had seen. I knew that if someone came up to me and asked me to talk with them about Jesus, I would have immediately written them off and gone about my day. I’ve been in several groups of Christians that admit to not having any non-Christian friends because they feel like it will soil them or their children.

I would say that most of my friends are NOT Christian and I love that. I don’t take every opportunity we have together to bring it up, not even close. Some of my friends may not even know how passionately I seek answers. I tend to be drawn to the emotional train wrecks the most. Some of them seem to turn around and have ended up happy. Most of them stay about where they are, some of them (okay – one of them) completely blocked me out of his life. I guess I’ll just keep trudging along like Forrest Gump running across the country; happy for companions, sad for the ones I’ve lost, but not dragging anyone along.

So, against my better judgement, but keeping in tune with my “what comes up comes out” description someone once gave me, I responded to that farmer who made a statement about my upbringing with “No, actually, I wasn’t. I was just raised by parents to be a decent human being and to love everyone no matter what.” He acted a bit put off, but then brushed it off and thanked me for helping him.

Now, for some pictures of God’s creations