Lucy in better days
Spent some time yesterday with some of my favorite young people - Kira Stoy, Sydney Hoskinson, and Ian Anderson. Bunny had the girls in our Honda so Mr. Ian and I headed out in my car. Ian and I have a lot in common.
- We both ate Lucky Charms for breakfast yesterday
- We both wonder about things like physics and natural laws that other people don't
- We both love science fiction
- We both get our geek on, obviously
Yesterday though we had lots of fun looking at the high tech tools in Home Depot and Office Depot, and though we shared a love of pizza at Cici's (he ate at least 9 pieces, I ate 4), we also talked about something we share that neither of us ever wanted.
You see Ian's friend Lucy the dog is dying from a brain tumor.
I know how that feels.
Our friend Henley the Great Dane had bone cancer with no hope of a cure, and the weeks between knowing something was wrong and the understanding that it was cancer were awful. We couldn't look at him without crying. We kept praying it would go away, but it didn't.
It wasn't our first experience with the death of a furry friend though.
For Ian, Lucy was his first encounter with the incredible, lavish generosity of a dog's love. She converted a cat-loving boy to someone who would come into my office and talk about what Lucy did yesterday, or tell me about the photos on his phone. She came into the family unexpectedly - rescued while they were on vacation in Alabama - and was adopted into their hearts and lives. Joy with fur. But now came sorrow, deep.
So when he talked about it yesterday, eyes clouding up as he did, I was listening and praying for God to pour every ounce of grace and mercy into my friend's heart. "Bear each other's burdens..." is commanded in Scripture, but I knew that the best I could do is pray for God to touch the heart of my young friend, and help him begin to work it out.
Pray for the Anderson family. Pray for Ian. Pray for Lucy.
And thank God for dogs - for the ONLY thing worse than saying goodbye to one is never having been loved by one at all. Even in death, they teach us how to live.