A New Thing: The Art of Being Carried

Sunday, July 1, 6:30 AM

I wake to the sound of the pitter-patter of little feet.

I am a little confused by these footsteps, though. I am used to hearing stumbling, shuffling, running, but tip-toeing is a rare sound in my house and that's what this is. I can hear the tip-toeing going from room to room, and I am surprised that it hasn't come to my door yet. The kids usually come here first. But, I think, they'll end up here eventually.

And sure enough, I hear the tip-toeing footsteps heading down the hall to my room. I rise up from my horizontal position to greet my morning guest, and there, peering in the door at me, are the big brown eyes of Sasha, the dog. Our very assuredly outdoor dog. Evidently our door had not latched properly and Sasha, doing her doggy duty, had decided to explore.

“What are you doing in here?” I blurt. Sasha declines to answer, but suddenly realizes she is somewhere she is not supposed to be. She dutifully heads to the top of the stairs she had just climbed to investigate. However, as it is for many creatures, stairs or trees or ladders are easier to go up than come down. Sasha wants to go down, she knows she is supposed to go down, but she just cannot bring herself to do it. I go and get the bag of bacon flavored doggy treats to see if I can lure her down. She hesitantly comes a few steps down to get the treat but invariably backs up to the safety of the hallway. We try this a number of times with similar results.

Well, what to do? This dog cannot stay upstairs forever, or even, frankly, for the morning. Finally, my husband gathers the necessary resolve and picks Sasha up. It is no small feat to carry a dog down the stairs, particularly a fearful one, particularly a half-grown pup as large as Sasha, a lab/rottweiler cross. My guess is this is an experience Sasha will not be in a hurry to repeat, and she is remarkably willing to go outside where she belongs!

This morning, a particular chapter came to an end in the life of our family. It is something that is important to each member of our family. There were tears, there was sadness, there was the realization that we will no longer be able to retreat to that place of familiarity and safety, where we know and are known. There is that sense that, like Sasha, we can no longer stay in that particular space and it is a fearful thing to make that metaphorical trip down the stairs to the next place we need to be. My hope and prayer is that God will lure us to that place, wherever that may be, with treats of encouragement and possibility, and that if necessary, will pick us up and carry us there.