Peeing in the Rain

At 2:19am I heard one of my dogs whine. Normally this sound would send me into an instant grumpy funk. "Why didn't you go outside before bed, you stupid dog? Why did you drink all of that water right before I put you in your crate for the night?"

I would mutter at them with lowered brows as I shuffled through my house in the dark. Shivering and huddled by the back door, I would watch for the errant, stupid dogs to run around the back of the house, do their business, then get back inside, so I could return to my warm bed.

Today was different.

When I heard a dog whine at 2:19 am today, my heart was glad. Why? Because it was raining outside.

My dogs were both adopted strays. One of the biggest challenges we faced in welcoming them into our family was training them to go potty outside. In the beginning they had absolutely no grasp of this concept. They ruined all of my carpets, and I despaired. Every day brought multiple new accidents, and my husband and I struggled to teach our two adult mutts that it isn't okay to pee in the house.

Our black miniature pincher mix, Olive, caught on first. She was eager to please and sensitive to scolding, so it wasn't too hard to teach her that she shouldn't go potty in the house. Putting the dogs in a crate at night prevented most of the problem, because they wouldn't pee in their own bed. They learned that it was possible to wait until we let them out. Crate training finished off Olive's education, and she rarely had accidents in the house anymore.

Ziggy was much more difficult. His laid-back personality made scolding roll off of him like water off of a duck. He was indifferent to treats and praise, and he would stand at the back door and look up at us from outside the glass with a questioning gaze.

"Why did you make me come out here? I won't have to pee for another 10 minutes, and it's much nicer inside. Let me back in, please." Again, I despaired.

We discovered by accident that Ziggy will always go pee outside if you put him on a leash and take him for a walk. He gets so excited about the new smells and bushes that he does his business naturally. We began taking him for short walks to go potty, praising him every time he anointed a bush or telephone pole, and he slowly started to make the connection. Soon he would let us know that he had to go potty and wanted to go outside. Progress.

Unless it was raining.

If it was raining, Ziggy refused to leave the door. He would ask to go out, realize it was raining, then turn right back around and scratch to come back inside. Being rained on made him so miserable that he refused to walk out into the yard, smell anything, or do his business.

I grabbed an umbrella, put his leash on, and took him down the block. Sure enough, he found a telephone pole and peed. Success, but imperfect. I wanted him to figure out that he could walk out the door into our yard, find a place, and pee, even if it was raining.

The next time it rained, I stood outside the door with him. "You can do it!" I cried. "See? It's raining on me, too. We're fine. Just go pee!" His pitiful face looked up into mine as he scratched on the door.

"Please, Mom. This is awful. Can we please just go back inside?"

"No! You can do it! Let's go find a bush."

I picked him up and carried him into the yard, set him down, and it worked! He smelled the bush and obediently lifted his leg. "Good boy! Let's go in!" We ran through the rain together, triumphant.

This became our routine every time it rained. Pleading, scratching at the door, he would wallow in misery until I picked him up and carried him to a place where he felt comfortable enough to achieve success. We would face the rain together. When he overcame his misery, I would cheer for him, rub his smelly wet-dog ears, and tell him what a good boy he was.

Finally, after many trips back and forth to the door to beg to come in out of the rain, Ziggy ran into the yard by himself. I followed him and peeked around the corner of the house, and sure enough, he was doing his business. "Good boy!" I cried. "Such a good, good boy!" He met my eyes, and I was so joyful and proud in that moment. Finally he had overcome his hatred of the rain and learned to go potty outside by himself.

So when the dogs whined and woke me up to go out this morning, I was joyful. This moment was the fruit of patience, frustration, persistence, and love. It was success after despair. As I shivered and watched my dogs peeing in the rain, I was overwhelmed with pride. When they were done and came back inside, I wiped their muddy feet, gave them treats, and put them back to bed.

"Good dogs! Good, good dogs."

Morning prayer after a night of dreams

God who made me,
Who placed in me this mind and heart, Purify and refine me.
Fill me with love, courage, and kindness. Be my all.
Still my grasping hands.
Quiet my clamoring brain.
May I rest in your provision.
May I delight in your many gifts.
May my life reflect beauty and serenity. May my actions mirror your heart.
Teach me to love as you love.
Heal my brokenness.
Help me to stand upright, unashamed. Thank you for my life.
I love you.
<3

Parenting: a reflection of the Father's heart

Parenting is one of the things that really makes me understand the heart of God.

Our Father creates us and loves us from the moment of our conception. We are born into a world of choices. He provides us with everything we need to succeed, but he also gives us free will. He watches, loving us with Father-love, as we live our own lives.

Does his heart leap with joy like mine does when my daughter wraps her arms around me and says, "I love you, Mama,"?

Does his pulse race; does he break into sweat when He watches me fall, knowing how much I might be hurt?

Is it as hard for him as it is for me to watch his child willfully disobey the rules meant to keep her safe?

Does his heart break when I cry?

Is holding me one of the greatest feelings he has ever experienced?

I think God allows us to be parents so we can know, from first hand experience, what it means to deeply love and nurture a free-will person the way he does each of us. Our pain and joy as parents directly reflect the heart of our Father. What a beautiful, difficult, overwhelming gift it is to be a parent!

Depression

Depression
By: Joy Ortiz

I have a disease which has roots in my brain.
It strangles my heart and my mind.
When I attempt it, I still can't explain.
The answers are too hard to find.

My spirit is sagging; my body is weak.
I'm fatigued; I'm bedraggled and low.
I sound like I'm stupid whenever I speak.
I'm feeble and random and slow.

At work all day long I shed tears at my desk.
Dark thoughts just won't leave me alone.
I finally get them all under control,
But then it is time to go home.

I pick up my daughter and drive to our house.
She brings me a measure of joy.
I long to feel better and ride this mess out.
I feel guilty, frustrated, annoyed.

My husband comes home like he does every day.
He kisses our daughter and me.
He helps with the dishes, then takes her to play
While I fix us something to eat.

He tells me about some new watch that he wants.
I try to pretend like I care.
I know he deserves my attention and love,
But sadly it just isn't there.

I go through the motions and stick to the script
Of a story without any pain,
Hanging onto the hope that someday I'll be free
From this illness with roots in my brain.

Merry Christmas!

Christmas morning has come quietly in our house. I am the first one awake, and not a creature is stirring; not even our cats. Even though I could be sleeping in, my internal alarm clock pairs with the digital one on my dresser to bring me awake. How often do I get to experience the cozy silence of our sleeping house? I relish it.
Our Christmas celebrations have been spread out over the span of three days this year. Like a bar crawl is our journey from house to house as we drink deeply of family, food, gifts, and togetherness. I am mindful of the gifts of joy and peace as I revel in our holiday celebrations. Fresh in my memory are days when I could not enjoy anything because of the weight of the depression that lay over me. As I celebrate Christmas this year, fresh belief in God and his goodness fill me with more joy and gratitude for the gift of Jesus than I have ever felt in my life. With the gift of his son, God gave me a path to freedom from the fear and depression that threatened to end my life.
I have known about baby Jesus my whole life. Beneath the presents, Santa, vacation from school, parties, and food, he was there. Phrases like, "Jesus is the reason for the season," have been burned into my perception of the holiday since I was born. I don't believe it ever really hit home for me until this year, though. I don't know if anyone who has not been rescued from darkness can see baby Jesus with the same eyes I now have. His birth marks the beginning of my salvation. The life of the baby born on the first Christmas has become my guide for how I treat people, how I perceive the world, and how I view myself. God's love for humanity became flesh when he sent that baby to us. I reap the fruit of that gift on a daily basis, and it is sweet and life-giving. My Christmas is beautiful because of the Christ, and my gifts are lovely because of the great gift God gave to me when he sent his son to save my life. Life is good, and it is a very merry Christmas indeed.
I wish everyone could experience the joy I have found. There is so much pain in the world. There are so many people who cannot enjoy Christmas because it has become a big ball of stress, disappointment, and obligation. So many people still live beneath the weight of depression and fear. My heart aches for them, because I have been there, and it is terrible. How grateful am I that a path to freedom was born for us. I pray that others will find it as I have and experience the new life that is waiting there. God is good, Christmas is merry, and life is waiting. As I leave the peace and quiet of my bed to begin this day, my heart is already full. Merry Christmas!

1 Month, 6 Days: Face to Face

Sitting in my green, tufted armchair in a silent house is a rare treat for a Thursday early-afternoon. I am normally working at the dental lab this time of day, frantically trying to finish up the work for the Friday morning route. I'd much rather be here than there, and I am grateful for this rare moment when I can truly relax and bask in the peace of my home.

I took the day off work to spend some quality time with my mother-in-law, who has been visiting us from Mexico. Being around her is always enjoyable. She is a wonderful listener, filled with quiet wisdom, thought-provoking questions, and a deep love for God and people.

We spent the morning talking while we swung on the porch swing in my yard. Watching my daughter Zadie play, we talked about family and life, church and faith, Mexico and Ottawa. I learned more about Brandon and his family history. I listened to Teresa's heart for her church and community in Mexico. Beneath the shade of the mystery tree growing in the middle of my yard, conversation soaked into me like rain on parched earth.

When I work at the dental lab, I spend most of the day in my own company. I usually wear headphones and listen to music or audiobooks during the 8+ hours of my shift. Sometimes I can spend most of my waking hours in a day or week in relative solitude, since by the time I get done with work each day, I am usually too tired and drained to make much of a social effort.

Today reminded me that there is beauty in simple conversation. Two people, face to face, with genuine interest in each other's lives, feed and rejuvenate each other as they invest their time in conversation. When we break from our daily ruts of superficial encounters and electronic relationships, we find quiet peace in the simplicity of time spent face to face.

Today I am grateful for my mother-in-law and the beauty of this fall day. God is good, and so is life. :0)

One Month Old

Hello, friends. I have been receiving weekly e-mail devotionals from one of my dear friends who is walking her own path to freedom from depression and despair. This blog update is an almost word-for-word copy if the e-mail I sent her on the one month anniversary of my salvation.

It helps to be reminded of the truth of God, especially when I feel weak. It is easy for me to remember those things when everything is going well, but when I am falling apart and afraid, I need them the most. It has been a month today since I was born again, and I am happy that I made that decision. I have experienced joy and freedom in the past month that surpasses anything I have known in years. However, the past few days have been hard. My old fear, especially fear about being married, has resurfaced and tested my faith. Last night I felt crazy and trapped, and I struggled with suicidal thoughts again. This makes me so sad because I thought i was free of that fear and despair. I thought I would never want to die again when I have God to live for. But sometimes the fear and anxiety still feels so heavy that it makes me think that I am just fooling myself in believing that God can free me.

When I am in the middle of it, it seems nearly impossible to go on. I feel like I am hanging on by my fingernails. I think the scariest part is feeling like I have lost control of my own mind, and I cannot trust myself not to do something stupid and dangerous. Can I trust God to keep me from going to a place I cannot come back from? Will he save me every time, or will one time be too much, and I will not be strong enough to do what must be done? This terrifies me. Is he strong enough to reach into my life and preserve it when my mind is that weak? Is he bigger than my fears? Is he stronger than my panic? Is his love great enough to cover my deficiency and pour love through me when I have none to give? Will he really save me every time?

I know that I am not strong enough to save myself. All I have left in life is to trust that God will indeed do what he has promised. No matter how hard I try, I am me, and I cannot lift myself out of this mire with my own hands. So I will trust. I will pray, and praise, and cry out. I will choose to stand firm when I want to run. When I cannot stand anymore, I will be on my knees, praying for help. When I cannot kneel, I will fall on my face and cry out. If he does not deliver me, then I will just lay there until he decides to, even if it means that is where I die. What else is there for me to do but trust? I cannot save myself.

I would greatly appreciate your prayers. I know that you fight your own battles with depression and anxiety, so you understand how hard it is to keep fighting sometimes. Please walk with me through this. I believe God has given you to me for my friends because you understand, and I can be completely honest, knowing you will not judge me. I want to live, and I want to be free. I choose to trust God and believe that he is strong enough to save me, even in my darkest hour.

Thank you for loving me and investing in my life. I value your friendship more than I can express. <3>

It is difficult to share the depth of my struggle in such a public medium. However, I believe that God is leading me on a journey of healing and transformation. I believe that he is using my brokenness to create beauty. I want to share what he is doing in me, even though some of it is messy, ugly, and embarrassing. My words and my life are his to use, and even though it is hard for me to let you see me so broken and vulnerable, I know God is using my journey for his glory. I want to be real with you. I want you to see what he is making me. I am one month old and growing.