My schnauzer hates thunderstorms. Like many dogs, she's terrified by the wild flash of lights and the heartstopping, thunderous booms that follow. During a thunderstorm, she can be found deeply burrowed in the blankets folded at the bottom of the linen closet, shaking and terrified. It seems that there is no comfort for an animal scared of the elements. I'd decided years ago, that I'd only coax her out of her hiding place if she needed to go outside or if I was going to bed. Last night, a monsoon rolled in while we were away watching fireworks. Upon our arrival home, she greeted us happily and then retreated to her den of safekeeping to wait out the storm. A few minutes later, I called to her and she didn't come. I called again, this time a bit louder and sterner, yet she still didn't move from her nest. Realizing that she was no doubt frightened to the point that she couldn't move, I knelt down on my knees, reached inside the closet and caressed her face. As I withdrew my hand, she followed. I scooped her into my arms and jumped on the bed. When I climbed under the covers, she snuggled in close and sighed. While the storm raged outside, she couldn't be moved. She stayed firmly against my side, her head tucked under my neck and slept peacefully. Only an ear-splitting crash of thunder would stir her, but just for a moment and then she'd sigh again and close her eyes. It was only at the touch of my hand that she would leave the safety of her small hiding place. She's the only one who can hide there and if one does not look, they'll never find her. However, her master knew where she was and sought her out. Once safely in my arms, she trusted that no harm would come to her while she nestled there. She came to me six years ago, battered and broken by the hands of someone she trusted. The first time I reached out to her, she bit me. The second time I reached out, she pulled away, but then turned around and tentatively took a step towards me. The third time, she sat quietly trembling in my arms while I murmured words of love to her. She comes to me when she's happy, when she's scared (unless it's a storm) and when she's sick. The only time she doesn't come running to me is when she's caught tearing up something or getting into the trash can. It is in those moments that she runs and hides from me, determined to never be found. I'm not saying we're dogs, but I can see a correlation between a dog's behavior towards its owner and man's behavior towards God. We are often angry when God reaches out to us. We hide behind a myriad of emotions and behaviors when we've done something we know to be wrong. But when God touches us, He touches something deep inside and we instinctively, tentatively draw closer to Him. He'll always call us, always reach out to us, urging us to come and rest in His arms. And it's when we leave our hiding places and leap into the Master's arms that we find peace.

Recently, someone I love dearly approached me about the changes in my writing. They were concerned because it appears that the audience that hung on nearly every word I spoke about my husband and children clearly departed after the introduction of the bible (verses, references) into the "plots". This was not the first encounter I've had with a disappointed friend since I've begun reaching for deeper meanings and deeper understandings of my Christian walk through my writing. Apparently, the kiss off comes when I mention my love for the Jesus of the bible, with reference points and verses to back up what I say. I'm purposely omitting bible verses in this short little essay and instead, calling on the readers of this blog to reference the bible and add verses of their own to point out whether or not the bible is a neccessary tool in the spreading of God's word. I know the answer, do you?

On clear days, I often sit in my family room and gaze out the window at the Catalina Mountains that rise to the north of Tucson. Where my house located, I can stand in the front yard and see all the way to the other side of the city and beyond, if I look to the west. However, if I look north, the mountains obstruct my view and I cannot see beyond the towering peaks to the other side. I know beyond Mount Lemmon, the San Pedro River Valley lies below. But, from where I stand, I can't see it. Daily, I struggle to love teenagers that many would deem unlovable. From the girl who consistently tries to cause trouble to the boy who bouncs off the walls in the hallways, there are many kids around me displaying very unlovable traits. Sometimes, I find myself watching intently a student that irritates me as she moves through the school, disturbing and angering those with whom she comes into contact. I look for a reason to love her, to show her some kindness or even better, some mercy. I'll debate what I'll say and then look for an opportunity to compliment her. When the moment is right, I call her to me and tell her that I like her outfit or that I heard she did well on her latest Algebra test. For a moment, she's stunned. And then suddenly, her face lights up and she smiles. For the rest of the day whenever I see her, she's the model student, sharing in class and leaving the fighting words behind. To me, working with teenagers is a gift I've been given and I don't ever want to take for granted the authority that's been handed to me by virtue of my position. It's easy to look at teenagers as a whole, instead of the individuals they are. They aren't always displaying their lovable traits out there in the open for the world to see. Like the valley beyond the mountains, they're there. One just has to believe in the things they can't readily see.

I thought it would be easy enough; I was going to grudgingly roll over, get out of bed and then meander through the quiet house on my quest for caffeine. (Scratch that. I was looking for something without caffeine. Really.) Swinging my legs over the bed, I was startled when my feet landed not on the floor, but on fur. Startled awake, the boxer yawned sleepily and wagged his tail a moment before stretching and extending his claws and finishing up with a good shake before trotting out of the room on his quest for caffeine. (Ok, he was looking for water.) He left behind some joy as he left the room; he could've bitten the feet that landed on his back, but instead he kissed the toes of the owner. I sat there for a moment, perplexed at his mercy. A dog, awakened suddenly and probably a bit painfully, didn't bite its owner, he kissed the toes instead. Dogs. What do they know? Standing in front of the mirror a little while later, I noticed my husband's purposeful approach in the reflection. He strode right by me with a curt, "Good morning, sweetheart" and disappeared into the bedroom. Moments later, the door burst open and suddenly, I felt strong arms wrap around my waist and gather me into a warm hug. He left a bit of joy on his way out; looking into my eyes, he asked if I slept well. When I answered in the affirmative, he kissed my nose and then walked away. Everyday, there is evidence of joy all around us, scattered about. Whether it's in the laughter of our children, the noisy playfulness of dogs as they chase planes that pass overhead or the secure embrace of a loved one as they make time to remind you that you are loved. Joy is best left scattered all over the place for others to find and be reminded that each drop of happiness comes from our Father in heaven. Psalm 35:26-27: May those who delight in my vindication shout for joy and gladness; may they always say, "The LORD be exalted, who delights in the well-being of His servant."

I remember vividly the moment the Easy button appeared in front of me. The Big Guy was standing next to me in the checkout line admiring the array of confections displayed before him. He gingerly touched the lollipop and then let out a piercing wail,"Mamaaa, I want that! Give me that!" He was three. Suddenly appearing before me were two roads; one was wide, with mountains of candy along the shoulder, with happy children on top gorging themselves on lollipops and chocolate. Behind them were their parents, enjoying conversations with their friends and sipping fine wine. The sky was a beautiful azure blue and birds flew through the air making beautiful music. The other road was narrower with hords of crying boys and girls screaming and throwing themselves down on the pavement. Moms and Dads were forging through the crowd with their heads down, holding onto their offsping while they kicked their legs and gnashed their teeth. The sky was dark and ominous and there wasn't a critter in sight. As my child thrust himself onto the ground at my feet with a high pitched scream, I suddenly became aware of which road I was about to embark on; one fraught with temper tantrums, snotty noses, interrupted conversations and fully-loaded grocery carts left standing in the aisles. Oh, how I wanted to walk the wide road. The children were darling and the parents wore fine clothes. Here I was, disheveled and disillusioned about my role as this child's mother. I wanted my baby to be happy, quiet and just like those children on the wide road. If I would just press the Easy button and give him that lollipop, all that could be mine. As I watched my son roll around next to the register, I began contemplating my next move. Suddenly, I heard my mother's voice, "Honey, you tell that child no. No is not a bad word. And furthermore, you don't have to tell him why. Don't let the experts make you feel bad about it either." As the Easy button flashed over the wide road, I turned away from it and took the candy from my son's sweaty little palm. He began crying hysterically and started pleading with me by pulling on my pant leg. With a heavy heart, I patted his little blonde head and turned to pay for my groceries. The old woman behind me winked as I turned her way and said, "You won't regret that, dear." But, I did. My son was miserable and I was following him into his misery. However, once our faces hit the sunshine in the parking lot, my son's tears dried up and he stretched out his arms towards me. I scooped him up and when he patted his cheek for a kiss, I obliged. Once again, I saw the two roads, only now, the wide road wasn't filled with dancing children and happy parents. Instead, when the children smiled, I could see rotten teeth and menacing looks of madness about them. Their parents were no longer sipping wine, they were talking to what appeared to be teachers, principals and some were even talking to the police and their lawyers! Many had babies on their hips that weren't theirs and their own sons and daughters were standing among the ruins of the great road screaming obscenities and telling them that they were awful parents. All around them was chaos. Sons and daughters were scattered everywhere; some were going through their parents' belongings and stealing money. Others were ordering their parents to buy them video games, clothing and shoes. Mothers cried uncontrollably and fathers, if they were there, were scratching their heads and looking emasculated. It was a scene of unimagined horror. But the other road... Once dark and frightening, this narrow road gave way to a great light. Aging parents were being tended to lovingly by sons and daughters who gently brushed their hair or brought them fine gifts. Their grandchildren ran barefoot through the soft grass and would only stop their merrymaking long enough to lean up and kiss the cheek of their elders. Younger parents with teenagers were playing card games or watching their child explain a science project to college professors. Images of report cards with A's, B's and C's floated onthe wind and kids who had just finished their chores were joining the throng of grownups-to-be as they made preparations for a camping trip. Sons stopped fathers for advice and daughters shared cups of coffee with their mothers while they discussed boys. Dogs and children rolled downhill into piles of freshly raked leaves where they would dissolve into laughter. I knew then what I wanted. I wanted a respectful, well-mannered child. I wanted my son to grow up happy and healthy with a plan for his life. I wanted him to learn the meaning of patience and then to practice it. I wanted him to be the boy that would throw his arm around a buddy having a hard time and give him a shoulder to lean on. I wanted him and his brother to feel the joys of success and to feel the agony of failure. I wanted them to find their way among their peers with a firm base to come home to when those same friends ridiculed them for not following the crowd onto the wide road. Right now, we still find ourselves on a dark, ominous stretch of road leading to adulthood. No still sounds ugly to them. But the light is still there, peering through the cracks in the pavement as they savor their first straight A's and for one, his first defeat in something he thought he was good at. Oddly, they welcome the challenges that come with growing up. One sees failure as an opportunity to try something else...the other sees failure as a chance to try again. They still get angry when No is uttered, but they accept no as a part of life. They don't act as if they are owed anything, but instead act as if they owe something to the world. They have many friends walking the wide road. Sometimes, they watch as their friends get the most expensive clothes and attend co-ed sleepovers. They often want what their friends have but stop short of asking for those things because they too, are catching a glimpse of what lies at the end of the wide road. And they don't want it. For us, the trials of the teenage years will begin on Sunday as the Big Guy turns 13. He didn't ask for anything different than any other boy standing on the cusp of puberty. But when he heard us quietly discussing his party this week and my desire to get him the fancy decorated store bought cake he loves, he entered the room, plopped himself on our bed and said, "Hey, let's not do the bowling party or a round at Golf-N-Stuff. Would it be ok I just asked some of my friends over for pizza and a movie? And Mom, you don't have to order a cake, baking one is cheaper and I'll help." Because he understood what effort goes into parenting, because he understood how hard it's been to tell him no when we wanted so much to press the Easy button and tell him yes, he'll get the pizza party and the movie with his friends. And he'll get the store-bought cake. The narrow road that starts when they are toddlers looks scary to those just embarking on it. But, the treasure at the end is worth the journey. © 2005 Tara Floyd

I don't know why it's so disconcerting watching your child take the leap from adolescent to teenager. With the Big Guy rapidly approaching 13, I'm watching the physical changes take place and I am both excited and terrified at the same time. He's taller than me. Heck, he's taller than his dad. His voice is deeper and there are signs of a mustache beginning to appear on his top lip. As his chest broadens and his facial features change, I'm seeing the man begin to emerge from the body of the boy. With his newfound atmosphere opening up in front of him, he's taking great delight in reaching items on the top shelf for his now extremely short mother. It tickles him to hold my keys far above his head where I can't reach them. A potshot in the gut usually helps to lower them to my level, but I'm not always going to punch him in the belly to get my keys back. Someone might find that behavior mean. This morning, in his boyish playfulness, he picked me up. Three times. I laughed hysterically as he carried me through the family room and then spun me around. What startled me most, aside from being lifted skyward by this onetime infant child of mine, was the fact that I trusted him not to drop me. He's beginning to manuever through this world, albeit in somewhat baby steps, without me. He no longer hides behind me when I talk to strangers in the auto parts store. Instead, he stands alongside me, often draping an arm around my shoulders. He's quick to ask for directions and adds up groceries in his head before we reach the checkout lane. He's doing what his father does, I think to myself. I know I can't always protect him as I was able to when he was small and held onto my leg in unfamiliar situations, and that scares me. It must be the process of letting go that invites that fear. I know I must, but I don't want to. Just when I think he's he's spreading his wings and I step back to watch the colors of his life explode onto the canvas, he reaches out and grabs my hand and smiles. He doesn't say anything when he does this, he just holds on. Maybe picking me up and parading me through the house is his way of saying that while he's growing up, he doesn't want me to forget that he still needs me. Not the same way that he always has, just a different way. I can live with that. © 2005 Tara Floyd

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