Raincoats on Dogs

Growing up in rural Georgia in the 1960s, folks were too poor for a lot of things. I daresay that if any of us had seen a raincoat on a dog—we would have laughed. Where we lived, people could not afford raincoats even for themselves.

Many pet owners never took their animals to the vet. They couldn’t afford that either. Our 4-H Club sponsored a rabies clinic once a year so folks could get their animals vaccinated. For a lot of dogs it was the only time in their lives that they saw a vet.

It probably stems from the “Lassie” TV series we watched as kids, but I have a lifelong love for collies. As a child, the closest I ever came to owning a collie was a neighbor’s black and white border collie that kept following me home until the owners finally let me keep it.

Then there was Prince, a part-collie stray dog that showed up at our house and stayed. He saved my life when the Hester’s horned cow cornered me against the side of the barn and charged. Prince leaped between us with ferocious growls and frenzied barking and bit the cow on her nose.

Along with “Kicker,” the killer cow, the Hesters were given a gorgeous tri-colored collie. I was jealous. I had wanted a collie dog like “Big Boy” for as long as I could remember. Somehow, Big Boy got hit by a car. He survived, but with a limping gait and an ugly cut across the end of his nose. Big Boy wasn’t my dog, but I loved him. He was a collie. I knew he needed veterinary attention, but the Hesters didn’t have money for that. In fact, in all the years I knew them none of the Hesters went to a doctor either. Their solution for injured animals was to spit tobacco juice on the wound or cover it with purple horse liniment. I begged my parents to let me take Big Boy to the vet since the Hesters couldn’t afford it. But my parents couldn’t afford it either.

People wearing ruined blue jeans that they purchased that way new confounds me. In my 1960s rural Georgia, we wore jeans like that because we couldn’t afford anything else. We wore our clothes until the holes would no longer hold a patch. I often went to school wearing tennis shoes that were held together with the thick rubber bands off the Sunday newspaper. It wasn’t “cool” or fashionable to wear jeans with holes in them—we were embarrassed—but we wore them anyway because it was all we could afford.

How times change. Nowadays, folks choose to wear ruined clothes—and pay big bucks for them—and dogs wear raincoats.

It is comforting to know that not everything changes. “For I am the LORD, I do not change.” Malachi 3:6.

Amazon.com: Stephanie Parker McKean: books, biography, latest update

The Right to Be Wrong

My grandmother didn’t believe in the moon landing. As far as I know, she believed that entire historic event was staged all the way up to her death. Her non-belief in the moon landing didn’t hurt anyone else. It was unimportant. Yet, our family ridiculed her for it.

My younger brothers weren’t involved in the ridicule, but the older children in our family were…because my atheist father set the example. That was unforgiveable. She was his mother.

For some reason—probably to earn the accolades of a father who didn’t respect anyone because he thought he was a god and could make the rules—we laughed at Grandmother’s foible. The great tragedy of this was that while Grandmother’s wrong belief didn’t hurt anyone else or any of us, my father’s ridicule of his own mother set a terrible and soul-damaging example. And it demanded that we make an impossible choice that no child should ever be forced to make; to earn my father’s affection, or choose the unconditional love of a grandmother who poured out her life for us—cooking for us, making our favorite desserts, taking care of us when our parents were gone.

My grandmother taught me to make her chicken gravy, much to the enjoyment of those I have fed over the years. And as-light-as-air yeast rolls. And from-scratch hot chocolate that my sisters still beg me to make all these years later.

My grandmother had very little money of her own, but she spent what little she had to pick out unique and perfect presents for us on Christmas and our birthdays. As a young teen nearly immobilized by the agony of having thick dark hair covering my legs and my mother’s refusal to allow me to shave—Grandmother understood my anguish in spite of our age and generational differences. She bought me the most lovely and perfect birthday gift that anyone has ever given me…an electric razor. I have never forgotten the love and thoughtfulness behind her gift—and to this day, nothing else has surpassed it. Not because of the expense…but because she understood.

In a perfect world, I could say, “Well, others might have ridiculed my grandmother for her beliefs, but I didn’t. Unfortunately, this is not a perfect world and I was not a perfect child. Instead of listening to my grandmother talk about God and Jesus—I strived to win my father’s approval by espousing my father’s atheism and his abuse and derision of my faith-filled grandmother.

Jesus has forgiven me for my blighted past, but He can’t take away the regret and shame I feel when I remember mocking Grandmother for not believing in the moon landing. Her non-belief in that event never hurt anyone. The ugly example my father set poisoned an entire family.

Guard your words. God gave all of us the gift of choice. Give others the right to their choices even when you think they are wrong. Gift others with the right to be wrong.

Jesus said, “I have given you an example that you should do as I have done to you.” John 13:15. Jesus built people up. He never destroyed them with His actions or words.

Amazon.com: Stephanie Parker McKean: books, biography, latest update

P Choices: People or Phones

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It’s been wonderful beyond description spending time with people—meaning my family members in Tampa, Florida. This side of heaven, I can’t imagine anything sweeter—and now we are on our way to Laredo, Texas, to visit the rest of the family.

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Therefore, it wounded me watching a family at the table next to us at a local restaurant. Three adults sat on one side of the table playing with their phones. A toddler sat on the other side of the table—screaming. The child was crying so hard that her face was pinched, her cheeks wore white patches, and she was shaking. Not a single one of the adult women even glanced up from their phone screens.

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The child screamed so loudly that two elderly ladies in a booth across from the table motioned the waitress over and demanded to be moved somewhere else. And, still, the three adult women sat zoned out in front of phone screens.

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Psalm 127:3 says that children are a heritage of the Lord. Psalm 107: 41 says, “God sets the poor on high, far from affliction, and makes their families like a flock.” Those folks at the restaurant chose phone over people—over their own children and family. Tragic. Unbelievably tragic. Family is our only gift in this life that follows us into eternity.

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