My heart is so troubled, I can barely breathe.  It is troubled for me, for I am selfish.  But it is troubled for others, for I cannot understand why we do not love each other as we ought.

I sat on the floor of the vet's office and cried for two and a half hours.  She spent the first part of the visit processing with me the things we need to consider about my beloved buttercup.  This week, I have missed at least four doses, more I suspect but do not wish to know.  He has had greater pain and I have been bowed beneath the weight of what poor care I have given him.  I have missed my medication and his to the detriment of both of us.

She is of the mind that giving medication to animals is not an inherently bad thing, so my keeping him with me through the use of medication is not wrong as long as quality of life is foremost.  She worked to help me understand that missing his medication is not evil on my part, not done maliciously, and that as long as I can give him medication most days then I would be doing well.

She is also of the mind that today was not the day, that he has such a good life with me and is happy and I am happy with him.

We talked some about the cost, compartmentalizing that the money is going to her, because I am truly conflicted about how much money I am spending on him.  She very bluntly pointed out that I am spending it on me, not him.  Am I not worth that? she asked.  She said that it is clear how much I need him right now and that I was not pouring money down a black hole and torturing him.  Without his medication, she would not cotton him remaining alive.  With it, she is completely peaceful about his coming home with me today.

But...

But it will be sooner rather than later.

She asked me if it would be easier to have him gone, to have the goodbye done with or easier to have him with me a while longer.  I am not ready.  I have talked about his dying for months now. I tell myself.  I tell others.  I tell him.

I do not know the answer to her question.  I do know that I cannot speak those words.  She has agreed to take that burden, to be the one to say when, to set the day and time when he will be put down so that he is not tortured or kept alive selfishly.

What I do know is that I cannot see past that moment to the first hour without my precious petunia.  With God, all things are possible.  This I know.  This I believe to be true.  But such hurt...now?  How could I survive walking back into a house without him?  How could I look at his dozens of babies, his balls every where, his beds on each floor and survive the loss?  How could I walk in the door after another terrible day at the office and not have him greet me with such enthusiasm, without him burying his face in my lap, wagging his tail so hard he struggles to remain on his feet, and giving me non-stop kisses?  O how wretched I am that I love a dog this fiercely!

As a Christian, I am conflicted about stewardship.  I am conflicted about how much his company means to me.  I am conflicted about emotions wrapped up in a puppydog.

I wept more than not while I was there.  She sat on the floor with me and told me macabre jokes and made me laugh through my tears.  I wept more than not while I was there.  Each of her staff popped in and nuzzled my dog and crooned sweet nothings to him.  I wept more than not while I was there.  And it was okay.

Why is my weeping not okay in church?

Nine days ago, I read the saddest post I have ever read, and the ensuing comments that have followed as the days passed have broken my heart, even as I have been drowning in my own confusion and my own weariness of pain.

When did you last pray for your pastor's wife?

When did you last cherish, champion, and forgive her?  When did you last offer her support?  When did you last care for her?  When did you last wrap your arms around her, literally or figuratively, and let her know that she is not alone?

There are some deeply wounded pastors'  wives out there, which is a great shame on our Church.  A great, great shame.  I know our Church is a church of sinners, but there is no excuse.  Saying we are sinners is Truth, but it is, in my opinion, the most bastardized excuse on the face of the planet within the Church, for while we are sinners, we are also saints, we also have the Lord Jesus Christ in us, sustaining us, loving us, enabling us to love others.


How, O Lord, can there be such neglect of the women who love and support your undershepherds?  How can your children be so blind?


I am yours, Lord.  Save me!