I had a meltdown today and it’s all because of my Cocker Spaniel, Nellie. Well, sort of… About ten days ago she suffered an ACL tear in her left hind leg. I took her to the veterinarian immediately and he pronounced it a mild injury and ordered me to watch Nellie for any deterioration in her ability to walk. She seemed to be recovering well until last Sunday when she began to walk with the most pitiful limp you’ve ever seen. Today, I have an appointment to take her back to the animal hospital where I know the vet will tell me she needs surgery—a $2000+ proposition—but that hasn’t happened yet. The meltdown came yesterday after I carried Nellie outside for a bathroom break (pardon my inaccurate euphemism). She was apparently in so much pain she was unable to move and I picked her up and carefully stood her up in the back yard. After that I took the first appointment available at the animal hospital and tried to comfort Nellie. But that wasn’t the meltdown. That just provided the metaphor for the meltdown: I had to carry Nellie.
After I called the vet I began to keep score of all the things I have had to carry lately, and—I’m not proud of this—I snapped in anger at my wife in a way that she is unaccustomed (I think) to experience from me: ugly words and selfish thoughts. We have just moved into a new house. My eighty-seven-year-old father, who has always enjoyed good health, is now deteriorating rapidly. My wife’s ninety-one-year-old mother is also in failing health and has been moved to a nursing home unfamiliar to her. Precious, my wife, has faced poor health in a way that has required me to have wider responsibilities. So I embraced the metaphor of carrying the dog and became increasingly angry because I felt I was carrying everybody.
But that metaphor did not apply across the board. I was by no means carrying everybody and Precious kindly pointed this out to me: Liam, she said, we had loads of help in our move—at both ends. And there was more. Joel built a step in our garage and put in a fifteen foot dryer vent so we could use our washer and dryer. Patrick worked all night to construct our closet before he led two worship services the next morning so we dresserless folk could organize our clothes. Tim and Mandy provided our dining room table so we could eat like civilized people. My mother gave us what seems like half our furnishings. Precious’ sister Faith has spent hours helping their mother become acclimated to a new environment. Other friends visited Precious’ mother in the nursing home without being asked. Misti and Bonnie held a garage sale of items we left behind in the move. Many dear friends have sent gifts of money, gift cards, and encouraging words. And those are just a few of the ways people have helped carry the load. Jesus helped carry the load and these friends were the hands and feet of Jesus.
I was well rebuked. I now realize there were so many people I haven’t even named who have carried me that I feel rather foolish for my hubris. I guess this confessional is my unconventional way of saying thank you to all of you who have shown so much love to Precious and me. And no, it isn’t Nellie’s fault at all. Since she was injured she refuses to let me out of her sight, and will limp from room to room where she can watch me, and howls when I have to leave the house. At first I assumed she was insecure because she was hobbled, but I wonder if it is really because she is concerned about me. It’s love.
If the truth be known, even little Nellie carries me now.
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