Shhhhhhhhhh! Scott's writing. I haven't seen him write a story for quite some time. Too often, he sits at his desk and stares at the computer screen like it is a window and there is something beyond it he cannot see. His hands remain motionless in his lap.
During lap time when I tell Scott my stories, he only pretends to listen. He seems distracted. Not an "I saw a squirrel" distracted. More like "Time to go to the veterinarian" distracted.
I can see, or rather feel, Scott's soul better than anyone else. It is my gift and I was meant to comfort him, especially at times like this. It is Christmas Eve.
At a time like Christmas, humans want to experience the feelings they call merry, jolly, joy, love and peace more than any other time of the year. But these feelings can be elusive. Christmases are not always merry. In fact, Christmas makes the pain in the absence of the hoped for feelings especially keen. I should know. The Christmas I spent with Al in the homeless camp was not a merry one for any of the humans who lived there. Even though the church served them a hot meal and gave gifts of clothing, they returned to find what little they had burning. Some people had set fire to the camp, people who did not want them there.
That night, Al said it was good to remember why there was a Christmas anyway. He said it was the day Jesus was born and many people didn't want him either. He was born in an animal stall which Al said wasn't much better or warmer than the tents we lived in. Jesus' mother wrapped him in rags just as dirty as the camp's residents wore. But Jesus came for the weak, not the powerful. He came for the downtrodden and the brokenhearted to give them hope.
Scott is among the brokenhearted. Even though he has Mary now, and three more lovely daughters, he still remembers Christmases with Carolyn and misses her. He's told me stories of Christmases when the girls were little, and how their wide-eyed excitement and unshakable belief in Santa gave him a thrill like no other. He said, "If only I'd found a job where I could go to work everyday and make children happy."
I've told Scott my stories. He's never been homeless or hungry like me. And he is not alone in his struggles. Mary and all their girls bear the weight of their own grief. I tell him the definition of a blended family is a collection of humans with broken lives brought together for a new purpose. Still, there are times anxiety and depression get the best of him. We sit together in the big armchair in the family room his mother gave to him and Mary as a wedding present and he runs his fingers through my fur. He says he feels like his mom is wrapping her arms around him when he sits in the chair and reads his Bible.
One thing I know about Scott, he believes in Jesus like Al did. Scott doesn't know why bad things happen and why sometimes peoples' lives are so broken while others' lives seem like everything goes as planned. But Scott says Jesus is comfort in his most difficult times, even in the form of a little dog like me. Jesus brings an inexplicable peace in the midst of the most turbulent times. And Scott says knowing that he belongs to Jesus gives him hope that, no matter what happens to him, one day he's going home to a place where he won't feel broken anymore.
After Scott's finished writing, I suspect he'll come out and sit with me in the armchair. We'll sit here and enjoy the warmth of the fire on the hearth while we listen to Christmas music. We may talk, but on a night like tonight, most likely we'll just sit in silence lost in our thoughts. Some happy, some sad. Life's pain may not be able to be separated and tossed away like the crust on day-old dog food leaving behind only pure happiness, but there can be peace and comfort and hope.
If you are feeling broken tonight, if your heart has been trampled and Christmas is not merry, I hope you'll remember what Al told me. Even if all you have is faith in Jesus, you have all you need. This Christmas, Scott and I wish for you the peace Jesus came to bring you and only he can give.
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