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Two Balloons

Tue, Jun 23, 2009

Distinct Impressions

On her way to pick-up our granddaughter, Landrye, from KidsQuest Day Camp today, Nancy stopped and bought two balloons — a black one and a white one.

With Landrye right beside her, she made her way to the foot of the majestic and moving sculpture, Jacob’s Dream.  Towering high above, Jacob’s ladder to heaven is filled with angels — the largest known depiction of this Old Testament story in the world.  As a spot for special moments, this little bit of West Texas real estate is prime.

A guessing game ensued between grandmother and granddaughter, “What is special and black and white?”

The answers tumbled out rapidly,  “A zebra.  A panda.  A white tiger.”

“Think of one at our house.  Black and white and really special.”

“Snoopy!”

Snoopy

Nancy smiled as she thought of our little dog.  Mottled with black and white fur, she won hearts with her incredibly attractive face and soulful eyes.  Over fourteen years old and a sweetheart, Snoopy was technically a farm dog.  For a number of years, she had been Nancy’s dad’s companion.  Criss-crossing the half-section of farmland, she had proudly chased barn cats and occasional wild turkeys.  Primarily she was known for her tail-wagging.  Standing maybe 8 inches tall to the top of her head, she was a bundle of energy.

When we lost Nancy’s dad, Snoopy moved to her adopted home in the city.  She was a wonderful companion to our old beagle for several years until Tipi moved on to a place in our memories.  Snoopy became the center of our attention and she lavished love on us.

Early this morning, Snoopy spent her last moments with us and on this earth.  Worsening seizures and other complications of a dog whose life would be measured at almost 100 human years brought her to that point of no return.  She left us with her same spirit of sweetness.

The news of her passing was not shared with everyone.

Nancy now turned to Landrye.  “The black balloon stands for our sadness.  The white balloon reminds us of the gladness we feel when we think of God’s care for all creatures great and small.  Now, when we think of Snoopy, we see her released from the pain that her many years brought her.  In our hearts, she’s a puppy again.”

As the balloons left their hands and floated skyward, granddaughter and grandmother felt their sadness and their gladness weave together into a memory.  Landrye understood.  A friend had been lost.

We often measure the passing of someone or some thing loved by releasing only one balloon.  The dark one.  The one of questions.  The one that drains our energy.

Today, Nancy reminded Landrye and me — and now you — of that all-important, all-healing second balloon.

When life presents sadness, God provides gladness.  And that gladness never overshadows the sadness.  Instead it twists together with the threads of difficulties and misfortune to form a fabric that stretches heavenward — our bridge to a loving and caring God.

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5 Responses to “Two Balloons”

  1. Mike says:

    UP! Soaring commentary, Uplifting insight and a high mark for heartfelt connection. Thanks Joey.

  2. Laurie says:

    Joey and Nancy,

    I am so sorry for the loss of your little dog.
    That was a beautiful way to handle it with Landrye.
    Very touching story.

  3. Brad Palmore says:

    Great story, Joey. Love the symbolism.

  4. Erin Tucker says:

    Sadly, I am going to buy two balloons of my own today. I had been struggling with thoughts of the best way to comfort my children. Our sweet Jake will be free from his pain later today. Please tell Nancy thank you for me. I know that her wonderful reminder of God’s goodness and love will bring comfort to our entire family.

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Things that Foster Dog taught me, part 3 | joeycope.com - April 22, 2011

    [...] it was about that time that our previous foster dog, Snoopy, passed on. And Zoe reflected pleasant memories of our special furry [...]

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Tweets from Joey & Foster Dog

Just Thoughts
  • Hope seen . . . slowly softens the crust of worry. Hope celebrated . . . melts worry away. Melted worry is the compost that feeds faith and destiny.

  • An abundant life is not one free from worry, but one filled with hope.

  • Have you ever been in a really big hurry?

    Have you ever been in a really big hurry  . . . and everything seems to go wrong?

    You drop your keys just as you get to the door. You leave your phone on the nightstand. You hit “reply to all” on the email that should have gone to one discreet individual. You can’t seem to hit the trash can with that one wad of paper. You find yourself face-to-face with the one person you don’t “really have time to deal with.”

    Frustration builds inside. Anger, dismay, and depression grow like grass in a flower bed. What can you do? What is the most effective action step for the moment.

    Slow down.

    That’s it. Slow down. Take a breath. Whisper a prayer. Hum a song.

    Slowing down allows tension to melt away. Slowing down allows your emotions to moderate. Slowing down allows you to gain control . . . by easing your grip.

    So, slow down . . .

  • “Constantly Pleasant.”

    That’s how she was described. Not a person attending the memorial service would have disagreed.

    As I sat and listened to the accomplishments of this remarkable person, I was somewhat awestruck by the thought that I had been blessed to know an individual who touched so many and did so much . . . while being constantly pleasant.

    What if I could become constantly pleasant? What would that change? How would I change?

    Thanks, Colleen. For being constantly pleasant. It’s just one of many ways that God shone through you.

  • If you’ll just let go, your hands will be free to  . . .

    • comfort a friend in pain
    • carry a stranger’s burden
    • steady yourself when your world is rocked
    • graciously accept a gift
    • smooth the wrinkles from the fabric of life

    If you’ll let go . . . empty your hands of things and your heart of worries . . . you’ll be delighted with what you find in those sacred hollows.

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