Articles by Amy C. Baker at Heartlight

Momma Dog's Brief Vacation

acbaker@austin.rr.com (Amy C. Baker) — Wed, 18 Jan 2006 00:00:00 -0600

We all need a break occasionally. This was painfully brought to my attention recently when I found myself snapping at my kids with the least bit of provocation and my 13-year-old dryly remarked, "Aren't WE grumpy?!"

It was time to get out of Dodge.

I headed to the hills. The Hill Country that is, an hour and a million miles away from my suburban strip-mall city life and the carpool line. A weak cell phone signal and pollution-free skyline was calling to my soul. I was accompanied, of course, by my dog.

My dog and I would be inseparable if only malls and grocery stores would recognize the value of canine companionship. She's a nearly four-year-old Labrador retriever named Valentine and the subject of many of my musings and meditations. I will stop short of telling you that God speaks to me through her, but sometimes I wonder ... She is the mother of eight, brave girl; and one of those pups, nearly two, resides with her at our home.

She is a good mother. She loves her rambunctious son in spite of him constantly stealing her tennis ball and his propensity to still chew on her ears. She "slobberily" and dutifully cleans his ears with her big pink tongue and nibbles at imaginary fleas in his fur. They sleep at my feet during the day, lounging on one another's paws and snoring their doggy kind of snores while chasing rabbits in their dreams.

I love my children and husband, too. (I am thankful for cotton swabs when it comes to ear cleaning though.) I dutifully care for them, nurture them, feed them and play with them. Sometimes, they also steal my toys. I recently lost my iPod to my son and I am just a few years away from losing my shoes to my daughter.

Getting away from all of them though is a good thing for the modern mom (both the two-legged and the four-legged). We are in bondage to our activities, lists, agendas, meetings and volunteer "opportunities." We are often working outside the home, too. It is a miracle we have time to breathe.

Getting away from it all always brings this into perspective for me. Jesus had his wilderness wanderings and times of garden prayer. He was not afraid of time alone with his thoughts and his Heavenly Father. Nor should we be. To survive our crazy, warp-speed life, we need to occasionally experience the transcendent nature of nature.

Hiking today amidst the limestone rocks, scrubby cedars and rolling hills of my friends' Hill Country ranch, I observed with amusement the response of both my own soul and also the change in my dog's temperament. I had this desire to run across the pasture, arms flung wide, singing like Julie Andrews in some Texas-sized version of "the hills are alive ...." Valentine also seemed to display a level of freedom and joy I rarely see in her.

My husband said the other day that he thought she might struggle with depression. Yes, my husband said this about my dog. He's a counselor. He normally specializes in marriage and couples therapy, but he might have a money-making idea if he can figure out how to counsel people's beloved pets. But I digress.

Valentine does occasionally have a somewhat mournful and melancholic look about her. Perhaps it's the result of a citified life with the obligations of mothering her pup and having to also help put her two-legged little girl to bed each night, suffering kicks from those long legs as she snuggles steadfastly across the foot of the bed until our daughter goes to sleep.

Even going for walks in our lovely neighborhood seems to bring this furry friend of mine only a modicum of joy. She tugs at her leash, nose straight ahead, tail straight behind -- all business -- as we stride through the way too familiar lanes with the same old boring smells and not much interesting to look at.

Hiking in the Hill Country though is a different story. I watched her today, loping along beside and around me, nose in the air sniffing "un-citified," rarified air, tail wagging madly and tongue hanging out, flapping in the breeze. I felt the same freedom of spirit, and if I had a tail, I'm sure it would have been wagging too. Best I could do was swing my long-arms and slightly-wider-than-they-used-to-be-hips as I strode along, enjoying views that went on for miles and pure blue sky.

Mommas (and momma dogs) need this. It is not just an indulgence. It is not a narcissistic or hedonistic break in our world of give, give, give, serve, serve, serve. Time apart from our daily grind, no matter how much we may love it, is essential to restore the sacred to our frenetic lives where the secular rules and connection with our soul has been replaced with connection to the internet and too many other obligations ranging from the meaningless to the truly important.

The ancient wisdom of the bible, in both the Old and New Testament, encourages us to "consider." This "considering" is so much easier to do when we are freed from our regular to-do list. Consider the works of the Lord, consider the lilies of the field, consider the birds of the air, consider .... Jesus taught us that taking time to consider God's works and his provision for the feathered creatures that fly is followed by a directive and a promise: "The thing you should want is God’s kingdom. Then all these other things you need will be given to you." (Luke 12:27-41 ERV) The things we strive for, worry about, fret over -- in the broadened perspective of an eternal kingdom and infinite grace of a loving God -- are met in full.

Tonight I will "consider the stars" as is encouraged in the Psalms. I'll watch the waning moon rise over the Texas hills and marvel that a God who created such magnificent beauty loves me and calls me, a busy suburban mom and wife and working woman, to his heart. I'll snuggle with my four-legged best friend in front of a fire and be grateful for long walks in the scrubby brush and look forward to going back to my scrub brush and laundry and projects and deadlines and lunches to fix.

For this momma, a regular, albeit brief, vacation is all it takes to refresh the soul and spirit and bring into proper perspective that which we all dutifully do. We do all these things not just to raise a generation of productive and valuable members of society, but to grow up kids who can also step away from their city lives someday, behold the hills and stars, and see something of the infinite in their world. Hopefully, with a happy canine by their side and the love of God deep in their hearts.

Amy C. Baker is an author and speaker. She's a former human resources executive at Dell and now a full time wife, mom, author and communications consultant. Her first two books, Slow Dancing on Death's Door and Seven Lessons for Career Success. She's also recorded an audio CD of drive time devotionals. For more information on her ministry and the passion that fuels it, see www.amycbaker.com

Website: Amy's Website

Country Chicken

acbaker@austin.rr.com (Amy C. Baker) — Fri, 18 Feb 2005 00:00:00 -0600

I have just spent the last few days at a friend's ranch in the Hill Country. It's about 450 acres of gorgeous land, fabulous trees and about 30 longhorn cattle. The cattle, not unlike many of us Texans, boast quite an attitude. They are a handsome yet prideful lot.

As usual, I was accompanied by my faithful Labrador, Valentine. She had a temporary identity crisis and attempted to be a herding dog instead of a retriever. Fortunately, the sound of a one ton bawling animal with horns the size of a compact car was enough to rattle her back to reality and she retreated.

I am a native born Texan -- third generation on both sides of my family raised in the Lone Star State. I like to think of myself as fairly well balanced and flexible, able to manage effectively both in high heels and boots. I was raised in Fort Worth, a good sized city that's also called "Cowtown," well in touch with my state's ranching, cattle-raising and horse-loving roots.

Fact is though, I can saddle a horse, but only if you give me enough time, and I can ride as long as the animal stays in low gear. Push it to a trot though and I stiffen up like a mesquite branch in a hard freeze.

I confess that I am truly a city girl. No escaping that fact.

I do own a pair of boots but they are five years old. Unless I have some mid-life growth spurt, they will last me until I face the grave. I am strong enough to heft a bale of hay, but not because I've ever done so. Those back muscles come from a pristinely clean fitness facility with gym rats wearing fancy workout clothes. My nails and cuticles are in much too nice shape to ever convince anyone that I might have scrubbed out a stock tank or helped deliver a foal.

Yet, I love to escape the hectic pace of my urban life and pretend I am a rural cattle queen or high falutin' horse rancher. As the old song goes, "The stars at night Are big and bright, Deep in the Heart of Texas" and I thrill to see them glitter in the black night sky. I love standing on the edge of a mountain (not a mountain by Colorado standards, but by, let's say, Dallas standards) where I can see for miles -- nothing but hills and trees and patches of pasture dotted with cattle or goats or horses.

The verses from Psalm 50:10-12 seems to sum up that view:

For every animal of the forest is mine, and the cattle on a thousand hills. I know every bird in the mountains, and the creatures of the field are mine ... for the world is mine, and all that is in it.

Honestly, I jump at the sound of deer tromping through the trees at night when I let the dog out. I rush back in the warm cabin when I hear coyotes yapping in the not too distant woods. I stay on the trails and rutted roads so as to not get lost when I go for a mid-day hike. I'm a city slicker and a country chicken.

But the God I serve and worship from this hilltop sanctuary reminds me that this world -- His earth -- is in the palm of his hand. The 30 some-odd ornery longhorns eyeing me on my morning walk are a drop in the bucket of his creation. The birds flitting from feeder to fence that catch my attention and thrill my heart -- he knows every feather of their wing and their chirp by heart. He knows all that and more and yet loves me beyond comprehension.

He did not allow his only Son to die or send his Holy Spirit for those lumbering cattle or flighty feathered ones. He did all that and more for me. His hand of protection and his heart of love extend to me whether I'm safe in my seat-belted, security-system-ed city life or way out in the midst of this wide-open wilderness.

I will return today to the traffic, the voice mail, a high-speed internet and infomercial life. It will be back to a ringing phone, a hungry washing machine, and the standard demands of family time. But after these few days away, I will take back with me the memory of those cattle on a thousand hills as well as the mind's eye view of the rugged scenery and pleasant pastures. My citified stroll through the mall and my favorite well stocked grocery store will be tinged for a while with a bit of cowgirl swagger.

Most important though, I will carry with me the reminder that God in His infinite creativity and immense love for humanity made this remarkable world for me to enjoy. He set up his system of creation and creature to rattle me from my self-imposed busyness and refresh my heart. There may be oh so many cattle on thousands and thousands of hills, but there is only one you ... and only one me. And God's love for us is as immeasurable as the shades of color in a Texas sunset.

Website: Amy's Website

The Hope That is Within You

acbaker@austin.rr.com (Amy C. Baker) — Tue, 21 Sep 2004 00:00:00 -0500

The woman on the other end of the telephone choked back her tears. "I am in such shock!" she said. She'd just discovered her husband had been living another life -- a life of betrayal and lies and affairs and pornography. What's more, their best friends knew -- church friends -- and the devastating truth was just coming out after years of secrets and silence and looking the other way.

She felt like she'd been punched in the stomach.

In the background you could hear the prattle of toddlers and Blues Clues and a snuffling infant. In a Leave it to Beaver scenario, this woman would have already had her hands full. But, managing three little ones and a shattered marriage was more than she could comprehend.

She'd called me at the recommendation of a mutual counselor. My husband and I had been through our own marriage upheaval. They all look a little different, but the heartache is the same. For us, almost ten years had passed. It was now a blip on the radar screen of a sixteen year marriage. For the tearful lady talking to me on the phone, her crisis was all she could see in every direction she looked.

I listened and said "Uh huh." a lot. Playing like background music in my mind was the Scripture, "Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have ..." (1 Peter 3:15 NIV) When she finally asked me to tell her our story, I focused on the latter chapters, not the horrific beginning.

As the words zipped along the phone lines, I feared my words would sound trite.
"God works everything out for the best."
"He has a plan."
"He's in control."
Yeah, right. How could I convince her that all those biblical truths about his good and perfect will for our lives were right for her ... right at this moment?

"All I can say," I finally sighed, "is that I know that I know that I know we would not be where we are today had we not been through our own tragedy."

I'm nuts about my husband. He's not perfect, but neither am I and that's a nice arrangement. The emotional and spiritual upheaval we went through, surrounded by a community of believers, brought about deep healing from old wounds that we barely knew were there.

As for me, I don't even think about the whole mess anymore. God has totally healed my heart. Now it's a blip, a distant memory that reminds me of his grace and goodness and favor. It's also a testimony to his power to heal the broken hearted and set the captives free: the whole reason he sent Jesus to this wounded, broken world.

But here I was years later, on the phone with a wounded woman, able to share with her the hope that I have. Perhaps that's one more reason God allows the crises in our lives: so that we can give an account for the hope that is in us. As the conversation wound to a close, she finally said, "Well, it does make me feel better to hear that you two made it, and that it was such a long time ago. We'll press on."

Sometimes, that's all we can do. Press on. And a community of believers who model for us the unconditional love and acceptance of God is a huge component of that pressing on. I remember the marriage group we were part of. It was a mish-mash of common looking couples with more-common-than-you-think problems. We'd all been stunned by the revelation of betrayal in our marriage; we were devastated by the news from a spouse that all was not well in Oz. However, working together, listening to one another, hearing stories of hurt and hope and healing brought so much more to the picture.

On the outside it sounds absurd -- any kind of "group" therapy thing. It's not my kind of deal. I'm not one to air my dirty laundry or complain to complete strangers. But, in this situation it worked. It didn't just work, it worked miracles. God was so very present, speaking volumes to my wounded heart about His all surpassing love for me, His desire to restore my marriage beyond my wildest dreams, His promise "to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound." (Isaiah 61:1 RSV)

Sigh. Like I said, it's been years now -- lots of water under the proverbial bridge. Family vacations and elderly parent-care challenges and little league games and pre-algebra homework are now the focus. Yes, lots of water has gone under the bridge. But, when I spoke to that devastated woman on the phone, the memories came rushing back. Not memories of hurt and tears and "Oh-will-we-ever-recover?" fears, but memories of the healing and restoration and hope that is found in nothing less than Jesus' love and righteousness. It's stories like mine and crises like hers that create a dramatic need for communication between those who are now whole and those who need healing. It's why I was so jazzed when an Austin counseling group established a web site for people like me who have hope and people like the woman on the phone that day that need hope.

This web site (www.affairrecovery.com) is a partnership of counseling professionals dedicated to the restoration of marriages crippled by infidelity and betrayal and those who have survived such crises. Their community includes couples who have experienced the abundant blessings of reconciliation and renewal. Their mission is to offer hope, support, and recovery for couples and individuals who have suffered the pain resulting from infidelity, betrayal, or sexual addiction. They truly want to stem the tide of divorce that is devastating our world today.

The good news? That young mother I talked to that day is still married. She and her husband are continuing to work through their grief and they are finding hope in the power of the Cross through a community that is also experiencing healing. How many more shattered families can be pulled back together by the power of God using high tech to facilitate high touch?

I know that I know that I know that God heals broken hearts. I also believe that if he could speak through a donkey long ago (Numbers 22:22-35), he can also work through today's technology to bring hope and freedom.

Website: Amy's Website