Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: WEAK (07/22/21)
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TITLE: Help I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up | Previous Challenge Entry
By Tammy Ortung
07/29/21 -
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“Hey Siri, call Chad,” I say.
“Calling Chad, mobile,” a male Siri replies.
“I need to stop at the next rest area,” I say when Chad answers.
About twenty minutes later, I lean out the window to maneuver the car as close to the curb as possible before hopping out to use the facilities. When I return, I set up the ramp and climb into the back to help Bozer stand up. I am bent at the waist and he outweighs me by sixty pounds, so it takes three attempts before I get him upright. At my coaxing, he steps tentatively onto the ramp, nails clicking intermittently on the resin as he dances back and forth indecisively.
“Come on baby, mommy’s got you,” I croon. His brown eyes stare at me with uncertainty before finally making his move. Halfway down his back leg slips off the ramp and he falls, landing in a small gap between the curb and the bottom of the car. Somehow he gets wedged halfway under the car. I struggle to help him, but he doesn’t budge.
“What happened?” Chad asks as he rounds the vehicle.
“He slipped again … obviously I didn’t pull close enough to the curb,” I say in frustration.
Chad lifts Bozer with ease and we start toward the grassy area. We only take a few steps before Bozer is sitting on the pavement. Chad helps him up again and we continue toward the grassy lot marked with a white “Dog Area” sign. Bozer quickly becomes absorbed with all the tantalizing aromas seemingly oblivious that with each step his hind end crouches a little closer to the ground until he is once again sitting. He looks at us over his shoulder as if to say, “Well, can’t you see I need a little help here?” The minute he is upright, his nose is glued to the nearest tree or blade of grass as he becomes distracted by each new smell. I follow a short distance behind, distressed by the jerky movements of his stiff, arthritic legs. He falls not once, but two more times before we load him back into the Honda. I want to burst into tears. While we have noticed a decline over the past six months, it has never been this bad. Yet it is now painfully obvious that at ten and a half, Bozer’s back legs, weakened from hip dysplasia, can no longer hold his weight.
“This was a bad idea,” I say, still on the verge of tears. I hate that my baby is suffering. “He’s too old to make this trip.”
“He would rather be with us, than left behind,” Chad says.
“I know.”
We make it to our destination three days later without a repeat of that horrible first day. Yet we can’t deny Bozer’s rapidly growing dependence on us. Gone are the days when he would take off after the nearest squirrel, or disappear in the woods chasing some unknown target, completely ignoring our shouts to return.
Just as Bronx has become more dependent on us, I have recently realized my growing dependence on God. Though my body is still physically healthy, my weakness of character has me falling on my face and crawling back to God in desperation time and time again. Yet no matter how many times I become lodged under the weight of my bad choices and mistakes, Jesus is always there to pick me up.
I often wonder what Paul was referring to when he wrote about the thorn in his flesh. He also lamented about not being able to do what he wanted and doing the things he didn’t want to do. Maybe his thorn was similar to mine—a flawed and disobedient nature. Yet Jesus tells him (and us), “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:10)
I am thankful that, just as Bronx knows he can count on us, we can always depend on Jesus’ many promises.
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