As I sat in church yesterday morning I noticed the elderly man sitting directly in front of me was continually hugging his wife, patting her back and kissing the top of her disheveled hair. The overt attention seemed a bit out of place yet somehow endearing at the same time. 

As we had our usual "meet and greet" time--shaking hands with those seated around us in the sanctuary--I saw the unmistakable  vacant look on the wife's face.  

I knew that look, in a split second it pierced my soul and took my heart back to that place and time when I cared for my dear Erica.

We'd first met at a bereavement group I facilitated.  Erica was a wee lady in stature (4' 10") but her lion's spirit was very apparent even from the start.  She'd been widowed twice and was never able to have children.   Erica was alone in this world, very alone.

We instantly bonded and I became like the daughter she had always desperately desired but could not have.  We shared poetry and music and just "being".  

Erica was quirky and secretive about much of her past--very private, very much the dignified lady at all times. She always said she needed me more than I did her, but I knew nothing could have been further from the truth.

One day as we sat listening to music she asked if I would take care of her when she could no longer take care of herself.  I immediately agreed to do so, very much aware of the honor she had just bestowed on me. 

For years after that conversation we enjoyed each other's company, contentedly sharing our life together.  Until the day I allowed myself to acknowledge that something had changed in Erica. This very rational, highly intelligent woman was beginning to say some pretty unusual things followed by some pretty unusual actions.

Per her request, I accompanied her to the doctor's office where we heard the diagnosis together.  Erica had dementia. There were no words to share. The only sound in the room was of 2 broken still somehow beating hearts.  Our eyes met, neither wanted to shed a tear trying to spare the feelings of the other.  So we swallowed silent, grief-filled tears.

Our journey through dementia lasted a little over 7 years and was filled with many memories that still deeply resonate in my heart. We struggled with each new phase. We laughed a lot. We got angry. We cried out loud. We loved fiercely.  We prayed together.  Even at the end of her life and when all else had been forgotten, Erica still prayed with the fervency and intimacy she had since I first met her.

She eventually forgot who I was and at times I became her: neighbor, friend from church or non-existent sister.  As Erica spoke of having lunch with her brother who had died 20 years earlier--her serene countenance revealed what I thought I already knew.

She was finally at peace.  I was the one left behind to live in the reality of  the life Erica no longer knew or had or cared anything about.  Though it was excruciatingly hard to bear at times, I could never leave her behind.  I could not break my promise to take care of her when she could no longer take care of herself.

In the end I was with her and in the last gaze we shared I saw an inkling--a mere flickering ghost of recognition then a faint, serene smile that said: "I know you.  I love you. Thank you. I'll be waiting for you".

Shepherdess Blog
Copyright 2018
Jackie  Deems 




Will you still remember me,
when I no longer remember you?
Will you recall the words I said,
those things we used to do?

When I no longer know your name,
or recognize your face-
will love step in and rescue me,
or will sadness fill that space?

Will times we shared be in the past,
replaced by here. by now?
I long so much to change what is,
if only I knew how.

When darkness falls and night is near,
our love won't be erased.
Dear one please know deep in my soul,
no one can take your place.

Jackie Deems
Copyright 2018

Letting Molly Go

I knew this day would come but also knew 

I'd never be ready for it...

Molly was just 6 months old when my husband and I drove 3 hours to meet her.  Molly and her litter mates had been guarding goats and when they were sold their owners no longer needed guards.

All but 1 of the Great Pyrenees Pups came to greet us. The one who didn't was Molly. She had her back turned to us and her face buried in the corner of the barn trying her best to be invisible.

"That's the one I want", I said pointing to Molly.  Both her owner and my husband tried to talk me out of it. But I already knew she was my girl. 

The whole drive home Molly had her back turned to us in the car not even acknowledging my voice. When we got home I introduced her to the "her" sheep and she looked up at me for the first time and her brown eyes smiled--overjoyed to have a job.  At that moment I became her person, her only person for the entire 14 years of her life.

We had gotten another guard puppy 2 months earlier and, due to my inexperience and lack of knowledge I did not realize it was best to have 2 pups together in the pasture so they could play and guard together.  The first dog had decided to chase the sheep out of sheer boredom and just because it was fun, I suppose. 

 When Molly stepped into the pasture and saw the other dog chasing sheep she alpha rolled the bigger dog (that was twice her size) and pinned her to the ground.  Molly's number 1 rule was established: Do not chase or harass her sheep.  Though she was the smallest of our guards she also established herself as the alpha.

Two days after Molly came to our farm lambing began and the sheer joy this dog exuded was palpable.  She looked up at me and smiled as if to say, "More sheep, you gave me more sheep". Ewes that had twins actually allowed Molly to dry off one of their newborns as mom took care of the other lamb.  Some of the lambs even followed Molly around the pasture half convinced she was their mom.

I can't explain the peace of mind I had with Molly guarding in the pasture.  Since the pasture she guarded butted up into dense woods I knew coyotes would be tempted to snatch a lamb before I would even notice.  During Molly's lifetime we never lost 1 sheep to predators even though we could hear coyotes often calling nearby in the middle of the night.  However, over the years I did find an assortment of unfortunate raccoons, skunks, possums and other small perceived "predators" that had met their end in Molly's pasture.

As we added sheep to our farm we also added more Great Pyrenees and Pyrenees/Anatolian crosses--6 pups in all--and Molly trained every one of them. Though she never had pups of her own, she became a surrogate mom to those she trained.  If not for her and the "Molly Factor" on our farm, we could not have safely raised our 2 breeds of Miniature Wool Sheep--Shetland and Babydoll.

So many years and so many memories of Molly come to my mind and echo achingly in my heart as I think back over the time I had with this dear girl: 

 -Molly, staying with a lamb separated from the flock barking until I found them both.
-Molly, sitting on top of the highest hill she could find watching for predators.

-Molly, bringing a few "lost" sheep to the safety of the barn from a bottom pasture during a blizzard--breaking a path for them in the deep snow.
-Molly, keeping watch in the barn with me during lambing season.

-Molly, standing between her sheep and any perceived threat--even if that "threat" was my husband.

-Molly, sitting next to me as I tended to a sick or dying sheep.

-Molly, and her "boyfriend" sheep sleeping peacefully together--she lying with her head on his side.  

-Molly, frightened by thunder and fireworks seeking comfort from the terrifying sound by burying her face in my lap as we sat in her barn together.

-Molly, her soft brown eyes looking into mine with so much love I thought our hearts would burst.

As is the case many times with those we love, it is easy to not see the changes that happen right before our eyes. I think that's because the eyes of love are veiled, perhaps because we cannot admit the inevitable is happening.  Someone we love is aging. Someone we love is dying.

And so it was with Molly.  She had slowed down this winter but would not stand to be separated from her sheep so, I set up a comfortable warm spot in the barn where she could be with them. My goal was to get her through winter to warmer weather.  And, we were almost there.

This winter she enjoyed many cans of dog food and treats, lots of love and encouragement from me, the company of her sheep and another guard dog she had trained 8 years ago. She was content.

Every day she got up and followed her sheep around.  Every night she laid in the hay with them as they slept. As always, even the slightest noise would wake her--ever the faithful guard. 

This morning was different.  I went out to do chores to find Molly softly whimpering, unable to sit up. I worked with her and she finally sat up and ate some canned food then went back to sleep. 

It wasn't until that moment that my veiled eyes--momentarily unveiled--saw the Molly that truly is (the aging guard), not the one that had been (the shy younger girl with the indomitable spirit).  My Molly was suffering and for the first time in her life she told me so. She'd never been sick a day in her life.

As Molly aged, I had hoped she would choose her time to leave so I would not have to.  But she was not going to leave me or her sheep peacefully on her own and I could not let her leave this world painfully.

Through my veiled, tear-filled eyes she was asking if I could let her go, if I loved her that much.  She had done so much for me how could I not do this one last thing for her?  So I made the call and the vet came to our farm and Molly breathed her last in the field where she had lived her whole life with her beloved sheep.

I don't know if I will ever see Molly again and I think (at least right now) I am okay with that.  I guess it's enough for me that I have been privileged to see this girl for 14 years--loved her and shared her life.  And I will still see her every day of my life as long as I live.  Even if I lose my memory my heart will never forget my Molly.  She owns a piece of it I can never reclaim and she has been one of the greatest gifts God has given me in my entire life.

The last thing I said to my Molly every night (her whole life) as I left her was, "You're in charge tonight, Molly. You're in charge.  I love you Molls".  And I do believe that if there's a celestial sheep flock Molly will be there guarding it.  And, she will be in charge.  She will be in charge.

Molly meets newborn lambs

Molly pinning Daisy for chasing "her" sheep

Molly and one of "her" lambs



Shepherdess Blog
Copyright 2018
Jackie Deems

On April 2, 2018, just a few days after losing Molly I called my vet to double check Molly's age.  They showed her to be 14 years of age, not 11 as I originally wrote in this blog.  The blog was changed to reflect Molly's true age.
Because Molly was such a small Great Pyrenees, between 70-75 pounds (at her heaviest) she would have been considered a medium-size dog which could have given her a longer life span than a larger dog of her breed.
Whether it was Molly's size, determination to live or by God's design (I believe it was a combination of all these things) I am grateful to have had her for as long as I did.

Don't you wish real life resembled Hallmark Movies?

My husband and I like watching Hallmark Movies together  (please don't tell him I blew his macho man cover).  I think what we like most about them is that they always have a predictably happy ending. 

Hallmark Movies usually make life and relationships look pretty easy and there's normally very little conflict between the characters.  Even when it comes to family.  And what conflict there is can be resolved and neatly tied up with a bow in 90 minutes.  My real life's not even close to resembling that, how about yours? 

Truth be told, life can be difficult and messy and many families seem to have their share of some kind of dysfunction or other issues.  Sometimes it's due to childhood events.  Sometimes it's due to jealousy, personality clashes, addiction, mental illness or a myriad of other real life things.

For many years I  "set myself up" at Christmas and made the long trek north with visions of A Walton's Christmas dancing in my head.  In reality my dysfunctional family Christmases included fights at the Christmas table (or soon after) with 1 or more family member angrily leaving the "festivities" casting a dark cloud of sadness and confusion.

All the wishing and hoping did not change the reality of what my fractured family and life was.  So one by one I put all my shattered hopes and dreams into God's hands.  And you know what?  Over the course of many years He lovingly and painstakingly healed all the places that were hurt and mended the broken pieces that I thought could never, ever be put back together again.

Simply put, He made me whole.

That does not mean I still don't wish that things weren't different.  That does not mean I still don't wish for a Walton Family Christmas or that my real life more closely resembled a Hallmark Movie.

But it does mean that whether I spend Christmas with a house filled with family or am all alone I am OK.  In fact, I am more than OK. It  means I am content with what is.

Dr. Phil has a quote that says, "Sometimes you just got to give yourself what you wish someone else would give you". I would put it this way,  "Always let God give you what you wish others would give you, the things that only He can truly give".  

People will always fail you (as you do them).  But God never will.  He is the only One who can meet every need and exceed every heart's desire.

By asking God to be your Savior and allowing Him to lead your life your "story" will have a happy ending with Him in Heaven--an ending much better than any Hallmark Movie could ever have.


Shepherdess Blog
Copyright 2017
Jackie Deems

 Then He smiled at me...

I have never really been a fan of the song, The Little Drummer Boy. I guess I'm just not a "Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum" kind of person.

So this past Sunday when our church choir began to sing this song I kind of checked out mentally--at least at first. Then I decided to listen--really listen to the words of the song.  The last verse shook me out of my smug apathy as I internalized (for the very first time), the words "Then He smiled at me".

Really?  God, Jesus, Creator and Savior of the World born of a virgin smiled at you Little Drummer Boy?  I am not sure there was a Little Drummer Boy who came to the manger when Jesus was born, it's not exactly part of the Christmas Story in the Bible.

But that's not the point. The point is, Jesus (God) came to earth in the first place.  He left Heaven--the Heaven he created--to live a short and extremely difficult life just to be murdered in the most brutal and torturous of ways.  This He did for no other reason but to save us, to redeem us as His own if we believe in Him as our Savior and accept His Gifts of Salvation and Eternal Life.

I accepted these Gifts of all Gifts when I was a very young girl.  And you know what?  I have felt God smile at me throughout my entire life.

He smiled at me when I knelt and humbly asked him to be my Savior.  He smiled at me as I poured out my little heart to Him when times were tough.  He smiled at me when I was hurt and asked Him to heal my broken heart.  He smiled at me when I did not know which way to go and so just simply trusted He would lead me. God even smiled at me when I did not make the right decisions because He knew the road I took would always eventually lead back to Him.  

And, He still smiles at me every day of my life because I am His and He is mine!  So simple--so profound.

But that's not the end of the story.  Because one day, when I leave this earth all the "God Smiles" I have seen in my mind's eye and felt in my heart and soul for my entire life will finally give way to seeing God's Face and His Smile--in person!

"In my Father's house there are many rooms.  

If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to 

prepare a place for you?

And if I go and prepare a place for you,

I will come again and will take you to myself,

that where I am you may be also."

John 14: 2,3

Shepherdess Blog
Copyright 2017
Jackie Deems

They are rarely ever really fully seen--these fleeting, forever 
haunting ghosts...

Most of  my life I have thought of "it".  That moment in time whispers stubbornly on the fringe of my subconscious demanding my soul give credence to the reality of what was and is, until I must say it out loud for fear of what happens to me if I don't.

And so I tell "it"...

I was just 13.  A very naive 13 at that.  An incredibly trusting 13-year old girl born in a very small town where everyone knew every one's business.  Or so they thought.

It was my mom's 3rd of 5 marriages and my step dad was an alcoholic.  He was also abusive.  His brothers and dad were what would now be deemed as perverted and predatory in the way they acted and spoke around females of all ages.  Including me.

In my naivete' I neither understood nor wanted to know the meaning of the words they spoke, the way they looked at me.  I knew I felt fear and disgust and very unsafe around them and made it a point never to be alone with or physically close to any of them.

Until the day my step grandfather groped me as he hugged me just a mere foot away from others in the room.  I pulled back wanting to cry out loud but instead managed to remove myself from his grasp without anyone becoming suspicious of anything wrong.

But "it" was already done. That one defining moment of my 13-year-old naive life.  It lasted only seconds but changed who I was and who I would have been. It forever changed who I was as a young girl.  It forever changed who I was as a woman and how I still sometimes initially respond to the touch of a man--even my own loving husband of 36 years.

I told no one. Who could I tell?  My mom would tell my step dad that his father had molested me. Even if she believed me I knew what that would mean since I had no choice but to live in that household.  I did not tell my sisters assuming he would not repeat what he'd done to me with them.  I did not know what sexual predators were and back in that time and place no one in polite society really did.   Or if they knew they did not speak those words out loud.  

I also grew up in an era where we were continually told to dress modestly so we would not give boys any "ideas".  And I heard more than once in my teen years that many times girls are raped because they asked for it by dressing a certain way, as if males were not more than mere animals that couldn't help themselves.

And so for over 40 years I told no one and imagined "it" was just an incident of the past that could not possibly have any place (or lasting effect) on my present or future.

But those fleeting ghosts continued to haunt me, always turning the corner staying just a few steps beyond my mind's eye. 

Until 7 years ago when I finally sought help for issues I did not know were directly and inextricably tied to "it" and two other inappropriate incidences I had endured as a young woman.

That help finally forced me to realize that these events had not only changed who I was and would be, they also affected my relationships and all those who loved me because they too were robbed of the me who never would be.

 And I know now that besides the survivor and perpetrator, there are many "invisibles" or victims of molestation and sexual predation.  Simply put (if there is such a thing in this situation), anyone closely involved with the survivor or predator is also affected on some level by the act, some more profoundly than others.  That means the lives of family, friends, loved ones, colleagues and others are also forever changed once the truth is known.

And I finally know and have internalized that this event, or any life event does not have to forever define me.  It's an event, not a life sentence. I did nothing to cause it. "It" is not who I am.

But most of all I know there is truly only one way these ghosts can begin to finally be exorcised from one's soul.  Exposing them to the bright light of the truth where no ghost can ever survive.

Shepherdess Blog

Copyright 2017

Jackie Deems

Thanks Giving

 

Fall is here and the hint of the coming bitter cold Winter winds nip at the edges of my weary soul... 

It's been a tough year. My husband continues to work 2 very low paying physically difficult jobs after losing his career of 30 years due to downsizing. 

There's an occasional tease of a new higher paying career just beyond his reach that continually slips through his worn arthritic fingers.  These opportunities prove never more than imaginary.  And each time his hopes climb high for what could be--only to be dashed on the icy cliffs of despair.

Though he puts on a brave face the stress of it all is aging him.  He looks 10 years older than the calendar reveals him to be.  He is quiet, more solemn and I watch and pray and encourage.  But he is wounded. His worth, as is the case for most men, is forever entwined with what he does for a living.  And though it's only Fall I feel Winter is already here...

Most of the time we fight the would be prevailing bitter winds together as we look towards what is next.  What is next?  Hopefully another day for us both. But even that is not promised.

And we've learned to laugh at things that would not be funny to most. The laughter helps to hold together (at least for a moment) the frayed edges of 2 very weary souls.

I have also humbly learned to thank God for what He has so graciously given us here on earth:

A home to keep us warm

Food to nourish and strengthen

Dear friends that come alongside us

Encouragement when we most need it 

Kindness when we least expect it

Unexpected blessings

Strength to face each day

Hope for tomorrow

And all these things are enough.  More than enough. For they can't be snatched away by any earthly foes because they are God-Given.

And so, we bow our hearts and souls to God and say,

"Dear Lord, thanks for giving".

Shepherdess Blog
Copyright 2017Jackie Deems

I Married A Stubborn Man

I married a stubborn man!

He stubbornly...

Believes all colors and patterns match when it comes to clothing.  He's color/shade blind and it's oh so very obvious at times.

Brushes (in a very specific way) his almost nonexistent hair so it grows "properly".

Insists I put away (in the correct place) anything I use in his workshop while he leaves things in the house he uses lying  wherever they happen to land.

Will not try new food--ever. 

Exceeds the speed limit because he says the posted speed is really just a "suggestion".

Believes white socks can sometimes be worn with dark colored shoes.

Refuses to admit he forgets things. 

Makes up his own words and claims they are legitimate even though they are not in any dictionary known to man.

Insists on doing things his way even though my way is clearly superior.


I married a stubborn man!

He stubbornly...

Goes to work when he doesn't feel like it.

Does not walk away from our marriage in those times it would be much easier than staying.

Puts up with my family drama.

Puts up with my drama. 

Says he would marry me all over again and that he would not want to go through this life with anyone else.

Knows when I need a hug and when I don't.

Has my back no matter what.

Would give his life to protect mine. 

On October 19, 1981 (and after only 3 months of long distance dating) I married a stubborn man.  And, I thank God--at least most of the time--He gave me this stubborn man.

Shepherdess Blog
Copyright 2017
Jackie Deems