Many years ago, when my husband and I were DINKS (double income, no kids) we did some unusual things. One particular event involved housing a raccoon in our home. My husband worked for a wildlife rehab and sanctuary at the time, and when they were overrun with raccoons at one point we decided to take one home and care for it. It was a baby raccoon, but she was very...um...rotund. She was given the name of Beatrice, because we thought she needed a moniker that provided some lady-like character to her. It would prove to be the only thing about her that was lady-like.
She was greedy, selfish, gluttonous and could be very nasty during her play. Oh, but she was adorable! The two dogs we had at the time did not agree with this assessment. My doberman/shepherd was a senior in age and did her best to simply ignore the intruder. This proved difficult when Beatrice would 'hunt' her in the living room. The raccoon would sneak up behind the dog, grab her backside and run away. The old dog would move to a new spot and sigh as she laid down again. This was before we owned a video camera otherwise we could have easily won the America's funniest video with this daily occurrence.
The other dog was only about 5 years old and did not have any patience for the wild rodent that had invaded her home. She was a black lab cross so these creatures were for hunting and killing as far as she was concerned. After some training, she came to realize that she was not allowed to harm this raccoon and it was a very confusing set up for her. So she came up with a solution. She moved into the closet. As soon as the racoon's cage door was opened, the Lab went to the bedroom and settled into the closet. A place of refuge and safety from the creature that she wanted to kill.
We often remember this situation when we talk about trying to avoid unpleasant things now. Laughing about how much better it would be if we could just move into the closet and ignore the unpleasantness, whatever it may be.
Well, the unpleasantness at the moment is the 'P' word. Our beautiful, almost 11 year old girl has been transformed by the 'P' word. Puberty. Lord help us!
All of a sudden there is drama everywhere. Anxiety is oozing out of her daily routine.
"What if I'm not really sorry for my sins?"; "How do I really know that God loves me?"; "How do I really know that I love Him or you?"; "Do you think boys notice me?"; "If I don't clean my room perfectly every time, is that disobedience?"
Every topic from God to boys to personal hygiene to daily chores is being questioned to death. If her father and I try to talk about anything in depth the tears start to fall. At one point, I sent her to her room for a full afternoon because I needed to breath for awhile.
I know, I know, this too shall pass. In the mean time pray for me! My patience is hanging on by a thread. My husband has moved into the closet.