Psalm 13:5, 6 
“But I trust in your unfailing love; 
my heart rejoices in your salvation. 
I will sing the LORD’s praise, 
for he has been good to me.”
(NIV)

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God is better to me than I would be to myself. I’ve heard this many, many times from preachers and parishioners alike. I’ve heard it in songs by artists ranging from James Taylor to dozens of Gospel artists. I’ve said it many, many times, and it’s true every time. God is good all the time. 

Today’s a hard day. I’m working my way out of my Ollie the Border Collie habits. Each time I walk outside in the morning with Millie the Black Dog to feed her, I walk past his medication. I have to consciously stop myself from reaching for it. He doesn’t need it anymore. 

I had dozens of things I said to him each day about what an amazing dog he was. For example, I told him every day how he’s the World’s Best Dog award winner. I sang dozens of songs to him, set to simple tunes we all know. I’m pretty sure he’s the only one who really enjoys hearing me sing. 

I also have sayings and songs about Millie the Black Dog. She doesn’t enjoy them as much as Ollie did. Her palette is a bit more discerning, it seems. Even so, she enjoys the attention, and I enjoy giving it to her. 

Yesterday was Father’s Day. I spent some time thinking about my own dad. He was a lot like Ollie. He was a good shepherd. He kept the wolves away. He provided the best he could. He listened deeply. He offered advice when asked. He loved us with a strong sense of pride and loyalty. 

Twenty years or so ago, I walked into a hospital where one of our church members had only moments before passed away. His death was a long time coming. This man was dearly loved. His daughter was college-aged at that time. She met me as she walked away from his room, out toward the waiting room where family and friends were gathered. She looked me in the eye and said, “I left nothing unsaid.” 

I committed that moment to memory. I wanted to be able to say that about the people who are most meaningful to me. Those last few weeks of Dad’s life, I think I did all the talking. That’s not uncommon for our relationship. It’s not that he didn’t want to talk or didn’t care to talk. It’s probably that I talk too much. Preachers can be like that. 

It’s also true that talking was hard for him there toward the end. His ability to follow a thought and respond with well-expressed words was extremely limited by his health conditions. It wasn’t long before he passed away that I said, “It’s okay, we’re okay. You’ve taken really good care of us. We’ve got this.” 

He passed away before I got another opportunity to talk to him, but like that young woman at the hospital in Houston, I left nothing unsaid. 

Our son was in college when we moved to the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex. Our fox-terrier/Jack Russell Terrier mix was getting on up in years. She was having health issues, and we knew she wouldn’t be with us much longer. My bride and I went away for a few days to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary. Our son came home from college and spent the weekend with Asta. She loved him more than anybody. 

He let her sit on the couch with him all weekend. He probably gave her snacks she didn’t need. He babied her, and she ate it up. He went back to college on Sunday afternoon. She went downhill fast after that. She was in deep distress there at the end. I held her and told her, “It’s okay, we’ve got this.” She exhaled her last breath. 

Ollie and I had several meaningful talks before I left to take my mother to the airport on Friday. In each of our last two moments together, I had things to say that could only be said then. Each time, he lifted his head higher than he had been able to do in a couple of days and looked me in the eye. I told him where I was going and what I was doing. As Mom and I walked into the terminal, my phone rang. My bride was letting me know. He was gone. 

I accomplished my mission, and he accomplished his. 

My bride told him there at the end, when he was laboring to breathe, “It’s okay. We’ve got this.” She held him and stroked his hair that was as soft on the day he died as it was when he was a puppy. She told him how much she loved him and how much we appreciated him taking such good care of us. 

Still waiting for the good part of this devotional? 

God never wastes suffering. He never wastes pain. Psalm 56:8 is a verse you probably want to commit to memory. 

“You keep track of all my sorrows. 
You have collected all my tears in your bottle. 
You have recorded each one in your book.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭56‬:‭8‬ ‭NLT‬‬

I especially love Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of this verse in The Message. 

“You’ve kept track of my every toss and turn 
through the sleepless nights, 
Each tear entered in your ledger, 
each ache written in your book.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭56‬:‭8‬ ‭MSG‬‬

It’s good to know God sees our pain and collects our tears, but also know he redeems all he allows. 

I was a pretty stupid fourteen-year-old once upon a time. The television commercial promised the baby shampoo would cause “no more tears.” So, I tried it out. I washed my hair and left my eyes open, and I didn’t experience tears, but I did have a problem. I’m glad I learned that lesson 50 years ago and don’t have to repeat it ever again. 

Revelation 21:4 is also a favorite Bible verse, even for people who don’t have a deep and abiding walk with God. It says, 

“‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
‭‭Revelation‬ ‭21‬:‭4‬ ‭NIV‬‬

We find the same promise in the Old Testament in Isaiah 25:8. 

Imagine that: Last breaths and last tears somehow go together. I wonder, does heaven begin with laughter? Is laughter the language of eternity? 

Grief is time-bound. Joy is timeless. 

Sooner than I imagine, but not as soon as I would like, I will be able to think about Ollie the Border Collie and not be in danger of embarrassing myself with tears in public. Better yet, one of these days we will laugh forever together. 

—

I will remember that “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning,” (Psalm 30:5 NLT).

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Our Father, thank you for taking our tears seriously. Thank you for knowing the depth of our sorrows. Thank you for redeeming them. Thank you for your promise that “weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.” I look forward to laughter. Amen.