Writer's Workshop

Tell us the story of how your pet came to be a member of your family.

I know, I know, I posted it before but I think it bears reminding ourselves that stupid dogs make us swear.

No, that isn't what the message is (although they do) but hang in there. It will get better.

How Sunday, whose birthday happens to be today, joined our crew:

I have been thinking about an experience all day and feel that I need to share it. For what purpose and for whom, I don't know, but it's been on my mind. Perhaps it was remembering while driving to work this morning or maybe it was the conversation I had with an old friend later today as she shared with me her very real and difficult struggles.

Five years ago, our old dog, Maggie, died of old age. It was a sad day for all of us. We cried until our eyes were swollen. We planned on getting another dog after an appropriate grieving period. Instead, our lives were turned upside down with events we couldn't control. We went through a very, very dark time where things went from really bad to worse. When we didn't think it could get worse, it did. We seemed to be literally hanging on for dear life. Prayers were more sincere and desperate. Answers trickled into our hearts but nothing concrete seemed to happen. That October, we found ourselves watching conference with hungry souls as Elder Wirthlin delivered his talk entitled, "Sunday Will Come." It was as if he was speaking directly to us. The premise was that Christ was crucified on Friday. All who followed Christ were devastated as they watched with horror the events unfold. But in a short time, Sunday morning came and Jesus Christ was resurrected.

"Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays.
But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.
No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will come. "

We continued prodding through life. We continued celebrating the great victory of getting out of bed every morning and surviving until bedtime that night. Our journey continued and life improved incrementally. We saw blessings and answers to prayers along the way and we continued on knowing that "Sunday would come."

March came. Husband and oldest son stole sneaky looks at each other and disappeared for an hour. When they came home, they looked like they were going to explode with happiness. A little yellow lab followed them into the house. Getting a dog was not the answer to solving our problems and it seemed like an inopportune time. On the other hand, I could not look at those puppy dog eyes (the boys', not the dog's) and tell them to take her back. We discussed dog names. There was Goldie, Lucky, Stupid (that might have been my idea), and finally my husband looked at me and said, "What about Sunday?"

Things continued to get better slowly over the next year and a half but at that moment, in one corner of the world, Sunday had come.