A Story for All Ages
I'm sharing this story during Lent and March because it is a story about another kind of brokenness: broken-heartedness. We all have to deal with broken-heartedness and loss in our lives. Traditionally, that grief is part of the Lenten journey, but of course it can happen at any time. Taking the time in our spiritual lives to attend to stories and think about how to live with grief and loss prepares us ahead of those losses and can bring us comfort when we do suffer them.
Once there was a young sheepdog named Pepper, who liked nothing better than when Pepper’s granddog came by and they went kite flying. The granddog had another name, Pepper was sure, but when someone called “Granddog”, Granddog came, so that was what everyone used. Granddog had helped Pepper make the great red kite and showed Pepper how to fly that kite. Pepper imagined that the kite was like a little red sheepdog, chasing the fluffy cloud sheep and bringing them home to pasture.
Granddog and Pepper went up the paths to reach the height of a good hill and let the kite chase the clouds. When the way was steep, Granddog waited when Pepper’s wheelchair struggle on the track. On the way home, Granddog smiled and barked when Pepper flew past down the hill, faster than Pepper’s parents liked. On the hill, Pepper made the kite chase cloud sheep and Granddog told stories.
They were some of Pepper’s favorite days, days where its seemed like the sun had moved inside Pepper’s heart, creating a warm wonderful feeling. That feeling crowded out the days when other dogs said mean things or ran so fast and so hard they left Pepper behind. That warm wonderful feeling crowded out the worries and the doubts, the pain Pepper lived with, and the troubles Pepper knew. When Pepper had asked Granddog about that feeling, Granddog had smiled and nodded and wagged Granddog’s tail. That feeling, Granddog said, was called happiness.
“But Granddog,” Pepper said, “it is more than happiness. Happiness is when you’re tired and there’s a hug and a bedtime story and a soft bed at night. Happiness is when everyone is circle dancing, even me. Happiness is the smell of daffodils and new lambs telling us spring has arrived.”
“Very true and very wise,” nodded Granddog.
“I feel,” Pepper answered, “like that warm wonderful feeling is happiness and something else. Could it be that feeling you oldsters call love?”
“It does seem like it could be that,” Granddog said, “but you will have to decide that for yourself.” That was the kind of answer Granddog was always giving, which was kind of annoying. Yet Pepper wasn’t annoyed. Instead, Pepper felt that warm sun in the heart kind of feeling. Pepper supposed that feeling was love after all.
One day, Pepper was waiting for Granddog, but the day turned bright and then hot and then back into the light of evening and still there was no Granddog. That night, Pepper’s parents came home, sad and sometimes howling.
Granddog had died. Granddog was not coming over to fly kites again. Granddog was running sheep beyond the clouds, now, herding around the stars. Pepper’s heart skipped a beat and Pepper felt this warm wonderful feeling inside break apart, letting the tears come.
The next day was not very good weather for flying kites, but Pepper took the red kite any way and went slowly, very slowly up the hill, wishing Granddog were there. When Pepper’s wheels struggled, Pepper remembered Granddog waiting patiently and instead of barking at the hill and barking at the wheelchair like Pepper wanted to, Pepper tried to be like Granddog, to slow down and just keep going. At the top of the hill, Pepper remembered Granddog, but Pepper also remembered the mean dogs, the cruel things said and done that Pepper endured every day. Pepper felt the broken bits of heart rubbing up against each other like old winter leaves, dry and brittle and cold. A breeze came up over the hill pushing ahead a large herd of cloud sheep and Pepper shivered, looked up at the cloud sheep, sighed, and sent the kite up into the sky. All day long Pepper sat on top of the hill, flying the red kite, chasing cloud sheep and remembering Granddog.
That night, Pepper shared what had happened. Pepper’s parents asked, “How do you feel now?” And Pepper sat back, head tilted to one side, thinking. The cold brittle leaves were still there. But the warm sun was there, too, right alongside. Pepper sighed with relief. The love Pepper for and with Granddog was not all gone. The hurt was there, but so was this love. “I feel,” Pepper said, “like a red kite chasing cloud sheep.”
Losing someone we love is hard and painful. It is one of the most common experiences of brokenness, for the wholeness and joy we feel when we love someone is changed into something different when that person dies. It is okay to be sad. That sadness is part of the change. Yet we can also remember the love we have felt and find that again, still part of us. Love is a gift that once given cannot be taken away from us, even when the people who gave that to us are gone. We, too, can give that gift. When we lose someone we love, sometimes we don’t want to risk loving anyone else. We have to imagine our way into that, and gather up our courage and hearts to take that risk.
