(Edited: The Journey to Joy )Overcoming a major hurdle: Welcome, Ada

 Warning: I am not portrayed well in this particular story. Well, to be fair, rarely am I portrayed well in any story so...never mind.

Metaphorically-speaking (as this scenario would never actually occur in my real life), I am unable to see the finish line because I concentrate all of my energy on the next hurdle in front of me. 

I see you are having trouble picturing me using that particular analogy. Hmmm...how about this? I can't even envision reaching the bottom of the potato chip bag because I am so focused on selecting my next perfect salty snack. I love the chips that are folded best.

Much better.

So when my husband began to gently nudge me toward the idea of perhaps beginning the search for a new dog...I balked. I had a play to co-direct...state tests to prepare for...field trips to plan...nervous break-downs to schedule.. I had a ton of hurdles to get over before I could even consider bringing a puppy into my home. Maybe when (A) is done. As soon as (B) is finished...I couldn't possibly tackle that when (C) is right around the corner. 

I wanted to wait until school was over. That would be the perfect time to bring a puppy home.

I can already hear you. Amy, there is never a perfect time for change.

Stop trying to psychoanalyze me.

I know I'm scared. I know I still have a dachshund-shaped hole in my heart. I know I'm too lazy to wrestle my way out of the rut in which I've settled.

And then...Brad Mosiman did a thing.

He'd been wanting (for years) and researching (for months) bird dogs...biding his time as I wrestled with indecision, fear, and denial. Clearly, I wasn't willing to pull the trigger but Brad Mosiman was...with his trusty hunting dog by his side.

He gently told me that he was driving to Pennsylvania to look at a dog.

You can imagine how maturely I handled this news. The picture of serene selflessness. Throwing caution to the wind to embark on this new canine adventure.

When I calmed down enough to again talk to my husband, I asked to see a photo of this animal.

And, here, Brad hesitated.

Brad Mosiman does not hesitate. He calculates. Evaluates. Assesses. He gauges. Surveys. Studies.

He sighed, reluctantly handing me his phone. "Don't get hung up on the name," he told me, "I'm going to change it."

Chloe.

All the air rushed out of my lungs. My stomach plummeted to the floor. Pain pierced my heart as I read the name of my beautiful little dachshund on the screen.

But I also strongly believe that God speaks to me...encourages me...guides me through signs.

And, boy, that was a big one.

I would like to say that the remainder of our evening was filled with joyous conversation as we planned our puppy-filled future together but I was too overwhelmed with emotion so I resorted to my tried-and-true strategy for situations such as these: I made Brad feel like $h!{}. I was angry. Afraid. Selfish. Resentful. So...yeah. Of course I took it out on my husband. Look it up. It's in all the marital manuals. 

"How far away is she?" I asked at one point.

Four hours.

I begrudgingly offered to accompany him on the trip. Obviously, he was thrilled at the prospect. 

I really need to ask more clarifying questions.

It wasn't four hours round trip. It was four hours ONE WAY.

Loads of time for Brad and I to get on the same page regarding this new chapter in our lives.

More opportunities for the Lord to present me with literal...signs.

First...we passed the town of Kendall. Seriously?

Despite the fact that we couldn't keep up with them, Savannah and I had enjoyed watching the outrageous exploits of the Kardashians at the time we had gotten Chlo and had named our new friend after our favorite Calabasas community member. I'd softened our shallow choice by X-ing out the brassy K in favor of the more modest Ch. Kendall, of course, is the second youngest daughter of that famous family.

And, naturally, why wouldn't there be a Juneau in the heart of Pennsylvania?  Not the same spelling as our perpetually-worried, overly-sensitive and incredibly kind Rottweiler but I took note all the same. 

God was carefully guiding me forward...we drove in and out of cell service as we wound through wooded hills and green valleys...weather wavering from mild sun, cloud cover to sheets of rain and thunder. Brad was locked in on our destination...me, on God. Praying for a little puppy whose life was about to change. Praying that she wouldn't be too scared or sad because of this change. That there would be room in my hurt heart for another furry friend. For God to please help me be a supportive partner with Brad as he works to train a four-legged companion with which to hike, hunt, and fish.

We arrived and I chose to remain in the van, not trusting my emotions. I was given the pleasure of watching my husband see his dog, in person, for the first time. I was a front row spectator as he scooped her up to cradle her back in his arms.  He listened attentively to the information that was offered but he only had eyes for her. Brad Mosiman's budgeted smiles were spent lavishly today as he carried our new puppy to the van.

My eyes swam with tears as he set her gently on my lap.

We'd brainstormed possible names on the drive: Ruby, Pigeon, Ada, Pickle, Feleena, Checkers, June, Summer, Snickers...

I thought about faith. Ashamed that I needed more of it. Faith in God. Faith in my husband. Faith in myself. And now, here it was...right in my lap. A little faith.

Welcome, Ada Faith Mosiman for helping me to face that first hurdle that accompanies grief. The trick is not getting over it...it's going around it. And it takes some time. Years even. And sometimes a four hour drive. Both ways.