Somewhere Else

"What do you mean you don't have the car I reserved?"

The young man who glared back didn't blink. "I'm sorry, but we ran out cars. Wouldn't you like an SUV instead?" he asked.

"No, the gas prices are brutal and the people who are paying my expenses expect me to conserve their money. Don't you have anything else?"

"Well," he started, "I doubt you'd be interested, but I've got a Sebring convertible that I can put you in. It's just a few dollars more a day — or you can have the SUV at the same price."

Moments later, I was speeding away, wishing it was still daylight so I could figure out how to work the motor-driven convertible top. Phoenix is beautiful this time of year. Fifteen minutes later, I was glad that the top was up. I was lost. I was so excited about the convertible that I didn't honor my ritual of carefully examining the maps in my folder.

It was only a missed turn. I zigged left when I should have zagged right. A glance at the computer instructions said the hotel was about 5 miles away with only two turns intervening.

Twelve miles later, I spotted a shopping center and a sandwich shop. As I munched on a turkey wrap, I examined the car rental map. I calculated my new arrival time to be about 8:30 p.m. local time. I wished I was already there.

Forty-five minutes later, I was in my room. I dropped my bags by the entrance and fell into the recliner as I dialed home. When Nancy answered, she sounded tired. I expected her to. Not just because it was an hour later in Texas.

When I left home that morning, our last conversation centered around our 15-year-old mostly beagle, Tipi. She hadn't been doing well for weeks. She had quit eating — except for a couple of meals when we brought in the most expensive of canned foods or when Nancy scrambled an egg for her. For days, Tipi had entertained family members who had come by to share just a few last minutes with her. It wasn't always easy to do. Tipi was intent on spending times in her favorite backyard places and not all of them were easily accessible by the rest of us.

Visits to Dr. Jim, our small animal repairman, had revealed what we already knew. Tipi's body was wearing out. Dr. Jim heard a pronounced murmur as he checked her heart. It was only a matter of time. Options were discussed. For then, the best option was to try to find food she would eat and see if she would take medicine to help her breathe more easily and to ease the pain of her arthritis.

Neither food nor medicine had been of interest to Tipi for the last four days. The message on our home phone when I went to pack for this trip was from a sad-voiced Dr. Jim who told us that perhaps putting Tipi to sleep was one of our best options. Dr. Jim hates that. For that reason, he's exactly the kind of veterinarian you would want.

So, as I talked to Nancy Monday night, she told me that she had decided to take Tipi in the next morning. Last night when Nancy called, she shared the news of her trip to Dr. Jim's. She spoke of how hard it was to leave her and how she was glad that Tipi wasn't suffering anymore. I wished I had been there to walk Nancy through this. I wished I was there now.

Now, on this beautiful Wednesday morning in Phoenix, I'm sitting for a few minutes in the hotel before I head out to do my work. And as saddened as I am by the loss of our faithful and ever-loving pup, I am in deeper anguish as I think about my friends, Maryanne and Darell. I last saw them on Sunday on the hospice floor of our local hospital. Maryanne is in the closing time of her sweet life.

My call to Nancy last night had included an update on Maryanne. Her pain medication had been increased. Her remaining hours are growing fewer. I tried to call Darell just a few minutes ago and he didn't answer his cell phone.

I wish I were there.

There's something about life that just makes us think of elsewhere. Perhaps that's what keeps us going. Knowing that the final "somewhere else" is a place we'll want to stay.

All these faithful ones died without receiving what God had promised them, but they saw it all from a distance and welcomed the promises of God. They agreed that they were no more than foreigners and nomads here on earth. And obviously people who talk like that are looking forward to a country they can call their own. If they had meant the country they came from, they would have found a way to go back. But they were looking for a better place, a heavenly homeland. That is why God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a heavenly city for them. (Hebrews 13:13-16 NLT)