This morning, Nick found the limp body under a young pine by the horse riding arena. Rose stood at a distance, guilty, while Nick examined the fawn. Lifeless. Still warm. How can a dog I love so much do such a terrible thing?

We’re not in Eden anymore.

I am sad. The poor doe who carried life in her womb through the brutal winter months, who bore down near the pond and pained herself to deliver a few days ago, has been stripped of her baby. By my dog.

I grieve life wounded and lost. All life. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve tried to rescue birds fallen from their nests, a chipmunk with a broken leg, even a brood of baby skunks without a mama.

Right now there’s a 19-year-old in a hospital with a serious condition. Homeless just a bit ago, she lived with us for two weeks. A few days ago, she was in a car accident. Now, she can’t walk. Doctors don’t know if her paralysis is permanent.

I long for Eden. For the way life was and will be again.  I hold that hope-seed, trying to keep it from rotting in the damp dark, turning to despair. I want no more sadness, no more sickness, no more weeping. No more loss, no more grieving. To be rid of the sin that so easily entangles and strangles animal, human, all of creation.

There’s a day coming, for sure. But until then, there’s now. There’s today. How will we live with life and death, joy and grief so intertwined?

Find joy in being the hands and feet and mouth and arms and heart of Jesus. Go where Holy Spirit sends. Bring a bit of Eden everywhere we go. That’s joy overcoming grief. That’s wonder overshadowing despair. That we can be part of the restoration of all creation is a calling like no other.

Today, my heart aches for the fawn and for the young woman. Yet, I turn my face to the sky and feel the promise of spring no matter how dark and cold and long the days before.

Today, I planted lettuces and beans, basil and peppers. I set pots of cheerful pansies by both doors. When life and death intertwine like today, I need some cheering on.

I watched Nick scoop up the fawn and wrap her gently in white. We buried her up on the hill, nice and deep so scavengers can’t consume. And as that last shovel of earth fell upon her grave, I whispered a prayer:

Oh, Lord! Plant me deep. Grow in me your heart for the haunted, the wounded, the grieving. Oh, Lord! Help me be a vessel through which you pour hope and healing. Hold us all, dear Lord, in the palm of your tender hands. And help us hold tight to you, our Hope and Joy, in a world ravenous for your return. Amen.

And now, I’m taking some daffodils cut from the garden for the girl who can’t walk—the girl who calls me “Mom”. Sometimes the sacrifice of life is just what one needs to know and feel they are loved.