Everyone deals with grief in a different way. With the loss of our beloved pet, we really didn't know what to expect from each of the kids. We expected each one to take it hard, but respond in their own way due to their differences in both age and personality.

The Architect (male, age 12) is similar to his Dad. He is analytical and thoughtful and usually fairly reserved. He and I are both sensitive at a deep level, which only occasionally breaks the surface. On Monday night, just a few hours after we buried the dog, he made a statement to the effect of "If I had to choose between having Frodo and then losing him and never having him at all, I would still choose to have him." Analysis with a side order of emotion,and it sounded like Shakespeare to my ears.

The Artist (male, age 10) has always worn his heart on his sleeve, but this week, no sleeve could hold the flood of tears and emotion which poured out of him. It seemed that whenever any of the adults in the home would finally managed to establish a modicum of emotional control, he would wander into the room and completely break down, shattering any semblance of composure. Every room in the castle has been amply watered by his grief.

The Princess (female, age 5) has been been full of grief, and of joy. She had outbreaks of sorrow like all of us and needed plenty of holding but these episodes were interspersed with laughter and play and incredible acts of selflessness and grace.

On Tuesday morning, all of us were still trying to absorb the reality of the loss. The Artist was having a particularly difficult time and spend long stretches sitting on the couch just crying by himself. We tried to comfort him but he just needed to let it out and mostly we let him mourn in his own way.

His little sister noticed how sad he was, and on her own accord, she took matters into her own hands. She quietly went over to her desk and took out a clean sheet of paper. She opened her crayon box and selected a black crayon. Then she began to draw. When the picture was finished she walked across the room to her crying brother and handed him the picture. "I made this for you...It's Frodo." She then walked back to her desk and started on a new picture. Soon each family member, herself included had a picture of our late pet.

As she brought me my drawing, I told her how happy it made me feel and she just beamed. Then she said she knew something else that could make me happy. She ran from my office and into her bedroom. A few moments later she returned with a music box in her small hands. She wound it up and let the music play. I agreed that the music did make me feel better. We chatted for a bit more and then she was off to play.

I have always heard that drawing is great therapy when dealing with grief. Yet, what touched me more than anything was not her art skills but rather how loving and selfless her actions were. The first drawing was created out of her desire to comfort her brother, yet I know that she herself was also touched and received joy through the experience of being so unselfish.

Often when the cares of my job or my family wear me out, I become more selfish than normal. All I want to do is watch TV or waste time on the computer or maybe sleep. I don't care to put any energy into my kids or my lovely wife because my action becomes focused on meeting my own needs. So often, the more selfish my actions become, the deeper the funk that envelops me. None of the selfish activities bring relief or respite...so they tend to increase my appetite for additional selfish endeavors while failing to meet my true needs.

The irony is that sometimes the best escape route is to simply do something for someone else - something that provides no benefit for myself. For me, that something is dishes. I hate 'em. I detest doing them although there is no logical reason for that feeling. So when I'm down in the dumps, I understand that the best way to stop being Mr. Grouchy is by going in the kitchen and getting my hands wet. That understanding usually makes me more grouchy until I get so tired of being glum that I finally take action and pick up the dishrag.

I'm glad I understand this truth but unfortunately, understanding is nowhere near the same as mastery. Plus it really looks like my little girl has a solid 30 year lead on me. I think this whole idea is summed up so nicely in Micah 6:8 where what God requires of us is defined in just a few words:

I believe that his intent is not for us to live miserable and empty lives but rather lives full of purpose and of joy. I cannot emphasize how important I feel justice, mercy and humility are to bringing fulfillment to life. I desire my life to be marked by the presence of these three attitudes and occasionally that desire becomes reality. This week I saw all three in the innocent eyes of a 5 year old girl who deserved comfort, but instead chose to comfort those around her.