Thorns & Thistles
I am weary of broken. I am tired of things not being well, of the echoes of a barred Garden gate and thistles and thorns.
My job brings me into contact with people struggling, homeless or close to it, needing resources, needing a chair to sit in while they catch their breath and focus on what they can do. And they can do things. They can access resources, find furniture, save money to get into a home, apply for benefits if they are needed, even get them expedited in a crisis situation. I like meeting people in crisis. I can help them pay attention and make healthy decisions. I can listen to their stories and help them see the value in their journeys.
Even with the pain and some evil mixed in, I love this life-giving place. My job does not weary me.
I had a cat this spring. My daughter's cat, Stella, needed a home for a while, so we (my patient, loving husband and I) took her in. My other female cat did not take Stella in; in fact, she decided Stella was an interloper and went out of her way to attack her. She even tore through a window screen from the outside to get at Stella while nobody was home. We fought to help them adjust, struggled to keep Stella safe...but we unhappily realized that Stella needed another, a safer and less-stressful, home. Then, last weekend, the perfect home appeared! Stella was settled, a family of children was happy, my daughter was happy, we were happy...and Stella ran away the next day. One week later, there is no sign of her, far away in the big city of Memphis.
I wanted to drive 9 hours to Memphis to scour the neighborhood, put up signs, call Stella back to a good home with children who want to grow up with a kitty sleeping on their beds, demand that she be reasonable. I wanted her to stay with us - but there was no other good choice. I am not done fighting for Stella's good - but I have to be.
My heart is broken for this amusing, curious, chatty cat who doesn't know what is good for her, who we worked so hard for, and for the good that should have been but is not.
This loss, as most do, brings echoes of others, and brokenness swoops in.
I woke this week after a dream of holding my 3-year-old daughter on my lap, reading books to her, when she was a sponge of impressions, a mind and body and spirit happily ready to grow. Twenty years later, she continues to battle back from a blow that took her out for a while. She is battling, and she is stronger than she was before the blow - but it should not have been. My children should not have to struggle to know themselves and be able to trust the world, because of pain and incomprehensible illness. The people I work with every day should not have had to grow up in worlds where their parents told them to run drugs, or let them know they had no value, or made it impossible for them to grow up without addictions. My step-children should not have lost their mother in their 20's. A cat should be able to be safe in a home that wants her.
The lion should be able to lie with the lamb.
Most days the enmity in the world is vanquished, for me. Even if its effects are seen, I know that we are created to overcome and that God is holy and wholeness and near. There is joy in the praying for shalom, in the working for it and the singing of it.
Sometimes, though, there is no way left to defeat it, and the energy is not yet there to do the work of transforming anger, or pain, or sadness into good. All that is left is to grieve, for a while.
My job brings me into contact with people struggling, homeless or close to it, needing resources, needing a chair to sit in while they catch their breath and focus on what they can do. And they can do things. They can access resources, find furniture, save money to get into a home, apply for benefits if they are needed, even get them expedited in a crisis situation. I like meeting people in crisis. I can help them pay attention and make healthy decisions. I can listen to their stories and help them see the value in their journeys.
Even with the pain and some evil mixed in, I love this life-giving place. My job does not weary me.
I had a cat this spring. My daughter's cat, Stella, needed a home for a while, so we (my patient, loving husband and I) took her in. My other female cat did not take Stella in; in fact, she decided Stella was an interloper and went out of her way to attack her. She even tore through a window screen from the outside to get at Stella while nobody was home. We fought to help them adjust, struggled to keep Stella safe...but we unhappily realized that Stella needed another, a safer and less-stressful, home. Then, last weekend, the perfect home appeared! Stella was settled, a family of children was happy, my daughter was happy, we were happy...and Stella ran away the next day. One week later, there is no sign of her, far away in the big city of Memphis.
I wanted to drive 9 hours to Memphis to scour the neighborhood, put up signs, call Stella back to a good home with children who want to grow up with a kitty sleeping on their beds, demand that she be reasonable. I wanted her to stay with us - but there was no other good choice. I am not done fighting for Stella's good - but I have to be.
My heart is broken for this amusing, curious, chatty cat who doesn't know what is good for her, who we worked so hard for, and for the good that should have been but is not.
This loss, as most do, brings echoes of others, and brokenness swoops in.
I woke this week after a dream of holding my 3-year-old daughter on my lap, reading books to her, when she was a sponge of impressions, a mind and body and spirit happily ready to grow. Twenty years later, she continues to battle back from a blow that took her out for a while. She is battling, and she is stronger than she was before the blow - but it should not have been. My children should not have to struggle to know themselves and be able to trust the world, because of pain and incomprehensible illness. The people I work with every day should not have had to grow up in worlds where their parents told them to run drugs, or let them know they had no value, or made it impossible for them to grow up without addictions. My step-children should not have lost their mother in their 20's. A cat should be able to be safe in a home that wants her.
The lion should be able to lie with the lamb.
Most days the enmity in the world is vanquished, for me. Even if its effects are seen, I know that we are created to overcome and that God is holy and wholeness and near. There is joy in the praying for shalom, in the working for it and the singing of it.
Sometimes, though, there is no way left to defeat it, and the energy is not yet there to do the work of transforming anger, or pain, or sadness into good. All that is left is to grieve, for a while.
Beutifully said, Pattie, revealing your heart's response to the melancholy realities of our broken world.
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