Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime;
therefore, we must be saved by hope.
Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense
in any immediate context of history;
therefore, we must be saved by faith.
Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone;
therefore, we are saved by love.
~ Reinhold Niebuhr ~
________________________
Peanut & Freddie
In Memory of Peanut
1998 – 2012
[ aka Peanster, Peanutter-Butter,
Pretty Pug-nosed Princess Peanutter-Butter ]
I was not prepared for the pain of losing you.
My son Alex will remind me in no uncertain terms that I never wanted any cats as pets. We already had Misty (a black lab), and I thought she was enough. When I came home one day from work and went to use our front hall bathroom, Alex and his Dad told me I couldn’t use it. So naturally, I asked why the door was closed, then opened it. Inside – two small kittens, a brother and sister from the same litter. One black and white with huge eyes (Freddie) and one tiny with orange/beige fur (Peanut).
I was upset. The only two things in the world that make me wheeze and have trouble breathing are cigar/cigarette smoke and cat hair. They couldn’t stay in the house.
It was them or me.
When things calmed down a little (when I calmed down a little), we all reached a compromise: the kittens could stay on our screened in porch and sleep on the padded hot tub cover. Padded pillows from our lawn chairs were arranged on top, along with food and water bowls and a litter box. They slept together, all curled up in a circle, like yin and yang.
Each night, after we came in from the hot tub, before bed, they came inside for a while to play on the carpeted floor of the den. Each night, the time inside got longer – 10 minutes, a half hour, two hours… They were so cute and so much fun, and the wheezing seemed to be getting less frequent the more I was exposed to their fur.
One night, I relented. Let them in for good. That’s when the two fur balls took over our house, and our hearts. Even Misty seemed to accept them. Peanut was Alex’s and Freddie, with his big eyes, was mine (after all, wouldn’t an optometrist choose the one with big eyes???). Our family had just expanded.
Peanut was always frail; in the first year of her life, we often had her at the vet, trying to find out why she was so tiny. Some breathing problems, lots of blood work and tests, but nothing ever too definite. She would always stay “petite” (like me) with a delicate appetite (unlike me).
When Alex’s Dad and I got divorced, and I moved out, we decided to leave the cats with Alex and his Dad, to keep things as stable as possible for Alex. I actually had my attorney put a stipulation in the divorce agreement to make certain that I could “cat-sit” several times a year.
Wasn’t I the one who gave my family the ultimatum – it’s them or me? Ummm – I guess that was me – so long, long ago.
Then, Alex went away to college, and ultimately, about 2 years ago, Peanut and Freddie came to live with me for good.
I was not prepared for the pain of losing you, Peanut.
You purred the loudest of any cat I had ever known and you looked upon everything that didn’t interest you (which was most things) with a certain disdain. Hence, “Princess.” But you also wrapped your self around my neck when I walked around the house, and stretched out on my legs or chest like a Sphinx when I was watching TV. You were light as a feather – a fur ball – and I loved you.
Each night, you and Freddie slept at the bottom of the bed, all curled up. Sometimes, you slept all night on my husband’s shoulder, paws stretched straight out. If he happened to move the slightest bit over night, you were highly affronted, glaring at him in no uncertain terms until he stopped moving and you could return to your beauty sleep.
You were a treasure. A beauty. A princess.
During the day, you held court on the couch, ensconced on my most comfortable pillow. No one dared disturb you. If I was at my computer, you would hop onto my desk and lay across my keyboard, causing all kinds of gibberish to appear on the screen. I would lift you off, trying to avoid your icy stare. We compromised and I put your cat bed on the edge of my desk, so we could be together while I worked. Cans of compressed dust remover littered my desk; that soft, long fur got into all the cracks and crevices of my computer and printer.
Then, your daily routine started to change.
You lost weight, getting recurrent upper respiratory infections. We kept taking you to the vet and you seemed to improve with the steroid shots and the appetite enhancer. You ate better, but developed an allergy to the meds and scratched your chin to an open sore, so we stopped the medicine. We had another follow-up visit at the vet in another week.
One night, after getting up to go to the bathroom, I got back into bed and put you back on my shoulder where you had slept. I remember that your breathing was so loud – labored – that I moved you to the foot of the bed to get more sleep.
But your breathing was too labored and irregular…
I woke up my husband (who sleeps through anything) and told him something was terribly wrong. We hurriedly got dressed, then I wrapped you in your favorite soft blanket as we drove the half hour to the 24-hour emergency vet hospital. It was early, early morning, and snowing.
I can still feel your tiny claws digging into my leg on the way there. But your breathing calmed a bit.
Once there, when I mentioned “respiratory distress” to the receptionist, the vet flew out from the back and hurried you into an exam room while I had to sign a paper saying whether I wanted extraordinary measures taken if anything serious would occur while at the hospital.
Ridiculous – but I signed it; all you needed was some oxygen and another steroid shot and you’d be good to go. We could work at my desk tomorrow and you could wrap yourself around my neck, purring so loud in my ear that it soothed any stress I might have.
The vet came back into the room where we waited. At first, I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) understand her. Something about tests and blood work and oxygen… I thought we had explained all of that, and we agreed on going ahead with getting you better.
Still, I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) understand her.
Your condition deteriorated rapidly. Your organs were shutting down – it sounded like congestive heart failure. You were dying in the other room.
Should we prolong your life (your suffering) or consider your comfort? I was used to this from working with Hospice; it was an easy choice – no suffering, please. (Easy? Who am I kidding? It was torture.) The vet was compassionate, saying you had coughed up a lot of blood and things were moving fast.
Could I say good-bye? Yes, but I had to be ready to see that you were on oxygen.
When I entered the hospital area, you were in a small glassed off “cage” or bed on the bottom level where oxygen was being pumped in. There was a small opening big enough for my hands for when I wanted to pet you. You were lying on your favorite soft plaid blanket, your fur wet and matted where you coughed up blood, showing how thin you really were.
I stifled a cry and dropped to my knees on the linoleum floor so that I could see you and talk to you. When you heard me, you actually dragged yourself around toward my voice, then lay back down, spent. It must have taken all of the little energy you had left, but now you were facing me, and I could pet you.
My Peanutter-Butter. My Princess.
I told you I loved you and I thanked you for your years of love, and said that it was okay for you to go toward the light. I told you that Mimi (my Mom) would be there, but realized that you never met her; she died before you were born. So I told you instead that our beloved Misty would be there to greet you. I reminded you how much Freddie loved you and how much he would miss you, but that someday, we would all be together again.
Your eyes were already fixed ahead, directed toward me but not seeing me – looking beyond me at a place where I couldn’t follow. You were already leaving, but waited just long enough to say good-bye.
It was enough – it was too much; I had to go. You were already well on your way, eyes unseeing, breathing labored. So fragile yet so beautiful. Let the doctor help to end your pain. I couldn’t see for my tears.
In the time it took me to sign papers for your cremation, you were gone. Forever lost to me, to Alex, to Freddie.
When we drove home, the snow had stopped and it was daybreak. I couldn’t go into work, I hurt so much. When you didn’t come home with us, Freddie went to the dining room window where you both sometimes shared a bed. When he didn’t find you there, he never went into the dining room again until more than a year had passed. He looked for you for a few days, then settled into an uneasy loneliness. He’s more anxious, as if a part of him is gone (it is). Sometimes he fixes his gaze at a spot above my head, or into a darkened room, and stares, listens at attention. As if you’re there, looking back.
Perhaps you are…
Peanster – your ashes are in a carved wooden box on the mantle, with your name on it. But when I opened the card that came with your cremains and saw the bits of fur they had included, just like a lock of a loved one’s hair, I cried uncontrollably. I couldn’t – and still haven’t – touched it. I also don’t want to let Freddie near it; I’m not sure what he would do if he caught your scent. That we be too cruel a thing to do to your brother.
I miss you. I thank you for coming to me in a dream not so long ago after I mentioned to my husband (yet again) how much I missed you. Be healthy and happy, Peanster. I thank you for the gift of your life. If you can, please let Freddie know you’re okay somehow. I explained to him what happened to you, but for any of us, that clinical information is not always enough.
I love you, Pretty, Pug-nosed Princess Peanutter-Butter. Someday, I’ll meet you at the Rainbow Bridge.
_____________________________________________________________
The Rainbow Bridge
When a beloved pet dies, it goes to the Rainbow Bridge. It makes friends with other animals and frolics over rolling hills and peaceful, lush meadows of green.
Our pets do not thirst or hunger. The old and sick are made young once more; the maimed and the ill become healed and strong. They are as healthy and playful as we remember them in days gone by.
Though happy and content, they still miss someone very special, someone they had to leave behind.
Together, the animals chase and play, but the day comes when a pet will suddenly stop and look into the distance…bright eyes intent, eager body quivering. Suddenly recognizing you, your pet bounds quickly across the green fields and into your embrace. You celebrate in joyous reunion. You will never again separate. Happy tears and kisses are warm and plenty; your hands caress the face you missed. You look once more into the loving eyes of your pet and you know you never really parted. You realize that though out of sight, your love had been remembered.
And now, you cross the Rainbow Bridge together…
~ Author Unknown ~
__________________________________________________________
Clouds come floating into my life
no longer to carry rain or usher storm,
but to add color to my sunset sky.
~ Tagore ~
______________________
There are no backwaters.
There is only one river,
and we are all in it.
Wave your arms,
and the ripples will
eventually reach me.
~ Scott Russell Sanders ~
______________________________
5 year old Miles Scott of Tulelake, California, loves superheroes. Especially Batman. After all, superheroes battle villains and always win in the end.
Miles has been battling his own villain – leukemia – since he was 18 months old. And November signaled the end of 3 grueling years of treatment; his cancer, for now, in remission.
So when Make-A-Wish of the Greater Bay Area (San Francisco) – the Foundation that grants wishes of children with life-threatening medical conditions – asked Miles what he wanted most in the world, his answer was simple – to be a superhero.
So on Friday, November 15, 2013, more than 12,000 San Francisco Gotham City residents, volunteers and personnel closed down roads and lined the streets as San Francisco’s Gotham City’s Police Chief Greg Suhr took to television pleading for Batkid’s help against some noteworthy villains.
So with two Lamborghinis outfitted as Batmoblies, a real Batman (Eric Johnston), Miles’ younger brother as Robin, and President and Mrs. Obama tweeting their support, Miles Scott – Batkid – stormed out to fight crime in the city streets.
Batkid rescued a damsel in distress from the Hyde Street Cable Car tracks, foiled the Riddler from robbing a downtown bank, then had a superhero lunch of a burger and fries.
His crime-fighting never done, Batkid’s lunch was interrupted by hundreds of people yelling for his help in rescuing the kidnapped San Francisco Giants’ mascot Lou Seal from the clutches of the dastardly Penguin. Batkid, as always, saved the day, and the Mascot.
In appreciation for saving San Francisco Gotham City, Mayor Ed Lee presented Batkid with a chocolate Key to the City, and local newspapers carried the story of Batkid’s crime-fighting skills for days to come.
Sleep well, Gotham City. A Superhero keeps watch over your city.
Good job, San Francisco. You have a huge heart.
Well done, Batkid – you saved the day.
Be well, Miles Scott. Thousands of us hold you in our hearts.
_____________________________________________
You suppose you are the trouble,
But you are the cure.
You suppose that you are the lock on the door,
But you are the key that opens it.
It’s too bad that you want to be someone else;
You don’t see your own face, your own beauty.
Yet, no face is more beautiful than yours.
~ Rumi ~
_______________________
“I saw the angel in the marble and I carved until I set him free.”
~ Michelangelo ~
__________________________
Unfinished Sculpture
by Michelangelo
___________________________
I cry out to the Sculptor but he does not hear me from within the stone.
This tomb is cold and dark and heavy.
My words echo endlessly, repeating, repeating, growing quieter with each pass.
My feet cannot move, my hands are paralyzed, my lungs crushed against the weight.
My eyes are permanently open, yet see nothing but darkness.
I wait. Within the stone. Alone.
I was born once, and lived.
I was born once, and loved.
I was born once, and lost.
Now I wait to be found.
Again.
Now I wait to be birthed.
Again.
Now I wait to be heard.
Again.
Now I wait to be free.
Again.
He chips away steadily, with purpose,
until my feet are created upon a well-muscled pair of legs.
With each chip, something drops from me.
Grief litters the base mixing with the liquid of old tears.
Loss piles up as my legs break free.
Identity. Health. Title. Marriage. Jobs. Pets. Dreams.
The Sculptor gently blows away the dust of the ages,
and the motes sparkle in the sunlight as they lift from the heavy stone.
I wriggle my toes, happy for the sturdy foundation upon which I stand.
My feet remember sand squishing between my toes as I ran along a beach,
blades of grass tickling my soles while running through a field.
They itch at the thought of such freedom.
My arms and hands are next.
The muscles and tendons within my fingers protest as I stretch them for the first time.
No longer imprisoned in the stone, they let go of what they have grasped for far too long.
Blame, intolerance, despair, hopelessness break free and drift into nothingness
as my hands lift in supplication and thanks for another chance, another life.
Regrets disappear as The Sculptor blows away more dust,
His fingers running over the curves in a knowing caress.
He carves both ears, and as the waxy stone is removed,
a symphony of Divine beauty courses through the tunnels as my fingers shake in awe.
The notes echo through to my toes.
My eyes – yes, please – my eyes.
He chips away what seems like forever, then chips away some more.
What is wrong? Why can’t I see? There is only darkness where there should be light.
The Sculptor replaces his chisel with a sharper one,
and delicately crafts the blood vessels and membranes of sight.
Suddenly, like a dawn of ages past,
the light rises in colors more brilliant than I remember,
dazzling in its rainbow display.
Tears drip onto my frozen cheeks as I remember
the breathtaking beauty of things forgotten.
Focused, the work continues as He chisels and shapes and carves,
every detail from the flowing hair to the perfect, gleaming teeth a work of art.
Finished. At last, but for one last thing.
He walks to the Tabernacle and carefully opens its door, reaching in for His Precious Gift.
A heart, shimmering, pulsating, rests in His hands.
He walks toward me, and with eyes filled with love
and a voice barely more than a whisper,
gently pushes it into my chest.
“I give you My heart.”
A flood of compassion swirls through my body,
and I take a deep breath with my new lungs.
I breathe out warmth and love and contentment.
How can I feel weightless when carved from marble?
How can eyes see when chiseled from stone?
But I do. And I can.
All that weighed me down is no more.
I am no longer a prisoner of my own making;
I am blessedly, wonderfully free.
Free to take part in a further journey.
But this time, I will love more and take less.
This time, I will see with the Eyes of His Heart.
This time, I choose to remain free.
________________________________________
Angel by Michelangelo
_________________________________________
“Whenever you do a thing,
act as if all the world were watching”
~ Thomas Jefferson ~
____________________________________
[originally posted August 12, 2013]
Assisi, Italy
photo: Sacred Destinations
Right now, I should be jet-lagged from Saturday’s return flight from Italy. Unpacking, doing laundry, going through stacks of mail, picking up my cat, Freddie, from my son’s gracious cat-sitting ordeal, watering the flowers, reliving my time on Pilgrimage in Assisi… [see: “My Journey with St. Francis, the Jesuits and Pope Francis – Part I“]
But I’m not…
In a post almost 6 months ago, I wrote of my hopes for this journey, a retreat for health care professionals that promised ‘renewal, respite and reflection’ in Assisi, Italy. St. Francis’ birthplace. Up close and personal to my daily prayer of “Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace…”
My pilgrimage that would take me to the same cobblestone streets where St. Francis walked, prayed and healed. Where I could best offer my gratitude for all blessings received (and they are many) in this life, and where I could best humbly ask for guidance, strength and wisdom in providing compassionate presence to those most in need.
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” ― Allen Saunders & John Lennon
My pilgrimage turned into a different journey, to a different place, perhaps even more sacred. A pilgrimage of the ordinary times in a marriage – the unexpected trials – the uncertain, dark and lonely times.
A pilgrimage is a journey or search of moral or spiritual significance. Typically, it is a journey to a shrine or other location of importance to a person’s beliefs and faith, although sometimes it can be a metaphysical journey into someone’s own beliefs. ~ Wikipedia
There are significant benefits to a second marriage when you are older – no time to waste on falseness; you already know what you need in a partnership, and you don’t bother looking for what isn’t healthy or what doesn’t exist. When you get married young, in the thralls of romance and knights in shining armor and dreams through rose-colored glasses, most of us don’t think of the “…in sickness and in health from this day forward until death do us part” portion of the vow. But when you form that union middle-aged, you are clearly aware that those times will undoubtedly be coming sooner rather than later.
And so they did…
I’ve had my share of hospital stays and “GOK” Disease (named by one of my doctors: “God Only Knows” Disease), surgeries and too-quick recoveries in my adult life, but my husband was one of the few who had made it this far in life without a hospital stay.
No longer.
Ten days before we were to depart for our rest and renewal workshop, he became ill – seriously ill – and landed in the hospital.
My pilgrimage.
Pilgrimage: a journey to a place that is connected with someone of something that you admire or respect. ~ Oxford Advanced Dictionary
My journey where I so eloquently hoped to “humbly ask for guidance, strength and wisdom in providing compassionate presence to those most in need.” Little did I know that when I had those hopes – indeed, had that certainty – for my pilgrimage, it would be directed toward my husband rather than a patient, client, student, stranger, or friend in need.
This time, it was much closer to home.
Pilgrimage: any long journey, especially one undertaken as a quest or for a votive purpose, as to pay homage; a journey, especially a long one, made to some sacred place as an act of religious devotion. ~ dictionary.com
Certainly this act of devotion, of care-taking, was assumed automatically. The decision to cancel our trip in light of the circumstances was easy. Yes, it was a missed opportunity that I had so looked forward to; yes, it would be inconvenient to have to reschedule the visit (hopefully) sometime in the future. But mostly, there was the disappointment that I was so sure that I would be shown some priceless wisdom while on this retreat. After all, I would be walking and praying where St. Francis walked and prayed. A lightning bolt would strike directly in front of me and all would be revealed.
How could I not be gifted with Divine Wisdom in so sacred a place?
Pilgrimage: the course of life on earth; journey undertaken to gain divine aid, as an act of thanksgiving or to demonstrate devotion. ~ Merriam-Webster Dictionary
Albrecht Durer
My prayers were answered – the Divine Wisdom was there – just not as I expected it (which is usually the case with me). The sacred places were the emergency and waiting rooms, the doctor’s offices that we are still visiting, the computer screen that listed the test results, the iPhone with family texts and conversations, the empty house at night… Not the cobblestone streets of Assisi, but rather the hospital corridors and parking lots and driveways that all leave their indelible mileage on your heart.
My husband is on his way to recovery; his energy level is improving a little day by day; his stubbornness is showing signs of resurfacing (that’s not such a good thing, but in light of the past month, I’ll take it); our conversations are becoming more regular and actually concern something other than mortality and bone marrow and fevers of unknown origin and Family Medical Leave.
Scared ground. All of this – the tears, the despair, the anxiety, the complete disruption of normalcy – is sacred ground.
A pilgrimage of sorts.
About marriage, love and partnership, fear and uncertainty, anger and decisions, devotion and things said or unsaid.
And hope. Always hope.
Hope that things that were once taken for granted and perhaps annoying would actually return (who knew?); that normalcy would once again be a part of our lives. Those ordinary things.
Ordinary, every day, ‘boring’ things that were, and are, in actuality, extraordinary.
This pilgrim is grateful. And humbled. Yet again, caught by surprise at how little I have control over things. Reminded that all will be well, regardless of my attempts to influence, ascertain, direct, determine, assure, limit, organize, out-maneuver whatever the future has in store.
Did I say that I was middle-aged? Chronologically perhaps, but naive none-the-less. Still learning. Still struggling. A work in progress.
A pilgrim on sacred ground.
It’s any place any one of us reaches out in love. It’s everywhere. It’s right beside us. Inside us. And it’s all about love.
“Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon,
Where there is doubt, faith,
Where there is despair, hope,
Where there is darkness, light, and
where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive –
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”
I walked with St. Francis on my pilgrimage. The wings that carried me weren’t part of an airplane…yet my feet never even touched the ground.
______________________________________________________________
Bruno 2001
Hold fast the time!
Guard it, watch over it, every hour, every minute!
Unregarded it slips away…
Hold every moment sacred.
Give each clarity and meaning,
each the weight of thine awareness,
each its true and due fulfillment.
~ Thomas Mann ~
______________________
I bear many scars, but I also
carry with me moments that
would not have happened
if I had not dared
to go beyond my limits.
~ Paulo Coelho ~
__________________________
The person born with a talent they are meant to use
will find their greatest happiness in using it.
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe ~
______________________________
Roderick Maclver
Refuse to fall down
If you cannot refuse to fall down,
refuse to stay down.
If you cannot refuse to stay down,
lift your heart toward heaven,
and like a hungry beggar,
ask that it be filled.
You may be pushed down.
You may be kept from rising.
But no one can keep you from lifting your heart
toward heaven
only you.
It is in the middle of misery
that so much becomes clear.
The one who says nothing good
came of this,
is not yet listening.
~ Clarissa Pinkola Estés ~
____________________________
chris hopkins
“Do not avoid contact with suffering or close your eyes before suffering.
Do not lose awareness of the existence of suffering in the world.
Find ways to be with those who are suffering by all means,
including personal contact and visits, images, sounds.
By such means, …awaken yourself and others
to the reality of suffering in the world.
If we get in touch with the suffering of the world,
and are moved by that suffering,
we may come forward to help the people who are suffering.”
~ Thich Nhat Hanh ~
_____________________________
We are not human beings having a spiritual experience;
we are spiritual beings having a human experience.
~ Pierre Teilhard de Chardin ~
Jesuit priest and philosopher
_____________________________
__________________________________________________
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime.
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~
______________________________
Soul Gatherings 