[SB] Sabbath Blessing

[Molly Wolf]

Dawn

It is just barely light when I become aware that there's someone in bed 
with me, and he's purring. He curls up against my shoulder, gently touches 
my face with his small black paws, and begins to lick my neck. Calvin likes 
to do this at first light, in the quiet moment between when he wakes up and 
when he and his adoptive brother Hobbes turn into psycho kitties, 
thundering through the house and bouncing off the walls.

It is a moment of pure affection. He doesn't need me to do anything for 
him; he likes it if I stroke his skinny back, but if I don't, he'll go on 
gently touching my face and hair and washing whatever bits of skin he can 
find -- neck, ear, face, hand. This morning he's being even gentler than 
usual and more cuddly.  Nothing about his behaviour feels compulsive or 
even instinctive; it merely feels loving. I've had cats like this before, 
cats who seemed to have the capacity for real love -- Jenny Jemima was 
another such. I don't expect it of cats, and I certainly wouldn't see a cat 
who lacked it as being in any sense lacking or imperfect. But when it 
happens, it's lovely.

I'm no longer surprised by this, not since the vet told me that Calvin, 
like Hobbes, is part Siamese -- odd, since they aren't littermates. Each 
kitten has the typical Siamese bat ears, wedge face, sleek fur, and endless 
legs and tail, but not the colouring or voice. I really lucked out with 
these two: they have the Siamese intelligence, inquisitiveness, and 
affection, but they don't squawk.

Of course, some of it's nature and some of it's nurture. Hobbes, who is two 
months older than Calvin, is very affectionate but not cuddly. But we got 
Calvin when he was tiny, and from the moment he set paw in this household 
three months ago, he has been loved, stroked, played with, cuddled, cooed 
over, and generally treated like a beloved baby.  He has the happy 
certainty that if he reaches up to be held, loving hands will lift him.

Now, in the half-light, Calvin nuzzles my neck, pats my hair, purrs 
joyously, each purr ending with a small chirp, and makes me think of grace. 
There's nothing forcing Calvin to cuddle up like this; it's what he wants 
to do. It's love, come free.

It seems to me that humanity has two obvious first duties: to reflect the 
love of God back at God, and to shine it on God's creation.  The fact that 
we don't do this, or that we do it so poorly, shows the degree to which we 
miss the mark. I find it difficult to believe that we were ever in a state 
of perfection from which we have fallen, but I have no trouble believing 
that there's a state of perfection towards which we're being constantly 
called. Sometimes we listen well; sometimes we don't. Sometimes our ears 
are blocked or wounded, but sometimes we don't want to hear. Sometimes 
we're like children clapping our hands over our ears and chanting as loud 
as we possibly can to block the unwelcome call to turn from Self to Love.

What we neglect, in all our noise and muddle, is that God loved us *first*. 
Any love I have to convey to this kitten, or to anyone else for that 
matter, comes originally from God, the source of all love. God is to love 
as the Big Bang was to the universe -- except that it's not a one-way 
matter. God radiates love out into Creation, but God also calls Creation to 
come home to Love. I do believe that in the fullness of time, that will 
happen, and no particle of Creation will be lost unless it really, really 
wants to be.

My job this Lent is to take that duty of love -- my talk -- and compare it 
to the way I actually run my life -- my walk -- and see how the two 
compare. I'm pretty good about loving Calvin and Hobbes, not just in 
fussing them and feeding them and cleaning the cat box, but in taking them 
to the vet and keeping them indoors and not letting Hobbes nip me. But 
then, cat care is easy and the rewards are immediate. I'm probably not 
quite so good about loving people, because it's not easy and because I've 
got my own battle scars. I worry most about how loving I really am with my 
nearest and dearest; sometimes it's easiest to "love" others without really 
loving the ones you've been given to love, because it's much harder work. I 
am, at best, so-so about loving Creation in a responsible way. Like most 
people I know, I am really bad about loving myself.  As for loving God, I 
keep trying. Sometimes I hope I succeed.

Thank you, God, for the gifts that keep love simple, like part-Siamese 
kittens who wake me up at dawn and wash my face. Thank you, above all, for 
the love with which you bathe us, the grace that we could never have known 
to ask for, but that is there, regardless. May I learn to take your gifts 
and use them more wisely than I have before.

I have to go now. Calvin wants up.



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I'm about to hit some sacred cows, and they moo so badly. -- Phyllis 
Tickle, aka The Divine Miz T.