Warm Fuzzies

I fell asleep with my cheek pressed into a tear-soaked pillow last Friday. When I awakened fully on Saturday morning, I found myself crying anew. And while it was not wrong for me to mourn the extended absence of a dear friend in this way, the chasm of depression hungrily waited nearby. I rose, wiping my eyes. Self-pity stalked me more closely than the two cats that shadowed me to the kitchen—eagerly anticipating the day’s first meal.

After going through the motions of early morning routine, I sought refuge in my favorite spot: an armchair nestled in the bay window’s embrace. I curled into empty cushions. In the pale, pre-dawn light outside, my gaze encountered a hushed brotherhood of trees. The sun would soon force through the slightest crevices of their solidarity--nothing is inseparable. My tears returned. The chasm’s grin menaced much nearer than before.

Cassie soon discovered my lap. The unguarded affection of her warm, black-and-white body purring against my thighs reestablished some distance between me and the waiting chasm. The little cat settled in for a long morning nap. I gratefully caressed her small head and let the tears flow. I poured out my grief offering before the King and Lover of my soul, wordlessly begging him to consume it, to make himself known. I stroked my sleeping companion and sought my Lord. But my spirit trembled. I had no words of praise or sorrow to give; I could not hear his words of comfort or direction, either. There were no words at all. Nothing is inseparable. Self-pity lurked intently beside me—eager to consume any surfeit that might spill from my unsteady grasp.

Abruptly, the cat awakened. She casually jumped down. Empty air devoured the remnants of Cassie’s warmth as I watched her saunter away from me. Such an innocent abandonment…but in that moment it was one separation too many. My grief twisted, and spilled over. Self-pity leapt upon me in hungry triumph. The gaping maw of depression opened directly beneath me. Staring out at the ranks of trees—now pierced through by a strong, indifferent sun—I let the tears burn.

But a small sound from behind my left shoulder caught my attention. Turning, I saw Cassie hunched at the far edge of the carpet: she was puking.

Those quiet retching noises separated me from the howling silence. Words returned. I could hear my Lord and Lover clearly once again: “Come on, baby! You know better than that,” he chastised with an arch smile in his voice. As the little cat finished her uncharacteristic deed and walked out of sight, I found myself on solid footing once more. The chasm was covered over. The Lord did not remove my sorrow, but in those brief moments he consumed the poison tainting my grief: self-pity. It was enough. My offering was made pure again.

He continued to lecture me gently as I collected baking soda and towels to soak up Cassie’s mess. “Nothing is lost—no person, no relationship, no blessing. I do not forsake or forget. You, my darling, are just being ridiculous. So come on, snap out of it, baby!”

My heart rejoiced in the midst of sorrow. I don’t know how he does it, but my Lord always manages to make me adore him just a little more. Wiping globs of cat vomit out of the rug, I had to smile, even giggle, through my tears. Only the Lover of my soul would use a furry critter’s gag reflex as a method of rescue.

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