Sometimes it's hard to be human

BooBoo Kitty was crestfallen Sunday to see that his position as comforter had been usurped by LilBit, when I fell victim to a stomach flu. I seldom nap on the sofa in the living room -- bedrooms are made for sleeping, not sofas.

But when I'm ailing, I'll grab a pillow and blanket, and tuck in. For the past 10 years, BooBoo has provided a warm circle of purr wherever he could find room, and there he would stay, until I moved on. Sunday, LilBit automatically claimed my space as his own, since he sleeps next to me all night anyway. And when BooBoo came to investigate my presence on the sofa in the early morning hours, he was summarily dismissed by our diminutive mutt. I did my best to make it up to him when I was feeling a little bit better.

The role of comforter cannot be over-stated. It doesn't matter if you're physically ill, emotionally over-wrought, heartbroken or have entered into a season of mourning that simply will not end, comfort is as necessary as breath if we are to successfully traverse the road before us. If that comfort is not forthcoming or worse, is refused when offered, the journey ahead is more than difficult, it becomes perilous.

It has been an honor and a privilege anytime I have been able to extend some measure of comfort to anyone. It is much harder to admit that I am sometimes in need of some measure of comfort myself, but such seasons, some long, some short, come to every life. So it is.

The word "irony" is often misapplied, but in this case, the definition couldn't be more clear.

Rescued from the pit of alcoholism in 2004, Danny realized early in that first year of sobriety that he "awoke from a world of lies, into a world of the same. Only this time, I don't have to participate."

Given eyes to see the truth, he has now lost almost all of his sight. Even though his physical condition had prevented him from gainful labor since shortly after the turn of the century, he was still able to do most things around the house and with the vehicles as long as he had the luxury of time enough to recuperate. It was usually a 3-1 ratio: three days of recuperation for one day's labor.

That was a big adjustment for someone who habitually spent 8-12 hours a day, up to six days a week, involved in physical labor, but that workload had taken its inevitable toll. We adjusted, paid off debt as quickly as possible, and simplified everything. Suffice it to say that the loss of his vision is requiring even more changes, with daily losses mounting.

This life is hard -- some days it feels as if tragedy and heartbreak have the upper hand; have always had the upper hand; and will always have the upper hand.

At other times, more fleeting, the memories harder to hold onto when tethered to future tears, have nevertheless provided us with a glimpse of heaven, a taste of the peace that is possible -- and faith is renewed.

Let's face it. Sometimes, it's hard to be human. It's easy to envy the LilBits and BooBoo Kittys in our lives the simplicity of their lives. They are not plagued by the dark questions that afflict the hearts of men, but are thrilled when dinner is placed before them, emit sighs of total peace when they settle in for the night, and never give thought to the fact that one day, this life ends.

We do. Each one of us will have a last meal or a final kiss, and although most don't know the day or the hour of that last meal or final kiss, the factual evidence is all around us.

The writer of Ecclesiastes tells us in Ecclesiastes 3:1, that God has set eternity in the hearts of men, however, and so we also know, on a deep, and all too often unplumbed level, that this life is not the end; that life, in fact, does not end, it merely changes. Unless you get that, unless you sense eternity within your own heart, nothing else matters.

The freedom found in Christ allows us to live this life, enjoying the pleasure of a hard day's work well done, the warmth and intimacy of home, hearth and family, as well as the opportunity to connect with other travelers, giving to them or receiving from them, a touch of comfort along the way.

The freedom found in Christ also allows us those moments of surrender, those times when it's all we can do to climb up into Father God's lap and weep. And when we do, we are, if we are willing, comforted.

"I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." John 10:10 (NIV)

I don't have all the answers, but I know and love the One who does. Let's walk in his love and discover him together.

Dawn