I'm a long-standing Episcopalian. But, in the few years preceding Clyde's death, I'd more or less stopped going to church. I'd like to pretend it was just laziness or busyness, but really, I'd had a falling out with God.
I do believe in miracles. In the early years of my infertility, I kept the story of Elizabeth taped to a window in my room. I fully expected that with prayer and patience, our miracle baby would arrive in time. It never did. I was angry. More than that, though, I was having trouble reconciling my understanding of a loving God with some of the tragedies I'd witnessed in my work as a perinatal nurse. If there is any wisdom in this life that truly makes sense of the death of a baby or a young mother, I haven't found it.
I still believed in God, but I was starting to doubt that he was very much involved with life on Earth. I thought sometimes I could be at peace with the possibility that God isn't there, that heaven isn’t true, that our souls do not go on, that death is, as some say, only a material decay. To roll as a wave on the ocean, to fall as rain, to grow in a blade of grass, and finally to be swallowed by a star - maybe that is not so horrible an end, even if one’s consciousness does not remain to observe it. Maybe, I thought, that is enough. But then, Clyde died, and suddenly, rational cosmology was not enough at all.
So, I went back to church. But I couldn't be still. There are many Episcopal churches within driving range of The Beet Ranch, but none of them seemed like a good fit. One church was too friendly, the next not friendly enough. Every Sunday, I went to a different one.
A few months after Clyde passed away, we set about getting another cat. I felt as non-committal about this endeavor as I did about my search for a home church. We visited the fabulous San Diego Humane Society more than once, and met a lot of wonderful cats, but none of them was the cat for me. None of them was Clyde. After the death of a pet, the Humane Society recommends getting a new pet completely different than the lost pet, different gender, different color, different personality. I tried to keep that suggestion in mind, but really, I was hoping for a female tabby cat who liked to cuddle. I couldn't imagine a cat as well-suited to my heart as Clyde.
We were talking about taking a break from looking. I was thinking about maybe not getting another cat. Then, one morning, for no obvious reason, I woke up and said to Grady, "You know what? I think we should get a black and white cat and name him Deacon." Grady is a good guy, and this is definitely not the craziest thing I've ever said to him. He said, "Sure."
And so it happened that I was on the look-out for a black and white cat the day I went to All Souls' Episcopal Church in Point Loma for the first time. I was sitting in a pew toward the back, numbly reciting along with the Eucharist and praying for Clyde, when I heard mewing. I started looking around, wondering if I was imagining the sound.
To my astonishment, marching right up the center aisle came a little black and white cat. She made her way up one pew and down the next, greeting everyone in love, ministering to her congregation. At the communion, she ran to the cushions with all the rest of us and put her paws up on the rail.
And then, as if she knew where she was needed, she came and sat in my lap, and drooled all over me in the most adorable way. I sat there and petted her and cried.
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| Valentine, the Littlest Deacon. |
And so, I found my church home. At first, I came back to see my friend Valentine (the sexton's cat). Then, the church turned out to be a good fit. They have a music director who is also a hopeless cat person, a fabulous painting of the peaceable kingdom, and they celebrate the Feast of Saint Francis every year with a blessing of the animals. Clearly, it is the place I was meant to be.
I saw Valentine for a while every Sunday, and then I didn't. Her owner left employment of the church without providing a forwarding address. I'm sorry to say, the photo above is the only photo I have to include in this post. I am sad I probably won't see her at church again, but I am so happy she happened into my life when she did. Through love, she led me back to God, kind of like another little cat I might have mentioned, a little cat named Clyde.
Love comes to us sometimes in unlikely packages. Some of us are blessed with children, and some of us are blessed with pets.
And sometimes the miracles we don't expect are the best miracles of all.
