My life, My changes, My Dog

I've been trying to finish Change Me into Zeus's Daughter. It was nearly 10pm last night, when I finally got to that last period. It begins, "And my face has changed--and changed, and changed.." I closed the book, and reached lazily toward Mangus, who, though only 6 or 7 inches from my face had managed to lay down undetected. He started to purr the moment my fingers touched his face--such a gesture! How I appreciate that immediate sound of approval--that my mere reaching brings him immediate happiness. He is a good cat.

I remembered, then, reading on my front-step, eight years ago. How grand my mind--to leap so effortlessly from a purring cat to summertime nearly a decade before. It was Lola I was reaching for that day after closing a book, though reaching only with my eyes. She was still quite a young puppy--too young to consider running far enough away to warrant a leash. I was warm, and lazy, and had taken too long to see where she was sniffing about before I remembered I HAD a puppy and should look for her. Sure enough, her long legs were inching her closer and closer to the road. One quick whistle and she was bounding back toward my step--falling into my calves with her nose pushing into my ankle. When she was a puppy we called her everything but a dog. She was Lola Lizard because she licked everything. She was Lola Giraffe because her legs were ridiculously long for her short wrinkled torso. She was Lola Pig, who riffled through every trash-can and bag left around. She was Lola-PAIN, because it didn't take long for us to discover we probably shouldn't be raising a hound. Still, closing my book last night, I could hear her softly snoring on Drew's bed, and let myself feel the peace I have when my animals are nearby. They are my people, as ridiculous as that sounds. Their acceptance of me reminds me of Heaven--of the forgiveness of my Father--and I am grateful for their purrs and snores almost as much as I am annoyed by their messes.

This morning, I tackled laundry. I nearly brought it down. It's been more days than I can count since I dragged those full baskets from the basement to my bedroom--turning my mattress into a tumbler of clothes--and it has gotten out of hand. I wondered more than once as I folded shirt after shirt, if these are the things that break couples up? If this is one of those 'deal breakers' I hear so much about? When do the flaws of a person become too graphic to keep them around any longer? Is waiting too long to put away laundry a flaw? What else is there? Where are the deal-breakers? Do you know them before you get to them, or only AFTER you have crashed through the floor to the foundation beneath?

I thought about being with Joe for the last year (It's been more than a year, but who is counting?). Every one of his gestures is still mesmerizing. We still get the best of each other--haven't run out of stories, or laughter, or patience, or awe. It still feels quite new--and I am still absolutely convinced in us. I wondered how many times I make Joe wince? I admitted to myself when he makes me wince. I allowed myself to feel, for a moment, the tapestry of our differences.

There is nobody out there who is just like us. Nobody with our same everything--and yet we make friends and fall in love (and out of love, and in love again). So--it HAS to be that difference alone is not what causes the changes that push everyone apart. Maybe it's just humility. Maybe every divorce points for each person to a place where they forgot their own humanity--or their partner's humanity--and with disregard to humility assumed there was someone MORE perfect--MORE LIKE THEM--out there to be with. More of THEIR compliment--MORE PHYSICALLY attractive (like them) or daring, or adventurous, or safe, or quiet, or WHATEVER they love about themselves enough to wish the other person was MORE like?? It's just a theory, but its one I have been considering, since I have taken recently to judging religion based against my OWN ideals rather than GOD's lately.

So, I sit reflective about my quiet hours--in bed--solitary and content, or laboring under the flaws that define my formula. I think about the blind acceptance of my cat--the bumbling love of my dog (who I've kept around though so many times made motion to rid myself of) and of the loves of my life and search for their connection.

My life is full, and good and ripe with the example of God's acceptance. At every turn are the reminders of all God has put aside to love me, and how though we are different--so different He and I--we are family, and committed to each other, and there for each other. When I reach for Him, I may not hear a gentle purr or see Him run to me, but I can FEEL it--and it's grand! Though I may make Him wince--He is there, and though my face has changed and changed--I yet hold my hand out to Him, always hoping for my own humility and gratitude.