Remember how wounded and sick Jack was? How unattractive and miserable? We brought him home and gave him all the love we could. He'd lost his ability to purr. He couldn't even meow. His whole kitty identity seemed withered and dying.
Then one day, he found his purr again, deep and rich and wild. We were petting him, and we heard the slow chug, like some distant train coming from a far-off country. He's purring! Then, nearly a year into his recovery, he stood in the kitchen, proud and tall, and let out his first meow. That kitty self was back.
|The One-Eyed Cat Serves|
I snap a picture of him and think of what it means to care for somebody. The once-wounded cat is now serving others.
Living with flair means that we don't stay wounded. We press on, find ourselves again, and discover where we might serve. Even if you've had a loss that changes how you see everything (and limits you), there's hope towards a journey of healing-turned-ministry. Maybe that's the best kind. Maybe Jack is particularly good at caring for other cats because he's come back from the worst.
|The One-Eyed Cat and His Friend|
Maybe I'm particularly good at helping folks live with flair because I lived without it for so long. How could I not offer an embrace, hold you still for a moment, and speak out whatever words might help make today meaningful?