A death

Last night the second of our two cats had to be put to sleep. The first had a serious heart condition that led to her eventual death (by injection) in early June. The wee thing hadn't eaten for several days and was looking scrawny and unable to get to food bowl or litter tray. Chicken hearted I sent my husband to the vet with her, and she already has a bush covered plot within the garden.

When I arrived home last night to find the heating on in an already hot house, the second cat appeared to be lounging in the hall. However when I passed her a second time I noticed that she hadn't moved and that her back legs looked wrong. On investigation it became apparent that she could no longer move her back legs. Again my husband took her to the vet, and we knew she would not come home alive. She had the same heart condition, but unfortunately had a blood clot which had stopped the blood going to her legs. It was only a matter of time before she would have been in a huge amount of pain.

The children have taken the loss of our family pets well, and tonight we will say another farewell in the garden, and this time plant some apple trees to mark their place of rest.

However this morning I don't feel very brave.

The cats came to live with us long before the arrival of children and in the months following my first escapade with a DVT and pulmonary embolisms. In the midst of the depression that followed my brush with immortality they were companions in the house when others had to be at work, and over the years have been faithful companions around the house when preparing for worship or funerals.

They were not overly demanding companions, but good company and listening ears that didn't make unnecessary response when you needed a rant.

I know that part of my bereftness is not just the missing of the companionship, but also the acknowledgement that I've survived 15 years that in the midst of one August week it looked like I might never have. I am truly thankful for the journey that two feline friends have walked with me.

"The Shack"

The Reading Group at the church have asked that I read a book and attend their November meeting. In the early days of the reading group I attended regularly and more often than not lead the group. The selection of books has been quite diverse over the 2 years it has been running for. They started with "Friday and Robinson", then moved to "The Testament of Gideon Mack", "The Memory Keeper's Daughter", "The Island", Barack Obama's books - really quite a diverse selection. However the more recent meetings have quite happily happened without me, allowing me to head off to meetings.

However November sees them discuss "The Shack" by William Young. For some reason they feel they need my opinion on it. I'm not sure why as this is a group that contains some very theological literate folk.

I've done as I was told and read the book, and now am leaving it a couple of weeks before re-reading it for the right night.

To be honest I'm not sure what to think of it. I quite like some of the imagery. I like the notion of the character of the Holy Spirit as someone that you can't quite catch sight of when you look head on. I like the relational nature between the three parts of the Trinity.

The multi-racial depiction of the separate parts of God was a great idea, however it didn't disturb me. So while the lead character of the book "Mack" is to be disturbed from his preconceived notions of God, I felt I had mine confirmed.

I didn't like the schmalzy, sentimentality. I found the story to easily resolved.

Perhaps another read through will offer more food for thought, and maybe I'll use a pencil to mark the more poignant or frustrating passages.

Thankfully this evening this sermon was finished early, thus allowing a more restful afternoon and thoughts of a quiet Sunday afternoon and what we could do as a family. Makes a change from the normal flypast of a weekend.

Getting the juices going

It's a struggle this week to think of where to start with the sermon.

I've an idea to start with couthy, Fife phrases - thanks to Nik in August. I too have a "Little Book of Calvin", which while I find them amusing, for me carry too much resonance of familiarity. With Fife parentage, and a one-time charge in the area, I recognise these phrases as something people genuinely say.

Phrases like:
"If ye dinnae stop yir greetin, Eh'll gie ye something tae greet aboot"
"Dinnae complain. It's better than a skelp ower the fais wi a wet kipper."
"If it didnae hurt it wiznae worth doing"

Folk have said these things to me. Maybe not just my parents, but grandparents and congregation members.

These phrases all came flurrying to mind along with others as I read the Lectionary texts this week. In thinking about why, it is the sheer honesty of what the Scriptures offer the reader this week.

In Proverbs, these three sets of words are combined because they share the thought of valuing others and generosity above the love of wealth. While in the Gospel we are challenged with the honesty of women in her encounter with Jesus. As part of God's wonderful creation, how can their not be a place for her. Then finally in James, there is the reminder that Christian faith is inclusive and honest.

One of my frustrations about my present congregation is the lack of honesty - not that they are deceitful. But it is difficult to know what they are thinking, where they feel God is leading them, how they want to live out their Christian faith in our community. These are tough questions to answer I know. However sometimes I long for some good Fife honesty - a slap in the face with a wet kipper - that gets straight to the point, lets you know where you are, and then you get on with the task that the people of God have set for you.

Big fearty that I am, there's probably not a chance I'm going to say tomorrow morning "Stop hiding behind you mask of societal norms for this area", but I can dream. Hmmm... where to start...