How can I carry this communion into the world remains a daily challenge. Perhaps it lies in a moment of being fully present to hear the conversation of another and lovingly extend the gift of time, to just listen and offer compassion instead of counsel. Or the courage to speak truth and light into situations that are in danger of being clouded and distorted, bent towards shades of gray and less than perfect understanding. Or offering unafraid eyes to see the beauty and gifts that surround me, not distracted or deterred by the busyness of the world around. In becoming the communion that I receive, I am challenged to live life brave and accept the strength to be fully present – to be fully alive in a world half-asleep in the Garden, myself under the constant threat of succumbing to the siren song of complacency.

Friday began the longest of days as I woke up knowing that it was probably going to end with the loss of our beloved family cat, Thomas. After a week of not eating or drinking, he had become so weak that walking just a few steps was too much for him while his breathing was so labored, it became impossible for him to even sleep. I had long been suspicious of the dreaded cancer diagnosis but it was not yet confirmed through diagnostic testing. Despite our best efforts to treat the symptoms, he was dying.

Even during such a hard, grief-filled day, we had so many unexpected blessings. Thomas woke up bright-eyed and was open to being held, cuddled and petted, a change from the cat who would growl and stiffen in pain each time I picked him up earlier in the week. When my 9 year-old daughter fussed at him to drink his water to ward off dehydration, to our shock he actually lapped up a few drops, “just for her.” We were able to make memories and see him at his best while we were saying goodbye.

When I began to question whether his alertness might signal that he was getting better, feeling guilty that I was even considering euthanasia, I asked God to help me make the best decision. Our vet called a few hours before his appointment, concerned that she saw Thomas on the schedule again and to check-in prior to his arrival. When I relayed all that I had observed in the past week, she asked that I bring him in right away for further x-rays to check out his lungs prior to his appointment. It was then that we found the tumors in his lungs and knew it was time to ease his pain. God’s grace is thus that I no longer felt the burden of guilt in making the decision to put him to sleep.

I took him home, we had 2 hours with him to love on him, pray around him and surround him with as much comfort and care that we could. When we took him to the vet, we went as a family of 4 surrounding him as he finally drifted into a deep sleep from the sedative. I sent the kids with my husband to the waiting room while I was with him during the final breath. It’s the most peaceful I have seen him in over 2 weeks.

And I cried – deep, soulful tears and my grief was a blessing. That he had to go so soon, that I would miss him deeply and that I still loved him and did not want to let go. I also felt a tremendous sense of relief that he was no longer in pain and suffering, that I had been able to give him the gift of rest. The decision I hated making as an adult was also a tremendous gift in that moment.

My kids saw me cry and learned that tears are not to be ashamed of – they are the balm that leads to healing, an outpouring of love that breaks free from a broken heart. Those who love deeply, grieve deeply. Tears are also precious to God and become a form of prayer when you just cannot find the words to speak.

“Are not my tears stored in your vial, recorded in your book?” Psalm 56:9

Finally, we were blessed by the prayers and outpouring of love from friends and family members who have walked this path before and were able to give compassion. They were our “sheltering trees” during our time of hardship and I am so very thankful to them. As Thomas rests in peace in heaven, we are at peace knowing we will see him again and that he is no longer in pain.

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Summer laziness turned to a time of vet appointments and worry as my cat of 8 years began with chronic vomiting that progressed to lethargy, limping, swollen lymph nodes and finally, anorexia and trouble breathing. As my sweet Tommy-boy wastes away before my own eyes, my own heart is breaking and bleeding while my mind grapples to understand and make decisions that I simply do not want to make.

“Adulting” seems like such a fun, playful word until you apply it to this sort of scenario. For the first time in my “adult” life, I am making a decision that I do not want to make, that I do not want responsibility for. With an audience of 2 kids and prayers of countless friends and family members, I feel added responsibility to not mess this up and to make this another example of living faith out loud. In truth, I have grappled with faith questions and choose to use this to develop spiritual muscle and grit in preparation for future scenarios of hardship to come. If loosing a cat is this painful, I imagine loosing a parent or beloved friend or family member will be unbearable.

Maybe that is the entire reason that our family is going through this small moment of pain – to show that death and loss are unbearable. This is a burden we cannot carry alone, are not meant to shoulder alone, drawing us closer into the sheltering trees of our friends and family who surround us with love and pray us through the hard times. Forcing me to cast my worries and fears to the Lord, surrendering my own desire to control the outcome and giving me the strength to let go.

“Come to me all you who labor and are heavy burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

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It is so incredibly freeing to know that we do not walk this path alone nor do I have to shoulder the entire burden of the hard decisions. This truth allows me to put down my drug of choice – the runner’s high or the workout endorphins that numb out the pain. Instead of pounding my brokenness into the pavement, angry that I feel so acutely the hurt and feeling so weak, I have allowed myself to feel, to cry, to mourn. Instead of stuffing my emotions behind the “I’m fine” facade, I am opening up to talk and share my brokenness with others.

Isn’t this where true love and relationships are forged, in the crucible of vulnerability? A season of painful goodbyes can cultivate the soil for a lifetime of deep friendships and deepening faith and fellowship with the Lord if you allow it to. But it starts by letting go and letting God and sharing a burden that is no longer burdensome when many strong arms encircle to help hold it all together. Painful? Yes but also deeply meaningful and worth the pain.

“No trial has come to you but what is human. God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength; but with the trial, He will also provide a way out, so that you may be able to bear it.” 1 Cor 10:13

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton