Making Life Easier

by Emma Laurence

Teaching preschool music years ago, I learned from the pros that success for a pre-K classroom is all about the transitions. 

Drop off time.  Play time.  Snack time.  Nap time.  When the adults prepared activity stations in advance and gently guided the little ones’ attention, blending from one to the next, there were a lot fewer tears. 

I don’t need to tell you that this has been one challenging year.  Lots of losses and changes—a world in profound transition.  

Have you found yourself slowing down and tending that space between? As my husband recently advised me, “let the river carry you for a while.”

Zoey’s Changing World

One morning, our cat Zoey jumped up on the bed to nestle into my side.  She likes my arm around her body so she’s all snuggled in.  When I’m wearing short sleeves, she’ll nuzzle the inside of my elbow and even try to suckle at my skin.

Zoey was taken from her mom at six weeks—too young for a kitten.  When we got her at a year old, we were warned of her habit and history. 

But it’s cold in Minnesota now, so I’m in long-sleeved pajamas.  Nuzzling her nose into my elbow doesn’t quite satisfy the same way.  What’s a cat to do?

I thought about how hard it must be for her to keep wanting her mom and that particular bond of food, safety and love.  Time has marched on.  

She has human parents now who love her differently.  Food comes in a bowl.  There’s still safety in closeness, but love is scratching under the chin or behind the ears, stroking her fur with a human hand.   Pretty different.

Then, I wondered.  How often does the form of love change in our own lives while we struggle to keep up? 

Love Shifts Form

The most dramatic example comes when someone we love leaves this earthly world.  We may have been used to years of daily contact.  We may miss that soul terribly, that specific way of being close.

For example, a dear friend’s beautiful greyhound suddenly collapsed a couple of months ago.  A sweet new dog came into her life sooner than expected, requiring her to draw on compassion, patience and trust in transitioning to a new family.

The same is true for other endings—relationship break ups, losses of friendships or homes, of jobs or careers, or heartfelt dreams.  Qualities like gentleness and gratitude provide buffers to make the shift easier.

Are We All in Pre-school?

What if a teaching force in the universe smooths our way in everyday life like a good preschool teacher?  If we look, we may be surprised to see that experiences have been prepared just for us—including time for rest, nourishment and creativity.  Trusting and following that rhythm eases our way. 

Even during a global shift, we can allow time and space in our personal universe for transitions.  Consider the daily reminder of the sunrise that pales our sky slowly from darkness to color to brighter light.

Photo by Jonas Vincent on Unsplash

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Accepting the Love

by Emma Laurence

What I’ve learned about love is that it needs to be accepted to be realized. My cat Belle, who passed on recently, taught me very specifically how this works. She showed me many forms of surrender—in this case of this story, surrender to love.

When Belle was a kitten, she came to us as a skittish being. She hid under the bed. She was born outdoors, so we set up a way for her to go outside on her own. Over time, she learned that she could explore the local “wilderness” and still be given everything she needed when she returned home. However, as much as she was clearly a tender heart, she remained hidden most of the time.

Our other cat, Oscar, welcomed her as only cats who’ve previously established their territory can do—by hissing in her face. She didn’t seem to take it personally, but it meant that, for the time being, she was on her own.

I could tell by the way Belle looked at me that she could feel my love for her and that she appreciated it. She just didn’t trust it completely. Until one day when a young girl visited, and my husband at the time picked Belle up to let our visitor pet her. Even though they were both being gentle, Belle panicked. She leapt out of his arms, onto a windowsill and, imagining she could escape, banged her head full force into the glass pane. Dazed, she turned around and meowed in distress.

I looked at Belle lovingly and asked if I could come over to pick her up. This is the first time I remember spending many minutes waiting, moving slightly closer to her, asking again, and waiting again. It became a pattern of gentleness and patience that she was here to teach. After many minutes building trust with eye contact and soft vocal tones, Belle allowed me to lift her into my arms. I brought her to the bedroom and placed her on the bed, whereupon she immediately leapt down and slinked underneath for safety.

Over time, Belle learned that she could safely sleep on the bed when we weren’t around. Perhaps a year later, she jumped on the bed while we were actually in it, and she let us pet her. If we sat up, though, she’d jump back down. Maybe four more years passed before she discovered that she could be petted if she came up onto the couch. I coaxed and encouraged her for months by placing a blanket next to me. It took more years before I could pull that blanket onto my lap.

By the time she left her body, at 21½, Belle was lying across my lap in complete surrender.

I watched my world open, and my heart open, over the decades that Belle and I lived together. Many more lessons on surrender, patience, devotion and grace ensued. For me, these are the timeless gifts of an eternal love story.