A Miracle Mouse Finds Freedom

by Bill Elberty

Photo by Ricky Kharawala on Unsplash

This week’s story is courtesy of contributing writer, Bill Elberty.

Sammel shares his home with two cats. He insists that they leave the mice they catch outside before coming into the house. One of his cats tests that agreement on occasion. 

On this particular day, the rebel cat came into the house with a live mouse. Sammel met him just as he entered, and rather than leaving with the mouse, rebel cat dropped it and ran off.

The terrified mouse ran right past Sammel and into his bedroom. In spite of Sammel’s best efforts to convince it to go outside, the mouse scooted behind a large standing closet with just enough room between the wall and wardrobe for the mouse to safely “escape.”  

Sammel did what he could to convince the mouse that his only intention was to help it find freedom outside, and that he could not have the mouse stay where it was.

After two days, the mouse still had not left. 

As a last resort, Sammel put two mousetraps on either side of the closet, blocking both exits. He resigned himself to the fact that the mouse would end its days in one or the other of the traps.

He was not happy with this solution, but he could think of no other.

That night, after putting cheese in the traps, Sammel went into a spiritual contemplation. He held the mouse in divine love as he sang a sacred word, HU, and drifted into sleep. 

At some point, late in the night, Sammel woke with a start.  He felt something on his chest moving lightly. He quickly reached to cover it with his hand, only to discover that the mouse was sleeping on his chest just above his heart.

He gently picked up the mouse and took it outside. 

Sammel knew this was a miracle. The only way out from behind the closet was blocked by two big mousetraps, both of which were untouched and exactly where he had left them.

Somehow, the mouse had followed the call of Sammel’s heart without springing the traps.

The mouse found its freedom in Sammel’s heart. And together they discovered the freedom that only love knows.

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Do We Matter?

by Emma Laurence

Twice in the last week, I’ve encountered the term existential dread. 

One young woman described this state as “fretting over my non-existent influence on the world.”  As she struggled to make ends meet and balance her passion for activism, she found herself exhausted. 

When we feel overwhelmed, it’s easy to question our self-worth or impact.  We may find ourselves in the victim’s chair, wondering how we got there—again.   Or we fall under the wave rather than surfing its crest.

What’s important to remember is that our perception can shift in a heartbeat.  It can flip, just like a coin tossed into the air.

Two weeks ago, my husband and I were walking the loop around a nearby pond.  I’d been feeling pressured by the immense project of rebranding and launching a new website. 

The challenge of finding simple words to express the Life is Coaching You principle loomed large.  How could I explain something so experiential, so alive, so unique to each individual? 

To do so, I would have to be open to Life coaching me.  I checked in.  Was I listening?  Did I trust that the way would appear?  Would I follow through patiently on a task that felt like climbing an endless mountain with a full backpack?

In that moment, a white, curly-haired puppy on a leash rounds the curve up ahead. He’s excitedly sniffing the air and joyously jumping through fallen leaves. 

His owner walks slowly, watchful and smiling, letting the little guy fully experience the park’s sights and smells.  By the time they reach us, I can’t wait to meet this pup. 

As I always do, I ask the owner if that would be OK. 

“Absolutely,” comes the reply.  “He never understands when people don’t want to say hello.  Makes no sense to him.”

Four-month-old Biscuit leaps up to greet us, though his height at full stretch barely reaches our knees.  He licks our hands, and jumps back and forth between us. We can’t help but laugh and play with Biscuit.

There it is again, I realize.  The flip. 

Can you picture a dog fretting over his influence on the world?  Or worrying about how a website’s message could reach its audience? 

Not a chance.  Life is too fun, too full, too rich, too utterly enthralling!  A dead leaf on the ground is a cause for celebration.

After a time, my husband and I move on, and Biscuit continues his exploration.

Now comes the critical moment. 

Do I return to existential dread?  Or do I take the opportunity to release the old for the new, to step across the threshold into a state from which everything can be viewed with wonder?

Dozens of these choices—these open doorways—present themselves daily.  They may not all be as obvious as Biscuit, but they come. 

Puppies don’t care if they matter.  Because they just do.  And so do we. 

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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.