Love is Made, Over and Over

From Nadia-Bolz Weber’s blog: These are the words poet Padraig O’Tuama spoke when he officiated at Nadia’s wedding last year. (Nadia Bolz-Weber also has a blog on Substack, if you are interested. I copied Padraig O-Tuama’s words from her post on April 16, 2024.)

What is love? 

There are many things to say. 

But what we can say is that love is made. 

On the plane over here on Tuesday there was a nervous couple on the seats in front of me. Both in their eighties — they spoke loudly. 

The air steward noticed their anxiety and stopped and chatted, asked them where they were from, made a joke about how awful their football team was, asked if they knew one particular farmer — they did — and she said that her sister’s best friend used to be in school with the daughter of that farmer. They were practically family. 

She asked them the name of their son in America, and said that she’s sure the son would [be] delighted to see them. 

She brought them tea. And said “I’ll keep checking in with you.” And she did. 

There you have it. A little bit of love. Made. 

Sometimes, it is as simple and as difficult as that. 

This morning I watched a video of kids in Gaza playing jump rope in a clearing between buildings. The older ones swinging the rope for the younger ones. Sometimes it is as tender and as terrible as that. 

What is love? 

It’s made, over and over 

in heaven and earth, in hell too. 

It is bearing witness. Someone that says: we are caught between the beautiful earth and the beautiful sky, 

and while we are here

I bear witness to you

and the things that are important to you. 

Helping you to carry what I can help you with

Celebrating you

Delighting in you

Knowing the things you think are the worst things about you

Helping you to see and be you in all of that

hearing and sharing and making stories 

helping you reconcile 

what it is you hold together in your body, 

your past

your sorrows and delights. 

Today

and today

and now

and now.

It is as simple and as difficult as that. 

Love is a promise made, and made, and made. And kept. 

And so. Let us have promises

-- Padraig O-Tuama

Based on the above quotation, you may think I am about to wax poetic about romantic love and weddings and such. I am not. But I am going to get around to talking about love of a different kind.

This has been a difficult week for me. And, for you — I warn you — this will undoubtedly be a difficult post to read. Yet I want to share this, because, in one particular way, I am awed by love that has been made where it seems inconceivable that it could ever have been made. Let me explain.

With apologies to those of you who don’t love cats or who are deathly allergic to them, I am turning to my cat Little Stevie to illustrate something I find profound. Bear with me.

A few days ago, and literally within the space of a few hours, Little Stevie quite suddenly went from a cat who loved to eat — and I mean loved to eat — to a cat who pretty much will not eat beyond a bite here or there. He looks at his food and meows, and that’s about it. Also, Mr. Friendly has suddenly turned into a cat who spends his time hiding in the linen closet or in his cat carrier.

Some of you know Little Stevie personally. Others of you may remember him as the cat who appeared in many on-line worship services during the Covid pandemic of 2020. (As you may recall, he appeared in those services because he simply would not be left out of the action. He wanted to be where his people were. If his people were filming, then he was filming, too. By the time I left my post upon retirement, I swear he had a much bigger following than I ever had.)

In any case, you will probably recognize his current indifferent behavior as being distinctly uncharacteristic and worrisome. He has always been a sociable, friendly little soul who likes to be in the thick of things. If people come to the door, he usually likes to be right there to greet them. If they stop to chat, well, he likes to chat with them, too. And, of course, he always likes to eat, so, by the way, would you please feed him a little something?

So, after less than 24 hours of this strange, new behavior of his, I took Little Stevie to the vet. He has now had a series of tests, the results of which look very dire indeed — probable lymphoma. I am still waiting for more details, and there are still decisions to be made — and, I suppose, maybe, there is still hope, somewhere, some-impossible-how, but my heart is very heavy right now, as you can probably imagine.

But what you probably cannot imagine — and what certainly absolutely stunned me — was some of the unexpected news Little Stevie’s x-rays revealed: Little Stevie has not one, not two, but three BB pellets embedded in his small body. In other words, at some point in his early life, somebody actually SHOT the sweetest, gentlest, friendliest cat in the entire world. Three times they shot him.

I had no idea. The news hit me like a thunderclap of trauma, as I held my soft little friend in my arms. How frightened he must have been. Did he run and try to hide? Did he have any idea where this new pain came from? How long did it take for his wounds to heal? Did he lick his wounds in some private location he found, or was there anyone who helped him?

And the most vexing question of all? How on earth did he ever become the trusting, friendly cat he is today? People say it’s because he found a loving home with us. And it’s true we have always been gentle, kind, and loving with him. But the larger truth is that he arrived in our household with his friendly spirit already evident. We didn’t create it. We simply nurtured what was already there and allowed it to shine forth.

By the time Little Stevie was rescued from the streets of Memphis, treated for fleas, neutered, given his vaccines, fostered out for a while, then sent north to an animal shelter in Maine, he was already an adult cat. The shelter from which we adopted him reckoned he was around 2-1/2 years old. He has been an indoor cat ever since he got to Maine, so we know his earlier wounds date back to his Tennessee days. We knew he had had some kind of life before, and we imagined it must have been hard. We had no idea just how hard. To be honest, we probably still have no idea how hard it was.

“Who would do such a thing?” I asked the vet and the vet tech.

“People,” they both muttered, indicating they both held human animals in much lower regard than other animals.

“That’s why we do what we do,” the vet tech added, to which the vet countered, “We see this sort of thing,” as though seeing animals shot through with shrapnel were nothing new to her.

“Probably just some kids,” my husband said. He’s probably right. But I was once just some kid, and I cannot in my wildest dreams imagine pointing a gun at a defenseless little animal and shooting once, much less three times. Also, I once had a little kid of my own, and I never would have allowed him to own a gun, even a BB gun. And there would not have been a timeout adequate to address my anger if he had ever done such a thing. So, I have to admit people do not come out looking great in today’s One Good Thing. . .

So much of Little Stevie’s past is a puzzle. But he has always enjoyed a good puzzle. He likes to “help” with jigsaws. He is always proud of his accomplishment when the jigsaw is completed.

But here’s the good thing, and it’s a very good thing indeed. Despite everything, Little Stevie is a sweet, loving, and friendly little soul. “I don’t like cats,” says one of our regular visitors, “but I like this cat,” as he swoops down to pat Little Stevie. I know there is such a thing as too much trauma. I know beings can reach a point from which recovery is impossible, the damage being simply too great. But I don’t know when one reaches that point, and neither does anyone else. All I know is that love is made over and over again with our words, our gestures, our reaching out and our reaching in. Love is made when we encounter another soul and try to make space for that soul to shine in its glory. Love is made today and today and now and now and over and over.

And if a defenseless little cat can survive the unfriendly streets of Memphis, getting shot three times in the process, and arrive in my household with his friendly, gentle personality intact, well, I tell you, just about anything is possible. Because Little Stevie is a little bit of love, made.

“There you have it. A little bit of love. Made.

Sometimes it is as simple and as difficult as that. . .

What is love?

It’s made, over and over

in heaven and earth, in hell, too…

Today

and today

and now

and now.

It is as simple and difficult as that.

Love is a promise made, and made, and made. And kept.

And so. Let us have promises.”

Love,

Sylvia

Little Stevie demonstrating his love of food. This is what happens when Mom goes to Denver for a few days, leaving the men in charge at home. . . Not sure what they were cooking that night, but Little Stevie apparently approved of it, whatever it was.