Good Medicine

By Sarah Albrecht

The other night my four-year-old sat giggling on my lap as we watched our grey tabby kitten on the opposite couch. He lounged on his side with one paw raised, then swiped at our golden retriever’s plumed tail when it splayed into the air.

This scene of pet felicity might imply a family of long-standing feline and canine ownership. Not so.

About two-and-a-half years ago my husband and I first considered letting our younger son pick a cat from the humane society. He wanted one so badly, you see. We checked out books from the library, talked to cat lovers (and haters) and weighed the pros and cons. Pros won, and one hot July day we trundled down to the pound and our son chose an orange tabby he named Sparky. A couple of months later our neighbors had retriever puppies and we repeated the process. A year later our other son longed for his own cat. We repeated the process. Then the first cat punched out a screen and sneaked out the window one night to have a fatal rendezvous with a coyote. We repeated the process.

So we have a grand total of two cats and a dog, and when the boys forget to clean the litter box or the dog chews the rug or sneaks into the library, the only part of the house she considers “outside,”or we spend an astonishing amount at the vet, I still feel drawbacks to pet ownership.

The fact is, though, at least one of the pets makes us laugh every day. And after a stressful day at school, the first thing my teenager does is look for a cat to hug. When my preschooler is lonely while the other kids are at school, ditto (well, she might tuck the kitten under a blanket instead). As I sit reading in the quiet of the morning before the rest of the house awakens, I’ll look up and see the mature cat sitting squarely in front of me, squinting her eyes in welcome. If my ten-year-old son has too much energy, well, he’d better find the dog.

The pets have become good medicine with a few side effects.

Applying the pets to life in general, I find that the pros and cons in many of my choices morph into “medicine” and “side effects” after the decision has been made and the new lifestyle begins. Over time, if the benefits of the medicine continue to outweigh the detriments of its side effects, I can live with, and even enjoy, the situation. If negative side effects eclipse the benefits of the medicine, then it’s time to make a change.

Waxing philosophical about cats and dogs—medicine or side effect? I’m not sure!

If Thou Could'st Empty All Thyself of Self

by Sarah Albrecht

As a teenager, I first found this poem by Sir Robert Browne quoted in Madeleine l'Engle's young adult novel, A Ring of Endless Light. The poem resonated then and still does. It has helped me catch myself when I am "replete with very me"--full of myself?--and has served as the catalyst over and over for a needed shift in perspective.

If Thou Could'st Empty All Thyself of Self

If thou could`st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, `This is not dead`,
And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou art all replete with very thou
And hast such shrewd activity,
That when He comes, He says,
`This is enow
Unto itself - `twere better let it be,
It is so small and full, there is no room for me.`

--Sir Thomas Browne

Alone in the Water

By Sarah Albrecht

Two simultaneous classes ran during a recent session at my preschool daughter’s swim school: hers, and a mom and tots class. The last day of the session, only my daughter and one little boy that looked about two came to their respective classes. The little boy had cried through every class.

Today was no different; in fact, it was worse. For this final class, and according to normal procedure, his mother didn’t come into the water with him so that he could experience working through the various activities with someone else. He hated it. He hated it so much she had to leave in order to not be a distraction.

Near the end of class, as the little boy wailed, I stepped into the small adjacent office to fetch a tissue for my daughter. The boy’s mother sat on a white resin chair just inside the door, a lovely woman with long dark hair and sculpted cheekbones, her hands clasped tightly between her legs. She was carefully monitoring her son while just as carefully staying out of sight because his progress in the essential skill of swimming depended on her absence.

Most parents have experienced similar situations. Since I witnessed rather than participated in this one, though, I could see the big picture more objectively. In fact, it reminded me sharply of our loving Father, sitting just out of sight to monitor our progress in essential growth while we, not understanding the trial in the larger scheme of life, feel alone in the water.

I like to picture Him there.