Reflections by the Pond
July 9, 2003

The Size of a Life

Of our five cats, Gilhooley was, physically, the smallest. But last Thursday, in her fourteenth year, when we had to put her to sleep because of her failing kidneys, Gilley's passing left an immense, gaping hole in our family.

Gilley was a corker. Wiry and spry, she was filled to overflowing with personality. When company visited, the other cats might step cautiously into the room, but Gilley would trot in like a bulldog, as if to say, "Okay, I'm here now. What are we doing?" She favored men, but was gregarious around all. She was a tomboy--always ready to play, to jump down a hole or into a vacant box. The wheels were always turning inside that tiny head: Once when my father-in-law was atop a ladder leading into our attic, Gilley climbed up behind and tapped him on the leg, as if to say, "Hey! Move aside, buster. I want to see what's up there."

Linda and I don't expect anyone to understand what our animals mean to us. The opinion of others cannot alter something that, like a force of nature, just is. Those who would raise an eyebrow at a household in which the family includes five cats might also assume that the loss of only one--and, at that, the smallest--would have little impact on the family. They would be very wrong. The diminutive Gilley was a force of nature. Her personality--her quick wit, curiosity, intelligence, and huge heart--filled the whole house, and we are just now beginning to realize the full contribution her life made to this family.

When they had performed everything according to the Law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own city of Nazareth. Luke 2:39 nasbu

With this pall of emptiness descended over our home, I try to imagine how it might have been in another place, far away, and another time, long ago. In an unremarkable town of Galilee, above Samaria, a boy lived and grew for the first thirty years of his life. Perhaps as a young boy he would get yelled at by the neighbors, perhaps his mother would impatiently shout for him to return home for the evening meal. Those who lived in the neighborhood--if they noticed him at all--might have thought little of the young man's prospects, shrugging their shoulders at just another worker of wood for the village.

I wonder what these neighbors thought when that young man began traveling about the area, saying strange and troubling things. I wonder what they thought when he created a firestorm of controversy in Jerusalem, was arrested, and was put to death upon the ignominious cross. And I wonder what they thought when word got back to them that this same, rather ordinary young man who had grown up in their midst, had risen from the grave, and eyewitness accounts reported his ascension into heaven.

We all, as a rule, undervalue the lives of those around us. Indeed, often the closer we are to an individual, the more often we overlook the importance of his or her life. And when we finally do ascribe worth to a life, it is usually for some silly, frivolous reason, such as beauty or celebrity, rather than the substantial contribution that that life has made to ours.

There was nothing remarkable about Jesus' appearance. He looked like just another Jew. He lived in an average house in an average Galilean town, working at an average trade. But in reality this average-looking person was the incarnation of very God, living for a while among His own creation. Within Him dwelt all power, all wisdom, and unimaginable holiness. And that life that began under such mean and obscure circumstances ultimately changed everything.

Everything.

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
Philippians 2:9-11 niv

_______________________________

Gilley now lies in our cemetery, in the woods between the barn and the pond. Though it is not yet here, there will surely come a day when the tears will cease, and the pain of her loss will fade. There will come a day when the memories of Gilley will be sweet and nostalgic, rather than filled with the ache of our longing. We always knew Gilley was special, but we didn't realize how important she had become to the nature and texture of our family. So perhaps from her life, and her passing, we can learn how to appreciate the worth of any life--no matter how insignificant it may seem.

Though small in stature, Gilley was filled to overflowing with life. And hers is now a testament to the inherent worth and potential in every life in God's creation.