Fix It . . . !

​For years my daughter would scold in embarrassment when, with adoration, I’d share her little girl perspectives. Now, my granddaughter reproaches her momma for telling her tales . . .

I . . . am not a cat person. But Anne loved Tiger. So, in long-suffering, I agreed to cohabitate with the feline, purely, out of love for my sweetie girl. Tiger’s one redeeming quality, from my perspective, she was an excellent hunter. She managed the shrew, vole and squirrel communities around the 120 undeveloped acres that surrounded our home.

I considered Tiger excellent at population control. But she must not have felt she was equal to the task and needed assistance as she kept birthing liter after liter of furry creatures in my basement by my wood stove. No matter how many times I’d load up my kiddos into the suburban with a liter of Tiger’s kittens and head off toward the general populous to offer up her cute little mousers to good homes, Tiger’d repeat the process and birth another batch.

Eventually, upon great protest from my group, I put my foot down — “No more fur babies!” As I drove, Anne snuggled Tiger. And with concern, my small daughter entrusted her cat into the kind and capable hands of the local veterinarian. When we received the call that Tiger was ready, Anne, Lynne and I made the trip back to the office to pick up Tiger. Lynne and I watched as Anne, feeling protective and ‘paternal,’ walked, alone, into the Vet’s office to retrieve her ‘baby’.

While we waited, Lynne inquired of me from the back seat, “Mom, does this mean Tiger can’t have anymore kittens?” “Yes.” I assured. “I want to get fixed, too!” came the fearful declaration from my little one who’d just learned how babies are born. Unable to stifle laughter, I did my motherly best to comfort her worried mind.

Over the course of the weeks that followed spaying Tiger, my daughters and I had many candid conversations on the topic of childbearing. Unyielding, no matter how I tried to convince her, Lynne determined to never give birth. She confidently delegated, to her older sister, the responsibility of bearing the children Lynne herself would raise. Even as a teen, Lynne’d remind her sister of her assigned responsibility, “You’re going to bear my babies!” To which Anne would laugh at her sister in reply.

Years later, Lynne experienced for herself the joy of childbirth when she gifted our family with her own daughter.

“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man (woman), I put away childish things.” 1 Corinthians 13:11

I appreciate the life lessons my children, and my grandchildren too, provide me. They’re living examples of life-giving truths. They cause me to look deeper inside and reflect. And as I consider my own areas, where I allow the fear of pain to overshadow the new life I need breathed into my heart and mind, truly, my only option is to bear down through the pain so new life will come forth.