It’s been a long, long time since I’ve needed an alarm to wake me. No, I have a cat. A sweet torty with sea-green eyes and an orange heart on the top of her velvety soft, furry head.

Ellie. Well, Elena Marie — a blended name inspired by Catherine Zeta-Jones strong-willed Elena from The Mask of Zorro and the playful Marie from The AristoCats. Of course, I typically call her Miss Ellie … a throwback to my devotion to the evening soap opera Dallas.

Anyway, Ellie is my first cat. Technically — as my daughter regularly reminds me — she’s HER cat. But, Ellie isn’t waking her up early in the morning …

Now, I didn’t know much about the personalities and habits of cats when we adopted Ellie. I have two dear friends with cats that I spent lots of time with. I did some research about the needs and habits of cats. But there were definitely areas of non-disclosure and things I just did not know … such as …

Torties are Talkers. And, Ellie is a Chatty Cat.

She sleeps at the foot of the bed most nights, curled up at my feet. On cold nights, she prefers the warmth of my husband and sprawls out to claim her space. But, at around 6:17am, she emits this rumbly purr — kind of like the sound a young child makes when they want out of their crib.

It begins softly and becomes more insistent when I ignore her, like an alarm clock tone that gets louder and more frequent before you slam it off. But, unlike an alarm clock, Ellie doesn’t come with a snooze button.

So, there’s this purr … which I translate as all humans translate their animals’ sounds into human words … to mean “Up?”

Sometimes I feign sleep. But Ellie is pretty clever. And insistent. The purrs grow in frequency and they get louder the longer I delay. When I finally agree to rise and shine, she sits up and stretches — languidly — as though I’m the one dragging HER out of bed saying, is it that time already??? I give her a scratch on her head and she leaps from the bed to sit near my slippers. Waiting.

We have a routine, Ellie and me. She bounds down the stairs at my side and sits at the mat at the front door. This is her “ask” that I turn on the Kitty TV and initiate the required screen time. Doesn’t matter the season or temperature inside or out. Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall, it’s the same demand. Doesn’t matter that the house has plenty of windows with similar vantage points. It’s Door Time.

Then, while I pour that first cup of coffee — which of course I make the night before and set a timer — she waits by my side, purring if I’m too slow — before scampering into the sun room and launching up to her favorite perch for morning “scratchles.” Only once she’s well loved, does she sit up and demand that a window be opened so she can smell the outdoor air. If it’s cold and I open the window, her front paw does a little shake — a hurt so good kind of wiggle.

It’s a structured and very specific routine. Trust me, she has me well trained. It’s as if SHE were the Event Planner and I her minion. Like my kids were in their earlier years, Ellie is an Early Riser.

I’m not complaining … well, not most of the time. There are days I want to dive into my pillows and ignore her. There are days I do. But, my early moments with Ellie are truly some of my favorite times of the day. Reflective. Quiet. Deeply spiritual. Thankful thoughts and journaling begin our day. I read my devotions as she sits with watchful eyes and her tail curled delicately. I pray. I write. I read. And, we play too, before she moves toward the kitchen and asks for her breakfast.

I enjoy my Coffee with Ellie.

Something Ellie has helped me learn … Love is not Finite. An animal … Special or new friends … a first or second baby … something or someone additional in your life … and there is still room for them. Love for them. Appreciation and value and joy with them. Even when you think you’re settled and comfortable in your existence, there is still more Love to share with special people and pets. They may come into your life unexpectedly, but they secure a place in your heart and you wonder how you ever existed without them in your life. You can open yourself up in ways you didn’t realize you could … and discover incredible joy.

You love them. Deeply. Rising to be with them when they purr, bark, tweet or hiss. And, in the case of two-legged friends and family members, responding to a call or a text when they reach out to you. When they want to spend time, catch up, talk, grab a drink or coffee or get together. When they need you.

During those early mornings of Coffee with my Cat, she offers me Lovey eyes, telling me how much she too enjoys our time. And in those moments, I know she doesn’t just want food, she specifically wants this time with me. That she loves me. Treasures me. Values me. And, that I’m important to her.

So, I rise and shine. Love isn’t finite. Even at 6:17am.

— Jenni

 

 

 

 

 

⁷ So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.  John 8:7

I was raised on a golf course. My father was a terrific golfer — still is. Every summer, my dad would play on his Thursday and Saturday afternoons off. When I was little, my mom would take my brother and me to the Valparaiso Country Club pool. But once I started Junior Golf, I’d spend those summer afternoons hitting range balls or playing golf with my friends.

My dad was my teacher — along with several course pros and my dad’s cousin Sam who owned a course in Martinsville, Indiana — and incidentally coached the IU girls golf team.

Yes, I had plenty of teachers and I became a pretty good golfer, joining the VHS Golf Team and earning a 3-year letter. Along the way, I hit lots of golf balls, practiced my putts, spent hours trying to master chipping and get out of sand traps. Oh, it didn’t hurt that there were several cute guys working outside the pro shop that I could flirt with, er, hang out with as I waited for my dad to wrap up his golf days. 🙂

But, I digress.

My dad watched golf on TV too. In my house, we all had our favorite players.

But in those days, our favorite players remained in the TV. Oh sure, there were articles about them in Golf Digest that my dad read. But, he read more to learn tips than to learn about them.

Enter Tiger Woods — who incidentally was also tutored and guided into golf with the help of his dad — and the game literally changed. Maybe it was the uniqueness of his game or his amazing talent. I’d be naive to ignore that he was one of the few African-American golfers to hit the scene so dramatically, though I dislike thinking his rise to fame was due to skin color. More likely, it was that Tiger was just an incredible talent who arrived on the scene in the era of expanded press attention and amidst the full onslaught of “social media.”

He won match after match. Media attention exploded from all angles. Along came endorsements. His image and name were associated with everything from sports equipment to Buick to fancy, overpriced watches and clothing lines. To this day, he’s one of few golfers to wear his own line of clothing on the course.

But, amidst all that, he was truly just a guy who enjoyed the game of golf and was good at it. He wasn’t much of a public speaker and didn’t do great in post-match interviews. He was a guy who made golf his career — and succeeded brilliantly in a manner few had achieved.

And then, the glass tower shattered and for many he fell from grace. Suddenly, he was the news headliner with a murky story that had nothing to do with golf. In those moments, a media-made hero came crashing down as the public peered into the cracks of his personal life and found him lacking, passing judgement and shunning him in disapproval.

In those moments, the mighty Tiger was discovered to be human after all.

I didn’t read the articles. I avoided the news clips. I didn’t listen to commentators who threw stones at him from their lofty, perfectly coiffed seats.

See, to me, he was a golfer. No more heroic than any celebrity that I enjoy. I had not placed him on a pedestal. I simply enjoyed watching him play golf. His personal life was no concern of mine. The personal challenges he encountered did not make him less of an athlete. They only made him more like me … flawed and real. Besides, his personal stuff was his to deal with … not mine to judge.

We all live in Glass Houses. I’m far from perfect. I make mistakes and poor decisions. I allow my emotions and passions to exceed what some might consider their “proper setting.” They are mine to wrestle with — mine. And, I’ve never claimed to be perfect.

Tiger never claimed that either.

I’ve been honest with my kids, too. I’ve shown them my flaws and shared my struggles. I’ve shown vulnerability and apologized when I’ve made mistakes that affected them. They need to know I’m not perfect and that I don’t expect perfection from them either — just courage and kindness, the strength to be true to themselves and the confidence to reach out for help or support when they need it.

I was saddened to see Tiger struggle with the judgement of the masses as well as his health and back. And I was thrilled last weekend to see him find victory on the Masters stage and earn one more green jacket. The Tiger I watched play had been brave enough to find the help he needed and grow from the struggles he faced. And, perhaps along the way he even discovered a little more joy in the game, coming from behind in so many ways to regain that place on the leader board.

Jesus said: He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone …  John 8:7

We’re all works in progress. We all stumble at times. Luckily, most of us don’t have the media outside our house filming our darker moments. Yet, if we’re honest, we all live in Glass Houses. At least, I know I do. So, throwing stones is not part of who I choose to be.

I’m just glad to see Tiger has found his way back onto the course. Watching him play is an experience — and wow, did you see those putts — and that he’s faced down whatever demons he needed to face to get back to the game he so clearly loves.

Far from me to throw stones from my glass house.

Bravo Tiger. Well played.

Jenni