Crumb – Max, robins, and community

Odd thoughts that follow me daily…

The Cat Max wants to fight, eat, or screw anything that crosses his path, so we keep him inside. We’ve already spent a down payment on a new Porsche on his belly. He eats anything, and this ‘anything’ appeared as ball of string. We noticed this while he lay lethargic with a length of red string hanging out of his butt end. Clear evidence of its passing, I thought, but the lethargy didn’t wane. The vet confirmed that the tiny string had roped around his intestine. Dang. Dad chose the heroic route – a scalpel – trading hysterical sobs for sweet hugs.

Post-op, I was drinking coffee and saw Max at the window, scanning the backyard for a fight, or sex, or both. He shivered, and I went to see what he spied.

It rained last night, bringing worms to the top of the lawn. A brave robin had lit and speared a wriggling morsel. I scratched Max’s head, and he jumped again. Another fat red breast landed to join the communal table. Within minutes, twelve robins were in the backyard, and cardinals began swooping over the melee.

It got me thinking – most things get me thinking – about community. Okay. It’s a weird comparison, but I wonder how hard it was for that first bird to land and what courage it took. Not so for the other birds. Maybe they had their own moment of bravery, or maybe they always followed the same leader?

I admit to bowing to the idol of individuality. I’ve done what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted. During my three-month hospital stay, though, unbeknownst to me, our church was taking care of our home and my family. I don’t know how or if we would have survived without help.

As I read through Acts in the New Testament, I see that one of the defining characteristics of the early Church was community. John the Baptist, just a few years earlier, admonished his onlookers that if you have two tunics, give one away.

A truth. To be different from everyone, you have to act differently from everyone.