Something Lost and Something Gained (Kate Soles)

Way back in July, when Carol proposed that I contribute to the Oak Bay United blog, I felt excited about the prospect. I frequently update my own blog (www.readingwritingrunning.blogspot.com) and I find it much easier to communicate with the written word than with the spoken. Contemplating my debut post, however, I realized the challenge of expressing “spirituality.” What meaning does the word hold? What does spiritual fulfillment look like? And what do I, an agnostic hovering on the fringes of this congregation, have to say about it? Feeling devoid of inspiration, I abandoned my musings. Then I lost my dog.

Many members of OBU know how much I love my terrier mix, Holly. I spent every day with her for almost six years, going for long walks mid-morning and throwing her favourite toy in the afternoons. When she got scared by a construction blast on Anderson Hill and bolted two weeks ago, paralysis enveloped me. In the 48 hours she was missing, I felt as though someone had cut off my right arm and I thought I would suffocate from loneliness. I became aware of my spirit because I knew it had broken.

Many members of OBU also know that I suffer from disordered eating and compulsive exercise. Friends, acquaintances and even strangers have expressed concern that this fact makes me unfit to care for Holly, especially considering the demands imposed on me by my toddler, Eliot. When I learned that Holly had turned up safely at the SPCA, relief washed over me. When I learned that the SPCA thought it best that I surrender her, panic ensued. The abridged outcome of a stressful and upsetting week is that, after much serious thought and many tears, I finally took my mom up on her long-standing offer to look after Holly.

With no dog to walk, I nervously decided to attend church last Sunday for the first time since Christmas. Walking into the sanctuary holding Eliot’s hand, I immediately felt the familiar, boundless warmth and support I have always felt emanating from the building. This is the church that married Jean and me. This is the church that provided daily babysitting and catering the week we brought Eliot home. This is the church that baptized my son. Listening to Gail’s farewell, I felt included in her expression of love and gratitude. I felt my spirit beginning to heal.

I struggle every day with feelings of anxiety, with a harsh inner critic and with fears of never being “good enough.” But, through this little story of a lost dog and a free Sunday morning, I have found both a physical and mental place of universal acceptance. If only I could learn to stay there.