Of wrestling and kitty litter

Lent began for me a few years ago, and the desert feeling of the Liturgical season just won’t let go.

There are weeks when thoughts for this column flow as easily at the drops running down the 20-foot icicle hanging outside my office window.

Then there are weeks when my creative juices run as dry as the kitty litter I spread across my deck in order to give traction from the easily flowing icicle drops hanging from my eaves. 

I put kitty litter down because salt hurts Igor’s tender feet, and with four of them, I imagine that could be quite annoying. I know there are ice melts out there that are pet-friendly, but kitty litter is cheaper.

But, be careful what kind of kitty litter you sow on your walkways ... I happened upon one that had clay and it left a lava-like residue on my deck that will be there until August. I broke down and bought pet-friendly ice melt.

But, as I often do, I digress.

I don’t like to get too far into my personal life in my columns, but what I can divulge is that the last several months have been a “dark night of the soul” for me.

I’ve never had a problem communicating with God — good or bad, and the battle continues.

While I’m not getting the answers I want from the Good Lord, I know I am getting answers, but like Jacob from the Bible, I wrestle with God.

Now one would think that because I earned a wrestling varsity letter in high school I would have the upper hand in this match. Not. For two reasons: one, I only won three matches out of 19 in my senior year; and two, I’m wrestling God!

I came within a whisker (gray ones on my part) of not writing a column this week because I felt I had nothing concrete to offer. But my wrestling adversary nudged me in this direction. I think He’s trying to talk to some of you out there who are like me — struggling with the faith. Hang in there.

I hope I did God good this week. Otherwise back down on the mat I’ll go! 

And if anything, at least I’ve taught some of you not to use clay-based kitty litter in lieu of salt or salt or sand for the rest of this beast called winter. 

davejolivet@anchornews.org

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