More Than Blood

“So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.”

— Ephesians 2:19

“But Ruth said, ‘Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die—there will I be buried.’”

— Ruth 1:16-17

“And he replied, ‘Who are my mother and my brothers?’ And looking at those who sat around him, he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

—Mark 3:33-35

Today is Father’s Day, a day that brings joy to many and complicated emotions to others. Some people celebrate fathers who loved and supported them unconditionally. Others carry grief, distance, disappointment, or loss. Family relationships are often beautiful, but they can also be difficult.

For many LGBTQ+ people, the idea of family extends beyond blood relations. Some of us have been blessed with accepting parents, siblings, and relatives. Others have had to seek love and support elsewhere. Along the way, we find friends who become siblings, mentors who become parental figures, and communities that become home. We build what is often called a chosen family.

The beautiful truth is that chosen family is not a modern invention. It is woven throughout Scripture.

When Ruth pledged herself to Naomi, she was choosing a relationship that went beyond obligation. Her words remain some of the most moving expressions of devotion ever written: “Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge.” It is no surprise that many couples, including LGBTQ+ couples, have found these words meaningful enough to include in their wedding vows. Ruth’s promise reminds us that family can be formed through love, commitment, and faithfulness.

Jesus expanded this understanding even further. When told that his biological family was looking for him, he pointed to those gathered around him and declared that whoever does the will of God is his family. He was not rejecting his relatives; he was enlarging the definition of family itself. In God’s kingdom, belonging is not determined by bloodlines but by love and relationship.

Paul echoes this in Ephesians, reminding us that we are all members of God’s household. We are not strangers. We are not outsiders. We belong.

During Pride Month, this message carries special significance. Many LGBTQ+ people know what it means to search for belonging. Yet the Gospel tells us that God has already claimed us as members of the divine family. We are welcomed into a household where there is room for everyone, where love is stronger than exclusion, and where no one is left standing outside the door.

Whether your family is the one you were born into, the one you found along the way, or some combination of both, give thanks today for those people who have loved you, supported you, and walked beside you. They are reminders of the family God creates—a family built not merely on blood, but on grace, faith, and love.

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Moment of Zen: Waterfalls

I’ve always loved waterfalls. There’s something calming about watching water tumble over the rocks, and on a sunny day, the mist often catches the light and creates a rainbow. During Pride Month especially, those rainbows feel like a fitting reminder that beauty, hope, and joy can emerge from even the most turbulent waters.

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Ten Years Ago

Beautiful Cat, Horrible Haircut (but the rest is nice)

Yesterday was Isabella’s Adoption Day, and somehow I forgot.

In my defense, my mind hasn’t exactly been firing on all cylinders lately. Between migraines, work, and worrying about Isabella’s recent health issues, June 18 slipped by without me realizing what day it was. It wasn’t until later that I remembered: yesterday marked ten years since I adopted Isabella.

Ten years ago, I walked into the local humane society and met a tiny black kitten they had named Bridget. She was frightened, hiding under a chair, and uncertain about the strange world around her. I knew almost immediately that Bridget wasn’t her name. My cats have always been named after queens. Victoria had already held that title in my life, and Elizabeth was out because that’s my sister’s name. But Isabella—Queen Isabella—seemed fitting. Regal. Strong. Memorable.

What I didn’t know then was how important Isabella would become.

When I adopted her in June of 2016, I was still trying to find my footing in Vermont. I had moved 1,200 miles from home, and the year before had been one of the most difficult of my life. I was grieving the loss of a dear friend and struggling with loneliness in a place that still felt unfamiliar. Isabella arrived at exactly the right moment.

She was timid at first. She hid under the bed, cried when I left the room, and seemed convinced that everything in the apartment was out to get her. But little by little, she grew more confident. Soon she was exploring every corner of the apartment and making herself completely at home.

Unlike some cats, Isabella is not especially vocal. Most of the time, she communicates without making a sound at all. She has a look for when she wants something. A look for when she’s annoyed. A look for when she’s judging me. She quietly meows in the mornings when it’s time for breakfast, becomes quite vocal when I return from a trip and she wants to tell me everything I’ve missed, and will call out if she can hear me but can’t see me on the other side of a door. The rest of the time, she somehow manages to make her wishes known without saying a word.

Over the years, Isabella has been my constant companion. She has greeted me when I came home from work, curled up beside me when I wasn’t feeling well, and kept me company through moments of joy and moments of heartbreak. She has been the steady presence waiting for me at the end of each day.

Lately, I’ve been reminded just how much she means to me. Her asthma diagnosis and recent cardiac testing have been a source of worry. Watching her struggle to breathe during an asthma attack was frightening, and waiting for answers has not been easy. The good news is that she has not had an asthma attack in several days, which gives me hope that the medication is helping. We still have an echocardiogram ahead of us, but for now I am grateful for every quiet day when she seems comfortable and content.

Today, Isabella is ten years older than the tiny kitten I brought home from the shelter. She’s still stubborn. She’s still opinionated. She’s still the queen of this castle. And despite all the gray hairs she’s probably responsible for giving me, I wouldn’t trade a single day with her.

Ten years ago, I thought I was rescuing a frightened little kitten.

The truth is that she rescued me too.

Happy Belated Adoption Day, Isabella. Thank you for ten wonderful years.

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An Ordinary Thursday

Some mornings, I sit down to write this blog and know exactly what I want to say. Other mornings, the words come easily because something happened that I want to share. Then there are mornings like today when I stare at the blank screen and realize I don’t really have anything noteworthy to write about.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Life doesn’t always provide dramatic stories, major milestones, or profound insights. Most of our lives are made up of ordinary days. We get up, feed the cat, drink our coffee, go to work, come home, and do it all again the next day. There is a certain comfort in that routine, even if it doesn’t always make for exciting blog material.

Today will be another day at the museum. There will be emails to answer, projects to work on, and the usual tasks that keep everything moving forward. Isabella will likely remind me several times that her food bowl is not nearly as full as she believes it should be. The migraine I’ve been dealing with is hopefully beginning to ease after yesterday’s Botox appointment, though experience has taught me that patience is often required.

Sometimes, simply making it through an ordinary day is enough.

So, if you’re reading this, I hope your Thursday is a good one. It doesn’t have to be remarkable. It doesn’t have to be productive beyond reason. It just has to be one more day lived, appreciated, and endured when necessary.

And perhaps that’s worth writing about after all.

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Waiting and Watching

I talked with Isabella’s veterinarian yesterday about her bloodwork results. Overall, the news was reassuring, though there are still a few things we need to investigate.

Her bloodwork showed a slightly elevated BNP, a heart enzyme that can sometimes indicate stress on the heart or other cardiac issues. It can also be elevated because of high blood pressure. Both the vet and I suspect that hypertension is the most likely explanation, but we want to be certain.

One thing that has become obvious is just how much Isabella’s asthma has been affecting her. When she has an asthma attack, I can see the fear in her eyes when she comes looking for me. On top of that, she has a pretty severe case of what we might call “white coat syndrome.” The trip to the vet was stressful for her. Strange people were handling her and taking her to unfamiliar places. Even the calmest cat would find that unsettling.

The good news is that her chest X-rays looked normal. The veterinarian reviewed them again to make sure nothing had been overlooked. I have a great deal of confidence in her judgment. She has been practicing veterinary medicine since 1983 and has decades of experience behind her. In fact, she is now semi-retired and even gave me her personal cellphone number in case Isabella’s condition worsens and I need to reach her directly.

To be thorough, we are going to schedule an echocardiogram to rule out any underlying heart disease. If there is a heart problem, we have likely caught it very early. Most cat owners do not receive that kind of warning. Often, heart disease is not discovered until it has progressed much further. The technician who performs the echocardiograms is supposed to call me today to schedule the appointment.

We have also increased Isabella’s steroid dosage because she has continued to have some coughing episodes. However, there is encouraging news on that front: this morning she did not have an asthma attack. Hopefully, that is a sign that the increased medication is already helping.

There is one other issue we are monitoring. Isabella has been licking a spot on her belly enough to create a bald patch. Excessive grooming is usually caused by either itchiness or anxiety. Since she has had no contact with other animals, fleas seem very unlikely. Both the veterinarian and I suspect that stress and anxiety related to the asthma are the more probable causes.

In other news, I am heading to Dartmouth this morning for my next round of Botox treatments for chronic migraines. I will admit that I am a little anxious because a new provider will be administering the injections this time. She is a physician rather than a physician assistant or nurse practitioner, and my past experiences with doctors giving injections have been mixed. Still, if she regularly performs Botox treatments, I am hopeful she has plenty of experience. I certainly need this treatment. I have been battling a migraine that has waxed and waned in intensity since Saturday night.

That is all I have for today. I hope everyone has a wonderful Wednesday.

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