That darn cat

Almost three years ago, a friend and I launched a 20-somethings group at our church. It's morphed several times since that time, and now consists of two weekly Bible study groups that get together regularly for fun events and service projects.

Anytime a new ministry is started from scratch, it's a struggle, and this group has been no exception. But finally over the last couple of months, we've all gotten into a groove. The groups have been growing closer and we’ve enjoyed each other’s company and friendship.

Enter the cat.

I'm deathly allergic to cats. I've had allergy tests twice, and I've assured the doctor poking me with the allergens that the cat one need not be tested. However, when they test for cat allergies anyway, the sample swells up so much that it is off the charts/other doctors and nurses gather around to gawk at the freaky allergic girl.

No one suspects my debilitating allergy since cats aren’t something I run across in every day life. But anytime I'm invited to a house for a church activity, bridal shower or a new friend's for dinner, I have to ask the dreaded question that sounds so much like I'm trying to get out of something: "Do you have a cat?" If a cat has so much been in the vicinity, and if I don't feel like being hospitalized that day, I have to decline attendance.

That's why it was such a shocker that after three years, I had to step down from Bible study. Our leaders—who also host the group—got a cat. Obviously I can't begrudge someone for getting a pet, and the leaders are good friends and great leaders. So, I let them know about my allergy, and sadly would need to find another group. I won’t lie—it sucked. I like my group. I started thinking about the process of finding another group within our church of over 1,000, and it about my nauseous.

However, after many emails back and forth with the leaders, they said the group would be meeting on the porch to accommodate me. I tried to argue that that was asking too much, but they would have none of it and it was a done deal.

Wow. Talk about guilt. As I showed up for the group, eight other people are sitting outside in the heat, in the dark, with bugs flying around … because of me. It was truly humbling.

As a single person, I know that I don't often have to make that many sacrifices. The biggest sacrifice in my average day is going to lunch at some place I don't prefer, cleaning up after my dogs (yuck), or meeting a friend on her side of town instead of mine. Not exactly major life adjustments.

But, the flip side of that is I don't have to receive sacrifices either. Not goats slain at my door (thankfully) … but other people adjusting their lives on my behalf. It hit me that while everyone talks about how marriage is full of sacrifice, I don't think of accepting someone's gift of sacrifice. I think of married people accepting thoughtfulness—receiving flowers, attending a sucky event together, remembering to ask about a certain occasion. Lovely, happy things that make both parties feel better.

But, let me tell you, sacrifice—receiving and giving when it's not convenient—is a learned art. It is hard knowing that other people are giving up their comfort indefinitely for you. It’s truly, truly humbling to remember once again I’m not super girl … and that I need people to do life together with me.

So, thank you to my dear friends—in Bible study and beyond—that care enough about me to adjust their lives for me. And for helping to teach me a little more about what sacrifice really means.