Charlie, Steve, and the kittens

Charlie Kirk’s death made news around the world for two reasons: he was a popular and internationally known public figure; and the manner of his death — assassination in the midst of a large crowd of people.

The death of Steve Greiner, three days before, but at almost exactly the same hour of the day, was a tiny ripple in the ocean by comparison. The end of Steve’s life on earth was expected. He’d been ill for several months, and though he’d made progress here and there, he continued to decline. Steve was very well known in some circles, but those circles held perhaps a couple of thousand people. Kirk’s circles held millions, including celebrities of all sorts.

Both deaths affected me in ways that I could feel. As soon as I heard Charlie Kirk had been shot I started watching my phone, and then TV, hoping to learn more while praying for a miracle. One came, but it wasn’t the one I was hoping for.

When my good friend Ron called on Saturday to tell me that our good friend Steve was probably not going to last much longer, I prayed. When Ron called Sunday afternoon to say Steve was gone, my heart broke a little. The next day it broke a little more. I had work to do, but I wasn’t able to do it. I had been wounded.

Cue the kittens

Around 2 p.m. or so, my wife came in from running errands and asked me if I had heard squeaking noises from the rosemary bush outside our front patio.

I had not, but here was something that I knew deserved investigation! What could be under our rosemary bush? A banshee? Not loud enough. Some kind of varmint? The sound was too pleading. A lost child? Getting warmer!

We stood and listened. “It’s a cat,” I said, “or actually a kitten.” We wondered if it had crawled under this large bush and couldn’t escape. So we got down on the ground and I began to cut away branches from the bottom of the bush. (Trust me, the bush suffered no harm. It was overgrown!)

Eventually we got the bush cleared enough that if I laid flat on the ground and shined a powerful light underneath, I could see what I believed were two kittens. It turned out to be three, but they were on top of each other. They were newborns.

We backed away onto the front patio, and who showed up? That’s right, Mom Cat! She sat in front of the opening we’d made and looked inside. Then she looked at us. Then she looked inside. She looked at us, then turned and walked a few feet away. Her message? Make that hole a little bigger, please. And so we did.

The entire process took a couple of hours, and we were into it. Eventually Mom Cat went in (while we were not watching), picked up each kitten individually, took them across the yard and dropped them behind a different plant that still hid them.

We put out food and water, which Mom Cat used (we know) and appreciated (we think).

All of that was, perhaps, the most therapeutic thing I could have done that evening. My wife and I focused on helping those kittens and Mom Cat. When we went to bed later I said, “You can write on your list of “good I did today” that you cared for the kittens.”

Stevie G

Greiner (it was a time and place where everyone was known by their last name) and I were both new students at Bible college. We both showed up for choir the first week, and because they sat us alphabetically we were next to each other. That was more than 50 years ago, and from that day on we were friends. (Greer/Greiner above in 2019.)

I was older, having already been to college for a few years and the Army for a few. I was newly married, a “man of experience” compared to the incoming freshmen. But I’m pretty sure it was my wife that gave me extra credibility. Greiner and I didn’t sing in the choir — at least I didn’t — but we played basketball. He’d rather have played hockey and I golf, but the school only had basketball that year.

Greiner, in his outward appearance at least, never left the 1960’s. But inside his heart and his mind were being renewed all the time. He was smart in many ways, tough, and probably a little too prideful about his “identity.” Really it was his brand, and that was before any of us knew what a brand was or that an individual could have one.

I could tell you stories, though, about how he showed up. He was amazing. He and his wife had three incredible kids, the lone female of which once threw up in my car after we’d picked them up at an airport. I know that because Greiner never let me forget it.

The kittens and Charlie and Steve

On Wednesday we checked on the kittens. They still weren’t really ambulatory. Then, sitting in my office, I glanced out the door and saw Mom Cat carrying a kitten in her mouth. She had apparently jumped a wall, and was now headed toward our back block wall.

That scene was repeated two more times, but we were never fast enough to follow her and we never did discover where she took the kittens or where they now live.

All I know is that they were here with us, and now they are gone. I hope it’s a safe place.

As for Charlie and Steve, they were just with us, and now they are gone. I know they are in the best place, that it is safe, and that it is good in every way.

I didn’t know what to do while I was grieving for Steve, and along came kittens who needed care. Helping them helped me.

So when bad (Steve) — and very bad (Charlie) — things happen, grieve. That is appropriate. But also, find a way to do good. That will be healing for you, and even for the world.

Do good. It’s in you.