Furbles

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Furbles. Only special people are aware of them; most are not. Furbles are soft, cuddly little critters that crawl inside us to carry warm feelings, comfort, cuddly joy, and funny little giggly tickles. Furbles get inside little people most easily. They sneak in at Christmas, at the beach, through hot-chocolate in front of a warm fire, birthdays, or under the covers with flashlights in “the cave.” It’s harder for larger people to let furbles in; they’ve forgotten to how to make a way. They’ve become preoccupied with the weightier matters, with the business of life, with responsibilities. Inner giggles and tickliness have been set aside, supplanted by seriousness.

But there remain some adults who yet leave a keyhole open for furbles to unlock their hearts and scuttle inside. These large people understand the critical importance of furble-refurbishing. Small folk often surround their rooms with stuffed animals, fanciful furble fill-ins. Large folk just go buy something…, a new pair of shoes or a Wii, to feel good about themselves. Sadly, their substitute satisfies only momentarily at best. What they really need to do is to unlock their keyhole again. But that is too difficult for so many. Eventually, they lose any inner sensation of warmth, cuddly joy, or even the giggly tickly chuckle. They are adults, after-all.

My furbles are still around. I even have my first-ever teddy bear—Bongo. He may be tattered and worn; but my furbles can still find their way inside to comfort me when I’m sad, make me feel safe when I’m afraid, and tickle my heart when I need to laugh a little more at myself.

How do some of us larger people make it without little critters to comfort and console? How do we get through a day without taking a deep breath? Without refurbishing our souls? Without laughing at ourselves a little? What drove us to take life so seriously that we’ve lost our ability to day-dream, to play within our spirits, to chuckle at things that are so weighty that they could use a little giggle. I wonder if it is because we have lost our perspective on our place in the cosmos? We are not the Creator. We are not Master of all that is in our world. We are not as in control as we believe ourselves to be.

There is a wonder and a mystery in this great expanse of time and space that challenges us to accept a less-secure posture—second. And that just might require a trust in the unknown. Scary, huh!?! We each need our own furble who can creep into our souls and quell the fears of a very uncertain world.

Remember that keyhole? Find your key. Open it. Furbles aren’t the only ones who might want to find their way into your soul to bring comfort, warmth, relief, and that funny little tickly feeling. Refurbishing one’s soul is a cooperative effort.

Have a nice week,

Gary

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