Heath & I share our one bedroom apartment in north Dallas with a very sociable orange and white tabby cat. Though he was born on a farm, my family's adoption of him for my 16th birthday led to the loss of both his claws and his freedom to chase the birds outdoors. Needless to say, his energy did not just disappear with his claws; we are the glad recipients of the amusement he provides.
It's a morning ritual that I give him a good brushing as soon as I go upstairs. He has learned this so thoroughly (who said that cats have a pea-sized brain?) that he whines for as long as I wait to brush him. It doesn't fail to amuse me to see him leap over to the brush in my hand to show me where he likes to be brushed. He rubs his face and whiskers along the brush, almost so that I have to do very little work at all. Curiousity is his downfall, though...as I am brushing his back, he noticies the basket only barely out of reach. He edges nearer and nearer, causing me to lean forward in order to continue his massage. Finally, I pull back and wait for him to realize that he must come back to me for further attention.
One morning this week, I was shocked at the parallels between me and my kitty and my relationship with Jesus. More often that I'd like to admit, I fall prey to distractions and wander just a little bit out of the care of the Father. Then, like my kitty, I wonder where He has gone or why I no longer sense His presence. The truth is that He hasn't changed one bit - only I have gone away from Him. All that is left to do is to retrace my steps until I am once again under His wings.