October 30, 2013

Journeys With Jesus

She was just a little thing—a half-starved gray tabby barely out of kittenhood—when she first adopted us. We named her Pebbles, and she loved being in our yard sleeping in the flowerbeds, rolling on her back in our gravel driveway, and pouncing on unsuspecting bugs and birds. When my husband, Greg, and I would go for a walk, Pebbles would trot alongside us for a while, and then take refuge beside the road to wait for our return. We never had to call her; she always emerged from the weeds whenever we walked past. Back arched, tail up and waving proudly, she’d escort us home.

We’d had Pebbles about four years when the unthinkable happened: she disappeared. Upon our return from a business trip, Greg and I discovered that she’d been missing for several days. As dusk descended, we traipsed into the field, calling and pausing, straining our ears for the slightest sound. Pebbles always came home. What had happened to her? Maybe she had gotten caught by one of the owls or hawks that lived near us. Perhaps a hungry coyote had helped itself to an easy meal. 

I turned to Greg as we trudged wearily home. “Do you think she’s hurt? Or maybe dead?”

He reached for my hand. “Only God knows right now,” he said, “but we can trust Him with her life.”

We arose early the next morning and ran to the front porch. No sign of her anywhere. How could a little stray tabby cat have wrapped herself so completely around my heart?

Mechanically I prepared breakfast and forced a few bites down my tight throat. After Greg left for work, I pulled on an old coat and jeans. Breathing a prayer, I stretched my leg over the barbed-wire fence across the street and hopped into the thickets on the other side. I forged ahead, dodging deer droppings and poison ivy, yanking my coat off a thornbush. Always stopping. Always calling. But I heard no “meow.”

After about an hour I struggled back to our gravel road and turned into a field. Walking the tree line, I called once more, and then I heard it—a faint “meow.” Was I hearing things? I stopped and called again. “Meow!” It came louder this time. 

“Pebby, I’m coming!” I yelled. As I drew closer her meows strengthened. Then suddenly I saw her back arched, tail waving proudly. She rubbed against me and purred, and I sat down and cried. 

Why hadn’t she come home? I wondered. Maybe she’d been lost. Maybe the way home had looked too far. Maybe she had grown too tired to walk anymore. 

Knowing she disliked being carried, I started walking for home, hoping she’d keep pace with me. Instead, she just sat and looked up at me. I bent down and picked her up, holding her close against my chest. She didn’t struggle; she had no fight left. She just knew I loved her, and she wanted to go home.

As I carried her back to the house, my mind traveled to the many times my Father, the Shepherd, has looked for and called to me; the times He’s braved the brambles and thickets for me; the miles He’s walked in my pursuit. Sometimes I purposefully hid. Other times I got lost and couldn’t seem to find the way back to Him, or I was so worn out with the fight that I didn’t think I could take another step. It was then that He would bend down, gently pick me up, and carry me home. Close against His chest. Close to His heart. How thankful I was that He had cared enough to search, that He hadn’t given up easily, that He loves me.

Pebbles and I crossed into our yard. She hadn’t stirred an inch. We walked around to the garage and I gently placed the exhausted kitty on the floor.

“It’s OK, Pebbles,” I whispered. “You’re home. 

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