I had the privilege of getting to attend the Southern
Baptist Convention in Baltimore, Maryland last week, and from there my family
and I traveled to New York City. We returned home early Tuesday morning, and
began making preparations to return to normal life. We were greeted by the
excited meowing of our cat, Gandalf, as we entered the house. He then proceeded
to pester me for attention.
We got Gandalf when he was a kitten. Although he was several
weeks old, he hadn’t had much human contact and had a bit of a wild streak. In
order to tame him, I would hold him for long periods of time. This level of
attention forged a bond between him and me that he never outgrew. Anytime we
would go away for an extended period, I was certain to find him happy to see me
and desperate for my attention.
I could always count on him to stalk me for days (often
weeks) after every trip. If I sat down, he would sit near me (or on me). If I
got up and went to the next room, he would follow me. He would lay by me when I
went to bed, and get up when I got up. If I was able to escape his constant
presence, he would begin to meow in a deep, mournful way that seemed to say, “Where
are you? I’m lonely.”
Over the course of the last twelve years, this pattern had
been repeated on numerous occasions. Gandalf was most affectionate the days
following a return from an absence. There would be days of nudging and nuzzling
and stalking. During a normal day, it wouldn’t be unusual for Gandalf to rub
his face against my hand or leg once or twice. Experts say this behavior is a
cat’s way of marking the object they are rubbing as their own. Yet in the days
after I had returned from a trip, he would rub against me countless times. I
always understood it to mean, “Mine! Mine! Mine! Now you can’t leave again.”
Although we had affection for one another, we didn’t always
get along. Gandalf was, after all, a cat. He wanted attention when he wanted it.
He bit me on more than one occasion because my feet crowded “his space” on my
bed. Gandalf didn’t meow much on a normal day, unless he wanted food or snacks.
But when he did meow, he just wouldn’t quit. I never enjoyed his nagging.
When we returned home Tuesday, nothing surprised me about
Gandalf’s behavior. The noise, the stalking, the rubbing—it was all normal. He
even kept with tradition and pestered me to pet him while I was trying to go to
sleep (which I obliged because I was, after all, happy to see him too). When I
got ready to leave for work Wednesday morning, there he was meowing in my
shadow as he traced my steps from room to room. As I closed the door, I
imagined he would pass the long day napping as he awaited our return.
We returned home from church a little later than usual.
Sophia sprang into the house as I opened the door blazing past a sleeping
Gandalf. But something wasn’t quite right. He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He
was still as a stone. And I knew. I hoped I was wrong, but I knew. He was gone.
His body was cold and stiff to the touch. Gone. Just gone. No notice, no
warning. As full of life and energy as a 12 year-old cat can be in the morning,
and 12 hours later he was gone.
As I reflected on our time together, I couldn’t help but
wonder, “Why now?” Why couldn’t he have lasted a little longer? But as I
thought about it, I realized God had given me (and Gandalf) a day. A day to
renew our affections. A day to share. Had I realized that Tuesday would be our
last day together, a weary traveler would have found obsessed cat’s nagging
less annoying. I would have lingered a little longer while scratching him
behind the ears. And in that realization, I knew the grace of a day. Reflecting
on that day, I have learned a few things:
1. Time is short.
People (almost) always assume they have more time. We plan for futures we are
not promised.
2. Make the most of
every day. Yesterday is gone. We might be left with good memories or
regrets, but we can’t change the past. Tomorrow isn’t promised. Live today like
it is the most important day of your life.
3. There is no shame
in crying. Whether tears of joy or tears of sorrow, there is no shame in
shedding tears.
4. Enjoy it while it
lasts. The circumstances of our lives are always changing. The old saying
warns, “Don’t blink or you might miss it.”
I was reminded by a man recently to make the most of Sophia’s childhood,
because it would pass before I realized it.
5. God’s grace is sufficient
for all our needs. Whether we are dealing with loss—of a family pet, a
family member, a job, etc., He is enough. He is even enough when we are dealing
with the outpouring of his favor. If our hopes and fears are anchored in
Christ, we have more than we can ever need.
