Monday, September 26, 2016

Gory Gifts: The Biting Cat and the Decapitated Mole

Cats are not my favorite. 

I thought they were supposed to be good for controlling mice at the barn, so I got a mama cat and one of her kittens. I settled them in the tack room at the barn with a nice comfy bed, plenty of food and water, and a clean liter box.

Mama Cat promptly climbed the wood wall and hung at the top, close to the ceiling. She never ate her yummy food or drank her crystal-clear well water. She refused to come down. Finally, she worked her way around to the freezer and jumped out the open window. She left her kitten behind and never came back. 

She still lives behind the barn. I occasionally see her with a new batch of kittens. If she catches mice at the barn, I can't tell it.

The kitten did better. His name is Max. I kept in him the tack room for several days so he'd know that was his home. It didn't help. As soon as I let him out, he headed straight for the house. He's made my back patio his headquarters ever since.

I had the best of intentions. I planned to take him to the vet to be neutered and get his shots. More than once I made an appointment, only to cancel because I couldn't catch him. Time went on. I was ashamed of having to cancel appointments and confess that I couldn't catch my cat. I gave up on the vet visit.

I was determined to gentle the cat, so I tried repeatedly to hold him. He bit me every time. I gave up on picking him up.

A few days ago, my cat had an unexpected turn-around. He meowed like crazy, rubbed on my leg, and insisted I pick him up. I threatened his life if he bit me again. He didn't. Instead, he purred. I was shocked.

This morning, he wanted to be held for at least 30 seconds. This is progress.

A few mornings ago, I walked outside with the dogs to let them potty. There was a decapitated mole on the back steps. Mamie thought it was a prize. I did not.

My friends tell me this is a good sign. I take purring as a good sign. The bloody body parts of a dead mole don't seem like a sign to me.  

It's a gift, they said. He likes you. I'd rather have another flu shot.

Someone suggested I write a blog about the bloody mole gift, but I didn't actually think I could. After all, who wants a blood-stained gift.

It only took a moment to realize that I'm the one who treasures a blood-stained gift. That's the gift Christ gave us when He willingly went to the cross to pay our sin debt and buy our freedom. His nail-scarred hands and sword-pierced side were a bloody, agonizing gift that bought my right relationship with God.

His blood-stained body was laid in a borrowed tomb and, three days later, it was gone. Empty tomb. Resurrected King. 

He's not a bloody gift now. Jesus reigns in heaven and one day, He'll step out of heaven and come back to get us. It will be a glorious day. 

I don't care much for the bloody mole gift, but the blood-stained Savior is another matter all together. That bloody gift is the most precious one of all.

Today, let's thank Him for the price He paid to buy us out of our bondage to sin and treasure the generosity that made our freedom possible. If you don't know Him, you should. He's not just the best gift of all. He's the best friend you can ever have.

"But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name..." John 1:12
p.s. It's a terrible photo of my cat, but he refused to sit up or to cooperate. Par for the course with him. 
In case you missed the story of Sam's project, here's the link: Sam's Project: Rubber Boots for Barefoot Rwandan Children
If you'd like to give to help buy boots for the barefoot school children of Rwandan, you can go directly to the project page here: Help Sam's Kids

In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: The Untapped Power Grid Project
#catgifts #Jesus #notacatperson