Last night, Kyle urged me to get back into conversation with God. We were sitting on the hood of the covered up rusty '65 Ford Galaxie in his driveway.
"The Lord has no grandchildren," Kyle said. What did that mean to me? I thought... and tears started to blur my vision. He's a relational God. What does He want from me?
"I can only do so much. I can't make you pray and talk to God. I can only lead you there. You have to do the rest." How long has it been since I sincerely prayed to God? The camp life has definitely altered my usual habits along with my thinking. The tears took over. I know what I should be doing. Simply walking with God everyday. But I don't.
I felt exposed. I felt like a failure. I couldn't call myself a child of God. I'd confessed that I'd stopped looking for "results" from having that daily walk. Not saying they weren't there. I just didn't see them, because I wasn't looking. I was also taking the small things for granted.
Finally, after many small urgings from Kyle, I laid on the hood of his car, and looked at the trees and the sky. A hummingbird flitted between the blooms of the tree above us. God's listening, I thought.
There were still tears, but I got up the courage to pray aloud. I felt like it was the hardest thing in the world to do. I had so much to say... and apologize for... and share how I was feeling... but I didn't do it for Kyle. I prayed for that relationship between me, and my God. My Father.
When I was finished praying, I still felt a little awkward, but at the same time, it felt right to be back in conversation with God.
What happened next made me feel like God had listened.
In the gathering darkness, a small shape came stalking through the grass of Kyle's lawn toward us. I scurried to hide behind him, as I feared a skunk. While the creature was inky black, it made no hesitation to my frantic voice, and as it came closer, Kyle said, "ohh, it's a kitty!"
It thought about hopping up on the car with us, but hesitated. I tried to lean down and pet her, but I only got her tail. I slid down from the car and laid on my belly to tell the kitty that I wanted to be her friend. She came and cuddled with me for the next 45 minutes, and stayed in the front of the house for awhile after that.
This was a street cat. She had four sets of claws, some missing fur, no collar, and was skin and bones. I wondered if she lived in the woods behind the zoo, frightening people who take their friends down those trails late at night just to scare them.
She loved me. She purred. She had a ragged meow that broke my heart.
If God was to love me like that through a random cat... I was going to give back. I ran inside, grabbed the nearest can of tuna and disposable bowl and made her a tuna meal with some wonderful clear water to drink. She gobbled down half the can before retiring to the yard to wash after her meal.
By then, it was late, and I went up to her with another bit of tuna and thanked her and God for coming to me and listening to me. And showing up when I fail.
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