God has been teaching me something recently. It started the night Gypsy got lost.
Gypsy, our kitten, is about 5 months old now. He is extremely lovey and sociable, and every single night he comes to bed and cuddles and falls asleep with us. To my remembrance, he had never once missed whole hours away from us and all the sleepy cuddle time that would bring.
One night, a few weeks ago, Gypsy disappeared. By around 7:00 p.m., we noticed he was gone. It was odd, but Josh and I weren't worried. We knew he had to be in the house somewhere; we figured he was sound asleep under a bed.
By 8:30 when Bella went to bed, it was very unusual for Gypsy not to be in the living room with us. We all made a quick look through the house, but again, Josh and I weren't worried. He had to be there somewhere.
Josh went to bed at maybe 9:00 or 9:30, and by the time I followed at 11:00 or so, he still hadn't turned up. Now I was getting worried. It was entirely unlike him to isolate himself from us for that long, and to miss sleeping on my lap or the bed? It just wasn't normal. Josh had spent a good 20 minutes looking for Gypsy before he went to bed, and I did the same at 11:00. I opened every closet door, looked under every bed, went outside and poked around in the bushes, walked all the way around the house. I tried to imagine if there was any possible way he could have gotten outside; I even checked in the dryer, since it had been running earlier that night. (HUGE relief when I was sure I hadn't accidentally killed the kitten.)
I went to bed worried, praying that Gypsy was okay. I went to bed imagining all the ways Gypsy could have gotten sick or lost or hurt. (I have, unfortunately, an excellent imagination and an impressive ability to suspend the laws of reality.) I went to bed completely forgetting all the Bible verses I have taught Bella about not worrying and taking your thoughts captive. I went to bed, sick with fear over my cat.
I will note that, at this same time, a very dear friend was also holding back fear over the fact that her husband is literally fighting for his life. I even thought of that as I was lying in bed, and I thought how small my own situation was compared to hers, but it didn't make the worry go away.
By early morning, when he hadn't shown up on our bed, I was certain the worst had happened. I didn't know how it happened or where he was, but I couldn't fathom a reason he hadn't appeared that didn't involve something really, really awful. Josh felt the same way. He, too, had been worried the whole night. And then, Josh opened a closet. And out came Gypsy.
He had been there all along. Why he never meowed to get out, clawed at the door, or made a dash any of the numerous times we searched that closet, I will never know. But he was there, somewhere, and had been the whole night. Even when we couldn't see him, he was there. His first two stops were his litter box and his food bowl, and other than being uncomfortable for a good part of the night, he was fine. Our joy was immediate and immeasurable.
A few days later, I spoke with the above-mentioned dear friend. Her husband had gotten worse. Again. He was in pain, again. He had gotten a bad prognosis, again. And it was scary, again.
And this is what God said to me, very suddenly, and very clearly:
You know the other night, when you thought Gypsy was gone and you were scared? I was with him the whole time. You prayed and prayed and worried about something because you didn't know the outcome to it, but I was already there. I already knew. You were so focused on not knowing, you couldn't see that I was already there.
I have repeated that to myself several times in the weeks since this happened. I know exactly what God was telling me. My friend is still going through a very, very rough time - at this very moment, as I write this, they're in the hospital, and it's one of the worst times she's had with her husband. And on top of that, my sweet sister in law is concerned for the health of her sister, who had sudden complications with her pregnancy. For the past 24 hours, there has been much grief and uncertainty over both the baby and the mother.
I am powerless to help them. I am powerless to change their situations. If I knew God was giving me specific instructions regarding either of them, I would do it; in that absence, I simply pray. But now, I remember that God is already there. I don't have to beg him to care. I don't have to coax him into taking an interest or hope that he'll take me seriously when I say my friends need help. He's there, guarding and protecting, and he already knows the ending. He knows exactly what's going on, and none of it caught him off guard or goes beyond his abilities. My job is to keep the lines of communication open between me and Him, so that when he DOES want to comfort me, I can receive it; or if he DOES give me instructions, I am ready to act.
Bella would say that I found the silver lining. Gypsy is currently curled up on the couch next to me, covering my legs with his body and making my feet quite hot and uncomfortable. I would not have thought something good could come of the night he got lost, but I never will forget the lesson I learned because of it.
