Covenant Church

I bought cat food for the first time in my life. Only four cans, but enough to send shock waves through my family.

It happened like this. We bought a home. Small acreage. My brother Ken contributed Herman and Geraldine, two goats. The goats are another story for another time.

Laila once shared that if anything ever happened to me she would get a dog. Knowing my high standing, I decided it is time to give in on a few things. Compromise a little.

Oh, you would not understand unless I tell you. In my childhood I had a cat. My grandmother made me get ride of the cat and her 7 babies. I won’t tell you how.

I had a dog. An uncle came by to visit when we were not home. My dog barked at him. He simply picked it up, thinking it was a mutt, put it in his truck and dropped it off in the next state.

I had a goat. It ate mother’s flowers. End of story.

Done with pets, I turned to books. Books don’t die, and no one can take them away from you.

Then along came Nita, a parishioner. She knew that I did not have a pet. Knew that I would not let a cat in our home. Nita trumped the issue by giving me a cat. A wooden cat.

Weeks later I called Nita for help. Got her voicemail. Told her I had an emergency: “My cat issick,” (remember, it was wooden). She did not call back for a couple of hours. I called again and told her to forget the emergency: My cat had died.

She sent a sympathy card.

As I said, we moved to the country. We were talking about the idea of having a dog— maybe a cat, but one just showed up. Every time the door opens she is there. She’d better have nine lives, because she is likely to lose eight of them getting stepped on as we leave the house. Step outside and she goes round and round your feet, purring— with one eye looking to see if the door is open.

Oh, it was cold that night she meowedoutside the door. Below zero. I attempted to ignore her. Laila suggested the cat might be hungry. That’s hitting below the belt. How does a preacher say that he does not care if the purring little cat starves to death on a bitter cold night? Laila would just look at me with a strange look, knowing my history with pets.

“Give her some milk,” I said off-handedly, in a manner I hoped would leave me unaccountable for the future. Milk. Then Laila was afraid the cat could not naturally, as cats do, find food. She asked if we could buy a couple— just a couple—cans of cat food.

I know. You think that it is a waste of time and space for a pastor to be writing in a newsletter about a cat. You think it is a misappropriation of funding. I should be more theological, writing spiritual treatises that challenge your intellect.

In truth, I am writing spiritually. I am writing about life. I am challenging your intellect. How we all change. How little things come to be big things. How we face the inevitable of events that come to us causing us to re-think, back-up, take-back, start-over, and get off our high-horse, get down-to-earth, and just be real.

All of us build silly walls in our lives that need to be torn down. Once I met a woman who said that her dad on his deathbed made her promise that she would never get married. What an inconsiderate and thoughtless Dad to bind a stupid oath upon his daughter- --even while he was dying!

We do far better in our walk with Jesus to prayerfully tackle senseless walls that we have built, or walls that others have built, that frame us in, deny us, and make us less than what we ought to be.

Whether we admit it o not, we are largely affected by our environment. If we want God to really work His preferred work in our lives, giving Him pliable material, workable clay, is a wise predicate. Chances are that His gentle hands need to work in our lives to tear down some walls, re-structure our thinking, and shape us into a vessel for His glory.

Careful, if you think too much about the walls that have framed your life you might decide to re-think what you do with your Sundays. Whether or not you tithe. Whether you are expecting a lot from God, but giving little in return. You might decide to join a Bible study, or home group, or feel a passion about an area of ministry.

I think you get the message.
Pastor Bare

P.S. Don’t tell Nita about the cat.