The theology lesson, all two or three pounds of him, shook in a culvert pipe, alone. Probably a couple months old, he’d been abandoned at the park near our local hydroelectric dam. When no one was looking, people dumped cats and Easter bunnies there, illegally.
Becoming coyote casserole was his likely fate.
Then a father and teen son, on a guy-bonding time, passed by. They’d just left the stagnant oven of their valley home that August first. The rocky hills that shouldered the dam offered some shade, sweetened by the mist wafting off spillways.
They heard the faint “mew.” Two softies, they couldn’t leave him there. Luring him out with a chicken nugget from a nearby trash bin, they swathed him in a towel from the trunk of the car and brought him home.
To a mom who was asthmatic. Who choked and sneezed around cats.
“Where’s some tuna? Get some milk. We’ll just keep him overnight and try to find a home.”
Promises, promises.
That was more than eight years ago. The wisp of a kitten is now 15 pounds of aloofness, deprived of his malehood but not of his territorial temper. Identified with his city pet license and proof of rabies vaccine. Called “Auggie” (for August 1, when he was found) and dozens of other names. More than 150, in fact. When cleaning out the other day, I found a cat-name list my son and his sister had concocted. “Buick.” “Rumplefatskin.” “King Midas of the Golden Drool.” “Bleh.” “Mookie.” “Slug” (my favorite). I’ll spare you the entire list.
No matter how insulting the name, the cat responded in the usual cat way of ignoring us…unless we had a can labeled “Friskies” in hand and he was hungry.
That cat-name list reminded me of something wonderful about our relationship with God. Devotional author Max Lucado wrote about it. God whispers our names. He calls us by name (Isaiah 45:4). Our names are written on His hand (Isaiah 49:16). Even when we muddle under the generic name “sinner,” He knows the name He created us to have: Child of God. Lamb. Beloved. My Precious One.
He rescued us from something far worse than coyote teeth. The One who hung on a cross with a sign declaring “King of the Jews” (John 19:21) took away the condemning name, the hellish destination. He made it possible to have a new name. Redeemed One. Forgiven. Chosen.
His name is Jesus. Savior. Lord.
He whispers your name, in love. Can you hear it?
Either coyote casserole or owl supper...such is the fate of many a cat not rescued by softies like your husband and son, Jeanne. Kitty-cat "Auggie-Rumplefatskin-Buick," you are blessed. But perhaps not as much as those with names like "forgiven-chosen-redeemed!"
ReplyDeleteNiki Anderson www.nikianderson.net, author of Whiskers, Wit and Wisdom: True Cat Tales and the Lessons They Teach.