Three weeks after he sneaked out the door, an injury "cone" on his head, Augie the cat is back. He showed up at the back door yesterday, leaving us wondering how he survived three weeks in freezing weather, barely able to eat or drink with his "cone." I'd already gone to the Humane Society with his license renewal and said to take his name off the list as he was probably dead.
Instead, we brought out the fatted calf (aka fresh can of Friskies), which he inhaled. He turned up the volume of his purr to fortissimo to let us know he was glad to be home. The feeding dishes, litter box, and cat bed were "re-installed" in familiar places.
Amazing.
Yes, I immediately thought of the Prodigal Son. More specifically, the painting of that Biblical story by Rembrandt (c 1662), which hangs in The Hermitage at St. Petersburg, Russia. The famed artist chose his lighting to focus on the father's hands, not the shamed face of the Prodigal nor the exasperated expression of the "good" (but proud) other son.
My prayer notebook includes names of several "prodigals." In small measure, as I bring their names to God every week, I share the sorrow of their families and the hope that someday they too will come "home" to the Savior. Two verses that hold me steady in persistent prayer are these:
Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear. --Isaiah 59:1
How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! --1 John 3:1
That was the plan from the very beginning, that prodigal people would be reconciled to the God who continues to love them. Perhaps that's why I'm so drawn to the hands in Rembrandt's painting. They remind me of hands stretched far apart and nailed on a cross, as eternity-shaking symbols of God's infinite love.
So, welcome home, Augie. And thanks for reminding us that God saw you all along those three lonely weeks, just as He continues to watch over people He loves and who've chosen, for now, to go their own miserable way.
