Sanchez the cat

The Story of a Cat. It’s a Sad One.

They say pride comes before a fall.

If that’s true, and if it’s also true that domestic pets can be guilty of such human puff-uppery as pride, it’s unfortunate someone didn’t have the sense to alert a certain gray feline before she assumed her triumphant Titanic pose in the top rack of my dishwasher last week.

I’m not saying that warbling “I’m Queen of the world!” at the top of her chronically congested cat lungs and pretending to delight in sea spray that did not really ripple through her fur led to her demise. But the pose did capture the state of her troubled relationship with us in much the same way as my relationship with her mirrored my troubled relationship with God.

When I first started writing in this place, Sanchez provided some of my best material. The writing was quite terrible, I admit. But back then my kids actually read my blog because of her, and I still get traffic coming in from a search for “Sanchez the Cat” on Google.

So, let me tell you a little story about a cat named Sanchez. (Warning to cat lovers: It doesn’t end happy.)

::

(more…)

2012/02/27 | Categories: Family, Sanchez the cat | Tags: | 31 Comments »

It’s Christmas

A few nights ago as dusk dropped its velvet draperies over my neighborhood, I gazed out the window at my neighbors’ homes, nestled in the snow. For the first time all year, I saw the Christmas lights twinkle and knew I was home.

It’s Christmas.

We erected our Charlie Brown tree — a four-foot discount store wonder — last night and limited decorations to lights and tinsel. Even that was enough to send the cat into a nervous tailspin. This morning she climbed up inside and removed two branches so she could lay down inside more comfortably.

It’s Christmas.

The boys went online to do their Christmas shopping, purchasing gifts for us at WorldVision. They made their selections, printed cards and wrapped them to put under the tree. I closed my eyes and handed over the credit card.

At some point, you have to trust your kids to do the right thing. Even with your Discover card.

It’s Christmas.

The blizzard is cancelling Christmas Eve services all over town, we’re hunkered down to wait out the storm, the makings of an amazing pork loin roast are in the kitchen, and whether I know how to do it well or not, it’s Christmas.

It’s Christmas.

:: (more…)

2009/12/24 | Categories: Christmas, Sanchez the cat | Tags: , , , | 5 Comments »

Where to Host Your Next Pity Party

 

 When David and his men came to Ziklag, they found it destroyed by fire and their wives and sons and daughters taken captive. So David and his men wept aloud until they had no strength left to weep. David’s two wives had been captured—Ahinoam of Jezreel and Abigail, the widow of Nabal of Carmel. David was greatly distressed because the men were talking of stoning him; each one was bitter in spirit because of his sons and daughters. But David found strength in the LORD his God. (I Samuel 30:3-6)
::
I think that Sanchez swallowed a cricket. 
One that hasn’t thought to die yet.
This is a cat that has never learned to meow properly. For the longest time she made no noise at all aside of purring and the crazy snorting she would do when she tried to breathe. (Perhaps in sympathy with me for my allergy to cats, she was determined to be allergic to us as well, and has spent much of her short life with chronic nasal congestion.) We’ve speculated that perhaps because she was abandoned at such an early age, she spent too few days with real cats and has no idea how cats sound when they talk. 
Eventually she learned to make noise, but it sounds much more like a cricket than a cat. Like the cricket in her belly keeps singing.
Or perhaps a toad with a really high voice. 
A high-pitched toad who sings for her supper.
All day long.
::
Her food dish happens to be on the way to almost anywhere in our house, so any movement by any person triggers her hunger dance. She hops off the couch, charges for the food bucket and begins her warbling. Absent an immediate response, she tosses her head sideways toward the bucket, signaling the location of the food, in case we forgot where we left it. 
The warble turns to a yodel as she nears hysteria at her deprivation.
Understand, she likely ate just twenty minutes ago. 
::
Unless it’s actually feeding time, it ends the same every time. Failing to provoke the desired response (a heaping scoop of the nastiest smelling food I’ve yet to find), she climbs into her toilet to pout. 
No kidding. 
She has prime real estate to host her own pity party. The mother of all pity parties. An enclosed litter box where she can get a little alone time and sit around in a pile of poop. 
What better way to celebrate her deeply held belief that the world has just pooped all over her?
::
She doesn’t live in a world where she gets her way all the time. She doesn’t get to eat whenever she wants. She gets scolded when she hangs out on the kitchen table or in the sink. People don’t want to play with her whenever she wants to play, even when she smacks us in the head to try to entice us to join in her fun. People want to play with her when she’s not in the mood and since she’s small enough to hold, she can’t do much about it. 
She’s not in control of her world. She is not the mistress of her own destiny. She doesn’t always get her way. 
No matter how backwards that all seems to her.
::
When she climbs out of her box, she smells bad. Like a cat toilet. Sometimes she has . . . um . . . stuff stuck to her. And even though she might suddenly be in the mood to play or hang out, folks don’t want to be around her just yet. 
The smell of misery sticks to her a little too long.
She needs a little time to air out. 
::
David faced a stark choice when he and his men returned to find that the Amalekites had attacked his people, destroying their homes and taking the people off as slaves. People that included two of his wives. People that included the wives and children of his men.
They wept until there was nothing left in them to weep with. Strength gone, unable even to continue their mourning, the men became embittered. Needing someone to blame, they spoke of stoning David. 
David had the choice to crawl into the litter box, blame God and the world for all his troubles. He could have jumped right into the stink with his men.
But he didn’t.
We won’t pretend this wasn’t a devastating circumstance. We won’t suggest that the other guys just overreacted.
But David chose to respond differently. He sought, and he found, his strength in the Lord.
He found his hope. His only hope.
::
Raiders did not just burn my house down and make off with my family. Even so, my life doesn’t always go the way I want it to. People don’t always do the things I want, and certainly not when I want. Circumstances don’t always work out in my favor. I don’t get all my questions answered. And some of the answers I do get aren’t what I was hoping for.
I can become bitter about that, crawling inside the toilet and scratching around in the poop clumps. 
And then I can smell bad so folks want to keep a lot of room between them and me.
Or I can stay out of the litter box, face the disappointment and find strength in the goodness of my God.
That’s where I’ll find my only hope as well.
::

When David and his men came to Ziklag, they found it destroyed by fire and their wives and sons and daughters taken captive. So David and his men wept aloud until they had no strength left to weep. David’s two wives had been captured—Ahinoam of Jezreel and Abigail, the widow of Nabal of Carmel. David was greatly distressed because the men were talking of stoning him; each one was bitter in spirit because of his sons and daughters. But David found strength in the LORD his God. (I Samuel 30:3-6)

I think that Sanchez swallowed a cricket. 

One that hasn’t thought to die yet.

This is a cat that has never learned to meow properly. For the longest time she made no noise at all aside of purring and the crazy snorting she would do when she tried to breathe. (Perhaps in sympathy with me for my allergy to cats, she was determined to be allergic to us as well, and has spent much of her short life with chronic nasal congestion.) We’ve speculated that perhaps because she was abandoned at such an early age, she spent too few days with real cats and has no idea how cats sound when they talk. 

Eventually she learned to make noise, but it sounds much more like a cricket than a cat. Like the cricket in her belly keeps singing.

Or perhaps a toad with a really high voice. 

A high-pitched toad who sings for her supper.

All day long.

::

Her food dish happens to be on the way to almost anywhere in our house, so any movement by any person triggers her hunger dance. She hops off the couch, charges for the food bucket and begins her warbling. Absent an immediate response, she tosses her head sideways toward the bucket, signaling the location of the food, in case we forgot where we left it. 

The warble turns to a yodel as she nears hysteria at her deprivation.

Understand, she likely ate just twenty minutes ago. 

::

litter box

Unless it’s actually feeding time, it ends the same every time. Failing to provoke the desired response (a heaping scoop of the nastiest smelling food I’ve yet to find), she climbs into her toilet to pout. 

No kidding. 

She has prime real estate to host her own pity party. The mother of all pity parties. An enclosed litter box where she can get a little alone time and sit around in a pile of poop. 

What better way to celebrate her deeply held belief that the world has just pooped all over her?

::

She doesn’t live in a world where she gets her way all the time. She doesn’t get to eat whenever she wants. She gets scolded when she hangs out on the kitchen table or in the sink. People don’t want to play with her whenever she wants to play, even when she smacks us in the head to try to entice us to join in her fun. People want to play with her when she’s not in the mood and since she’s small enough to hold, she can’t do much about it. 

She’s not in control of her world. She is not the mistress of her own destiny. She doesn’t always get her way. 

No matter how backwards that all seems to her.

::

When she climbs out of her box, she smells bad. Like a cat toilet. Sometimes she has . . . um . . . stuff stuck to her. And even though she might suddenly be in the mood to play or hang out, folks don’t want to be around her just yet. 

The smell of misery sticks to her a little too long.

She needs a little time to air out. 

::

David faced a stark choice when he and his men returned to find that the Amalekites had attacked his people, destroying their homes and taking the people off as slaves. People that included two of his wives. People that included the wives and children of his men.

They wept until there was nothing left in them to weep with. Strength gone, unable even to continue their mourning, the men became embittered. Needing someone to blame, they spoke of stoning David. 

David had the choice to crawl into the litter box, blame God and the world for all his troubles. He could have jumped right into the stink with his men.

But he didn’t.

We won’t pretend this wasn’t a devastating circumstance. We won’t suggest that the other guys just overreacted.

But David chose to respond differently. He sought, and he found, his strength in the Lord.

He found his hope. His only hope.

::

Raiders did not just burn my house down and make off with my family. Even so, my life doesn’t always go the way I want it to. People don’t always do the things I want, and certainly not when I want. Circumstances don’t always work out in my favor. I don’t get all my questions answered. And some of the answers I do get aren’t what I was hoping for.

I can become bitter about that, crawling inside the toilet and scratching around in the poop clumps. 

And then I can smell bad so folks want to keep a lot of room between them and me.

Or I can stay out of the litter box, face the disappointment and find strength in the goodness of my God.

That’s where I’ll find my only hope as well.

::

2009/03/30 | Categories: Sanchez the cat | Tags: , , | 1 Comment »

Fortunately, God Is Not Like Me

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment—to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ. (Ephesians 1:3-10)
When my kids are unappreciative of their dad’s efforts to help them see the upside of what they prefer to see as only unfavorable circumstances, they often deride him as one of those “optimists.” Those folks, as they say, who having had an arm severed by an angry (and hungry) crocodile would say something like “Unfortunately, an angry crocodile just ate my right arm . . . Fortunately, I am left handed.”
Let this serve as my contribution to the “Unfortunately . . . Fortunately” game. Unfortunately, Sanchez Is a Lot Like Me . . . Fortunately, God Is Not So Much Like Me. This is the good news angle produced by my reflection the other day on Sanchez-is-like-me.
It all started one day when someone said something to me about “my cat.” I replied that “Sanchez is not my cat. Sanchez is the cat that I permit to live at my house.” When I said it, there seemed to be a familiar ring to it that I just couldn’t place. But it came back to me the other day when she had belly crawled across the living room floor, stalking me. Once she reached the chair where I was sitting, she looked up at me with her pupils dilated almost bigger than her eyes, and kept twitching as she held herself back from a full frontal attack. I began to speak to her, telling her mean and hateful things, but in a kind and soothing voice. I realized in that moment (just before the bloodletting began) that what was so familiar was that it seems to me that I often view God and me like me and Sanchez. That I seem to think God views me the way I view this menace that is systematically taking over my home. (Think I’m kidding? She took a nap in the kitchen sink tonight.)
I sometimes fall into a seemingly bottomless pit of thinking that God sees me just like I see her. I don’t love Sanchez. I tolerate her. I abide her.
I don’t love her.
I did not one day announce my desire to have a cat and go to the animal shelter to choose her. I did not have my choice of everything in the heavens and the earth and choose her. I do not treasure her. I do not enjoy her fellowship. I do not delight in her.
But these things are all true of how the Father views me. (Well, minus the animal shelter part.)
When she had her first visit to the vet, we got some of her shots for free because we had taken in an orphan. We were foster parents. Even then, we had no intention of adopting her as our own. She was still a temporary boarder, an alien to whom we were providing sanctuary until her permanent home materialized. I put up with her, but I did not want her, did not love her, and did not wish to keep her around.
So here I am finding myself thinking that God often sees me the same way that I see Sanchez. He had a momentary lapse in judgment and He let me in before He realized what He was doing, and now He’s stuck. He puts up with me. He tolerates me. He has to; it’s in the covenant. But if He could find a loophole, He be through with me in a heartbeat. It’s as though He’s like me when I say “Sanchez is not my cat.”
This is often a daily, hourly struggle for me, to recognize on a continuous basis that this is simply not the truth. That the truth is that God would never say that I am not His child. He would never say that He does not love me but only endures me because He signed on to a covenant in a moment of weakness. God does not tolerate me. He loves me with an everlasting love, all the while that He sees the Sanchez-like sin in my life, the selfishness and unrepentance in my heart, He also pours out His love, through the riches of His grace. It was not in a moment of weakness that He chose me, but in a moment of outrageous love.
He does not permit me to stay in His home until He finds a suitable alternative for me. Listen to the words of Ephesians 1:  In love He predestined us to be adopted as His sons (and daughters). Predestination doesn’t smack at all of a hasty decision made at the end of a long and stressful day.
He knew, before He lit up the stars and before He poured water into the sea, that He would choose us, and He would adopt us as His own. This wasn’t something He did when He was tired and not thinking clearly. He did it in accordance with His pleasure — it pleased Him to adopt us. It has yet to please me to care for Sanchez. But the Father made me His in His good pleasure.
I took in Sanchez out of obligation. He takes us in freely.
We give Sanchez the food and water she needs and we clean her litter box when we must. He gives us redemption through the blood of Jesus out of His riches, and He lavishes His grace on us.
He lavishes His grace on us. That’s an outpouring. Not a drizzle. Not a smidgen. Not the required amount. An outpouring that washes over us.
An outpouring of grace is a far cry from just putting up with me because He has to
So, fortunately, God is not so much like me. He doesn’t see me the way I see Sanchez.
The trick, I suppose, is to keep that contrast between being stuck with me and pouring out buckets of grace on me because He just loves to do it.
::

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment—to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ. (Ephesians 1:3-10)

When my kids are unappreciative of their dad’s efforts to help them see the upside of what they prefer to see as only unfavorable circumstances, they often deride him as one of those “optimists.” Those folks, as they say, who having had an arm severed by an angry (and hungry) crocodile would say something like “Unfortunately, an angry crocodile just ate my right arm . . . Fortunately, I am left handed.”

Let this serve as my contribution to the “Unfortunately . . . Fortunately” game.

Unfortunately, Sanchez Is a Lot Like Me . . . Fortunately, God Is Not So Much Like Me.

This is the good news angle produced by my reflection the other day on Sanchez-is-like-me.

::

It all started one day when someone said something to me about “my cat.” I replied that “Sanchez is not my cat. Sanchez is the cat that I permit to live at my house.”

When I said it, there seemed to be a familiar ring to it that I just couldn’t place. But it came back to me the other day when she had belly crawled across the living room floor, stalking me. Once she reached the chair where I was sitting, she looked up at me with her pupils dilated almost bigger than her eyes, and kept twitching as she held herself back from a full frontal attack.

I began to speak to her, telling her mean and hateful things, but in a kind and soothing voice. I realized in that moment (just before the bloodletting began) that what was so familiar was that it seems to me that I often view God and me like me and Sanchez.

That I seem to think God views me the way I view this menace that is systematically taking over my home. (Think I’m kidding? She took a nap in the kitchen sink tonight.)

I sometimes fall into a seemingly bottomless pit of thinking that God sees me just like I see her.

I don’t love Sanchez. I tolerate her. I abide her.

I don’t love her.

::

I did not one day announce my desire to have a cat and go to the animal shelter to choose her.

I did not have my choice of everything in the heavens and the earth and choose her. I do not treasure her.

I do not enjoy her fellowship.

I do not delight in her.

But these things are all true of how the Father views me. (Well, minus the animal shelter part.)

::

When she had her first visit to the vet, we got some of her shots for free because we had taken in an orphan. We were foster parents. Even then, we had no intention of adopting her as our own. She was still a temporary boarder, an alien to whom we were providing sanctuary until her permanent home materialized.

I put up with her, but I did not want her, did not love her, and did not wish to keep her around.

So here I am finding myself thinking that God often sees me the same way that I see Sanchez.

He had a momentary lapse in judgment and He let me in before He realized what He was doing, and now He’s stuck.

He puts up with me. He tolerates me.

He has to; it’s in the covenant.

But if He could find a loophole, He be through with me in a heartbeat.

It’s as though He’s like me when I say “Sanchez is not my cat.”

::

This is often a daily, hourly struggle for me, to recognize on a continuous basis that this is simply not the truth. That the truth is that God would never say that I am not His child. He would never say that He does not love me but only endures me because He signed on to a covenant in a moment of weakness.

God does not tolerate me.

He loves me with an everlasting love, all the while that He sees the Sanchez-like sin in my life, the selfishness and unrepentance in my heart, He also pours out His love, through the riches of His grace.

It was not in a moment of weakness that He chose me, but in a moment of outrageous love.

He does not permit me to stay in His home until He finds a suitable alternative for me. Listen to the words of Ephesians 1:  In love He predestined us to be adopted as His sons (and daughters).

Predestination doesn’t smack at all of a hasty decision made at the end of a long and stressful day.

He knew, before He lit up the stars and before He poured water into the sea, that He would choose us, and He would adopt us as His own.

This wasn’t something He did when He was tired and not thinking clearly. He did it in accordance with His pleasure — it pleased Him to adopt us.

It has yet to please me to care for Sanchez.

But the Father made me His in His good pleasure.

I took in Sanchez out of obligation.

He takes us in freely.

We give Sanchez the food and water she needs and we clean her litter box when we must.

He gives us redemption through the blood of Jesus out of His riches, and He lavishes His grace on us.

::

He lavishes His grace on us.

That’s an outpouring.

Not a drizzle. Not a smidgen. Not the required amount.

An outpouring that washes over us.

An outpouring of grace is a far cry from just putting up with me because He has to

So, fortunately, God is not so much like me. He doesn’t see me the way I see Sanchez.

The trick, I suppose, is to keep that contrast between being stuck with me and pouring out buckets of grace on me because He just loves to do it.

::

2008/12/02 | Categories: grace, Sanchez the cat | Tags: , , | 1 Comment »

Sanchez Is a Lot Like Me

But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can’t keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don’t have what it takes. I can will it, but I can’t do it. I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don’t result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time. It happens so regularly that it’s predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God’s commands, but it’s pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge. I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question? The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different. (Romans 7:17-25, MSG)

I’ve been reflecting on how this whole Sanchez thing happened to me. (To get the back story on Sanchez, read here, and here, and here, and here.) Take a look at this. This was Sanchez the day she came to our house. Now, she was cute enough when she first came to stay the night. How could you not take her in for a little while?
But it was supposed to be temporary. She wasn’t supposed to be part of the family. It was just to nurse a tiny abandoned kitty back to health and find her a new home. But somehow, she stayed. Now she lounges around and looks pretty and really acts like she owns the place. Oh, sure, she looks innocent enough…
…but she’s not. Now that she’s big enough and agile enough to go anywhere she wants, we can’t leave stuff out like we used to. Well, we still do. But we shouldn’t. She gets into everything. She finds pens, bottle caps, flash drives, loose change, empty bottles, and anything else she can carry in her teeth, and stashes it under the throw rugs or behind the computer desk. She’s a thief and a hoarder. 
And she’s not nice. Yes, that’s my arm she’s chewing. I call that The Death Grip. See how she has her front feet wrapped around my forearm? Her claws have punctured my arm to hold it secure. You can’t see her teeth, but that’s just because they are sunken into my flesh. And her back feet? The still photos won’t show it but she’s using them almost like she’s propelling a kick board in the pool, not for the purpose of going anywhere, but primarily to shred whatever is left of my arm after her front claws and teeth are done. 
I realized today as she took a swipe at one of JP’s friends that came to spend the night that she’s just one big liability claim waiting to happen. 
I’ve been mulling over this piece for the last week, waiting for it to fully take form. All I knew for sure was it involved Sanchez, me, and God. I had it going a different direction. But as I started a list of the things that really annoy me about this cat, something unpleasant occurred to me. You know how the people you find the most annoying are those that are also the most like you? I know that I couldn’t survive in a world made up of people like me. I don’t really know how the rest of you do it. 
So I considered what was most irritating about Sanchez, and I realized that as I looked at Sanchez through that lens that I saw just as much of me.
Ouch. She draws blood this time without even touching me.
Let me show you what I mean. 
Sanchez wants us on her terms. She wants us to pay attention to her only when she wants it, and then, we’d really better pay attention. If we want to play when she’s not interested, well, heaven help us.
I want God on my terms. I want Him to be ready and waiting for me when I’m ready for Him. And when I’m not? I’d Him to wait patiently on the sidelines. 
Sanchez is inconsiderate and selfish. She couldn’t care less if she’s sitting in my spot, or tearing up my desk, or stomping all over my keyboard, or taking our stuff and  hiding it under the rug. All she cares about is getting what she wants, when she wants, regardless of how it might affect someone else.
I am inconsiderate and selfish. I often do whatever I feel like doing, despite how it might affect someone else too.
Sanchez is ungrateful. Sanchez has everything she needs. She has food, she has water, she has a warm home, she has plenty of people who pay attention to her and play with her and snuggle her when she wants. But she doesn’t care. She never says thank you, and she never shows the slightest bit of gratitude. She just demands more.
I am ungrateful. God provides me with everything I need. And even sometimes, things I want. He cares for me, and honestly, I have to say I have so much. But I forget to be grateful for that. I neglect to thank Him and those around me. I just go back and ask for, sometimes demand, more.
Sanchez hurts us sometimes without meaning to. She has these claws, and she doesn’t have any idea how sharp they are and how easily they puncture and slice. She’s careless and wounds without intending to do it.
I hurt others sometimes without meaning to. I’m careless with my words and don’t realize how sharp they are and how deeply and easily they puncture and slice.
Sanchez hurts us sometimes on purpose. Whether she’s trying to get our attention, or she’s mad about something or she’s just that way, I’m pretty sure that sometimes she thinks it through and just bites down hard.
I hurt people sometimes on purpose. Maybe my desire isn’t really to cause pain, but I’ll admit when I’m angry or hurt sometimes I’ll still do things that I know will hurt. I think it through (or not at all) and just bite down hard.
Sanchez is impatient. She is unwilling to wait for what she wants. As I changed her litter today, she didn’t think I was pouring it fast enough, so she started throwing it around. She tears into the food bag as we try to fill her dish. She just won’t wait patiently for us to come through.
I am impatient. I am also unwilling to wait for what I want. I don’t allow God to come through and I try to force things on my own, sometimes ripping the bag or spraying the litter around in the process.
Sanchez is merciless. Recently when she slashed my leg, leaving a three-inch gash that was dripping blood (no exaggeration), she looked at me and walked away. No remorse, no mercy. If it had been convenient for her, she’d have slashed the other leg too. 
I am merciless. I just don’t always recognize the needs of others, and I sure don’t always respond to them with mercy.
Sanchez acts like she owns the place. She’s pretty sure our house was built and furnished just for her. And while she’s at it, I think she believes that we were born to serve her. She believes she has arrived. She forgets that she is a guest, a visitor, a temporary resident (would that it were true).
I act like I own the place. I act like this world is my home and that everything is here just to please and service me. I forget that I am but a tenant and that our eternal home is really what it’s about. This isn’t enough, it’s not all there is. When I act like it is, I act just like Sanchez.
Sanchez is unrepentant. She does the same things she’s been told not to do over, and over, and over. Sometimes within seconds of being told. And sometimes while she looks us right in the eye.
I am often unrepentant. I know what God asks of me. And yet often I do the opposite. Over, and over, and over. And sometimes, looking Him right in the eye, I’m ashamed to admit.
Get the point? I am so much like this annoying parasite that has taken over my home. While I am very quick to point out all that is wrong with her (and don’t think I’m not mentally doing that to other people as well), it takes me a little longer to recognize these are the same things that daily challenge me. 
The big difference, I suppose (besides that she is a beast and I am a person), is that I want to do the right thing. She really doesn’t care. There is nothing in her that makes her want to do it differently, that makes her want to do right.
I do. I have Jesus working in me, giving me the desire and the power to do what He wants.
And that makes my seemingly constant propensity toward sin even more exasperating.
::

I’ve been reflecting on how this whole Sanchez thing happened to me. (To get the back story on Sanchez, read here.) Take a look at this. This was Sanchez the day she came to our house. Now, she was cute enough when she first came to stay the night. How could you not take her in for a little while?

But it was supposed to be temporary. She wasn’t supposed to be part of the family. It was just to nurse a tiny abandoned kitty back to health and find her a new home. But somehow, she stayed. Now she lounges around and looks pretty and really acts like she owns the place. Oh, sure, she looks innocent enough…

sanchez 1…but she’s not. Now that she’s big enough and agile enough to go anywhere she wants, we can’t leave stuff out like we used to. Well, we still do. But we shouldn’t. She gets into everything. She finds pens, bottle caps, flash drives, loose change, empty bottles, and anything else she can carry in her teeth, and stashes it under the throw rugs or behind the computer desk. She’s a thief and a hoarder. 

sanchez 2And she’s not nice. Yes, that’s my arm she’s chewing. I call that The Death Grip. See how she has her front feet wrapped around my forearm? Her claws have punctured my arm to hold it secure. You can’t see her teeth, but that’s just because they are sunken into my flesh. And her back feet? The still photos won’t show it but she’s using them almost like she’s propelling a kick board in the pool, not for the purpose of going anywhere, but primarily to shred whatever is left of my arm after her front claws and teeth are done. 

I realized today as she took a swipe at one of JP’s friends that came to spend the night that she’s just one big liability claim waiting to happen. 

:: (more…)

2008/11/29 | Categories: Sanchez the cat | Tags: , , | 2 Comments »

Sin and Sanchez

 

Then the LORD said to Cain, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.” (Genesis 4:6-7)
I have this cat at my house, you know. Have I mentioned this? Seems I have to tell stories of Sanchez if for no other reason, to make sure that folks know she’s still here, and still needs her own place. She’s quite the stalker. And croucher. And would be predator. You have to humor me some here, because I’ve never been around a cat much. So I’m sure all this is normal. But not if you’re just used to dogs and fish. 
A lot of times she flattens herself to the ground and waits for her moment, sometimes even slinking toward her prey ever so slowly. Other times she leaps out at anything that moves. Or doesn’t. She frequently launches herself onto the computer keyboard when she just can’t stand watching a person’s fingers fly around anymore. (So, my frequent typos could just as well be attributed to her as to me.) One of her favorite things to do is to lie in wait on the big chair, and whenever anybody walks by to lunge at them. Might just slap a bit with her arms sometimes, while others she leaps out and tries to latch on and draw blood. (Often successfully, I might add.)
But the best trick of all is the amazing head fake she does in her litter box. Yep, back to the litter box. Her litter box sits inside a large plastic tote right inside the back door. When her exasperated foster family needs to get her out of our hair for a while, she gets put in the box and the lid secured. (Plenty of air holes, don’t worry.) She’s discovered the joys of the great outdoors, and often wishes she were out there. So if she suspects someone is going to go out the back door, she’ll quickly jump into her box and plant herself in the litter box, making like she’s taking care of business. But as soon as the door opens, the spring-loaded cat from we know where comes flying out of her crouch in the litter box and bounds out the door in one single, fluid motion, and she’s off to play in the bushes. And then we go after her to bring her back inside after we finally catch her. (Why we don’t see her efforts to run away as the greatest plan to be rid of a cat ever, I don’t know.)
Anyway, we’ve recently learned a lot about crouching and attacking and preying at our house. In fact, as I typed that sentence, the gray cat that was crouched behind me on top of the couch just pounced on my shoulder. 
You already know that in his jealous anger, Cain killed his brother Abel after luring him out to an open field. He was outraged that God would find favor more in his brother than in him, and that his sacrifice was found wanting. All that goes into that inter-familial comparison is more than we’re going to tackle here today. But before he got as far as killing Abel, while he was only angry but not yet murderous, God warned Cain. He saw what was coming and He cautioned him about sin, about how it was crouching at his door. 
God notes that sin has not yet overtaken Cain. He recognizes his anger, “Why are you angry?” There’s the suggestion that in this case, Cain’s anger is not quite justified. That what made him angry – whether or not he had done what was right in God’s eyes – was within his control. That he really had no one to be angry at but himself. And he encourages him to move on and just do the right thing. He still has that opportunity.
But if he doesn’t, God warns, then sin is crouching at the door.  It is crouching not just to amuse itself like the cat at my house does, but it crouches at the door because it desires him. It wants Cain. 
Sin desires to have him. To capture him. To overpower him. To own him. 
While that cat is still crouching, Cain can still resist it. He can still kick it out of the way (not saying that would ever happen to cats crouching at our house). He can still dart to the side and miss the lunge. 
He didn’t have to give in. He didn’t have to just stand there and let sin sink its claws into his chest. He didn’t have to be overtaken. It was still only crouching. It was still only at the door.
Sin desires us. It wants to overcome us. It wants to own us. 
But it is still only crouching at the door. At least until we open the door and let it lunge in on us. The cat can’t open the door. We have to do that for her. 
Sin awaits us. But it does not have to overtake us.
Sanchez fancies herself the mighty warrior cat, conqueror of all who enter our house. But even in her most stealth and insidious crouch, she can still be batted aside by the alert passer by. 
Sin is crouching, waiting. But it is not stronger than I am in Christ.
::
 

Then the LORD said to Cain, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.” (Genesis 4:6-7)

 

I have this cat at my house, you know. Have I mentioned this? Seems I have to tell stories of Sanchez if for no other reason, to make sure that folks know she’s still here, and still needs her own place. She’s quite the stalker. And croucher. And would be predator. You have to humor me some here, because I’ve never been around a cat much. So I’m sure all this is normal. But not if you’re just used to dogs and fish. 

A lot of times she flattens herself to the ground and waits for her moment, sometimes even slinking toward her prey ever so slowly. Other times she leaps out at anything that moves. Or doesn’t. She frequently launches herself onto the computer keyboard when she just can’t stand watching a person’s fingers fly around anymore. (So, my frequent typos could just as well be attributed to her as to me.) One of her favorite things to do is to lie in wait on the big chair, and whenever anybody walks by to lunge at them. Might just slap a bit with her arms sometimes, while others she leaps out and tries to latch on and draw blood. (Often successfully, I might add.)

But the best trick of all is the amazing head fake she does in her litter box. Yep, back to the litter box. Her litter box sits inside a large plastic tote right inside the back door. When her exasperated foster family needs to get her out of our hair for a while, she gets put in the box and the lid secured. (Plenty of air holes, don’t worry.) She’s discovered the joys of the great outdoors, and often wishes she were out there. So if she suspects someone is going to go out the back door, she’ll quickly jump into her box and plant herself in the litter box, making like she’s taking care of business. But as soon as the door opens, the spring-loaded cat from we know where comes flying out of her crouch in the litter box and bounds out the door in one single, fluid motion, and she’s off to play in the bushes. And then we go after her to bring her back inside after we finally catch her. (Why we don’t see her efforts to run away as the greatest plan to be rid of a cat ever, I don’t know.)

Anyway, we’ve recently learned a lot about crouching and attacking and preying at our house. In fact, as I typed that sentence, the gray cat that was crouched behind me on top of the couch just pounced on my shoulder. 

You already know that in his jealous anger, Cain killed his brother Abel after luring him out to an open field. He was outraged that God would find favor more in his brother than in him, and that his sacrifice was found wanting. All that goes into that inter-familial comparison is more than we’re going to tackle here today. But before he got as far as killing Abel, while he was only angry but not yet murderous, God warned Cain. He saw what was coming and He cautioned him about sin, about how it was crouching at his door. 

God notes that sin has not yet overtaken Cain. He recognizes his anger, “Why are you angry?” There’s the suggestion that in this case, Cain’s anger is not quite justified. That what made him angry – whether or not he had done what was right in God’s eyes – was within his control. That he really had no one to be angry at but himself. And he encourages him to move on and just do the right thing. He still has that opportunity.

But if he doesn’t, God warns, then sin is crouching at the door.  It is crouching not just to amuse itself like the cat at my house does, but it crouches at the door because it desires him. It wants Cain. 

Sin desires to have him. To capture him. To overpower him. To own him. 

While that cat is still crouching, Cain can still resist it. He can still kick it out of the way (not saying that would ever happen to cats crouching at our house). He can still dart to the side and miss the lunge. 

He didn’t have to give in. He didn’t have to just stand there and let sin sink its claws into his chest. He didn’t have to be overtaken. It was still only crouching. It was still only at the door.

Sin desires us. It wants to overcome us. It wants to own us. 

But it is still only crouching at the door. At least until we open the door and let it lunge in on us. The cat can’t open the door. We have to do that for her. 

Sin awaits us. But it does not have to overtake us.

Sanchez fancies herself the mighty warrior cat, conqueror of all who enter our house. But even in her most stealth and insidious crouch, she can still be batted aside by the alert passer by. 

Sin is crouching, waiting. But it is not stronger than I am in Christ.

::

2008/10/01 | Categories: Sanchez the cat | Tags: , , | Leave A Comment »

Keep the Doo-doo in the Litter Box


Write this to Sardis, to the Angel of the church. The One holding the Seven Spirits of God in one hand, a firm grip on the Seven Stars with the other, speaks: “I see right through your work. You have a reputation for vigor and zest, but you’re dead, stone-dead. Up on your feet! Take a deep breath! Maybe there’s life in you yet. But I wouldn’t know it by looking at your busywork; nothing of God’s work has been completed. Your condition is desperate. Think of the gift you once had in your hands, the Message you heard with your ears—grasp it again and turn back to God. If you pull the covers back over your head and sleep on, oblivious to God, I’ll return when you least expect it, break into your life like a thief in the night.”  (Revelation 3:1-3, The Message)


(If you’re offended by bathroom talk, you might want to skip this post.)

The kitten taught me something. Something besides the daily reminder that she remains in my house and still needs a new home. In some ways, I’ve actually been impressed with Sanchez. Cats apparently are kind of smart. Smart enough to train themselves to use a litter box. To my amazement, she’s yet to have an accident on the floor.

There’s a funny thing I noticed the other day though. When she gets done with her work, she spends a fair amount of time scratching in the box, presumably to cover up what she’s done and keep the place nice and tidy. This must come through the same instinctual route as learning to use the box in the first place. But when she’s done scratching, there’s litter all over the place. And the other stuff in the box is still exposed. Still sitting right there in the open. And sometimes, for all her work to clean up the place, she manages to just throw pieces overboard, out of the litter box and into her bedding area.

She does all the right stuff. She just doesn’t seem to get why she does it. She doesn’t understand the point, so she doesn’t really get the job done.

John was told in Revelation to write to the church at Sardis that they were doing all the right stuff. They had a great reputation for all they were doing. They looked like they were full of life. But God saw right through their work. In the NIV, it says their deeds were not complete. They looked alive but they were dead. The church at Sardis was doing everything right. And yet they were doing nothing right at all.

There’s no point in using a litter box if you’re just going to toss the poop back out when you’re done. There’s no point in looking like we’re alive if we’re really stone-dead.

We couldn’t figure out for a while why Sanchez’ box kept smelling so bad. We knew she was using the litter box. And she was doing such a good job of scratching afterward. Then we found the doo-doo hiding behind the litter box, stinking the place up. There is simply no point in going through the motions and making it look one way when it is in all truth the complete opposite. All it does is mask the problem and keep it from getting cleaned up.

Sanchez sometimes looks like she’s doing it all right, but she’s throwing poop around. She’s just going through the motions.

The church at Sardis looked like they were really alive, but they were dead. They were just going through the motions.

Same for me. Just doing stuff to look like I’ve got it right is like kicking doo-doo out of the litter box. Acting alive when I’m dead just stinks the place up.

My heart has to be in what I’m doing. And that means I need to let God have my heart fully, completely.

::

2008/08/17 | Categories: Finding Life, Sanchez the cat | Tags: , , | Leave A Comment »

Solid Food Update

“Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.” (Isaiah 55:1-2)


Sanchez, our orphan kitten, had a rough few days. On the vet’s orders, you’ll remember, we cut off her milk supply. No more formula. She had to start eating solid food so she could mature. 

Let me tell you, she wasn’t impressed. 

For three days, we set out Friskies and water for her. Even started the first few feedings by lacing the cat food with just a smattering of formula on top. She licked it off and left the rest of the food there like she hadn’t even noticed it.

Wouldn’t eat a thing.

On the third day of her hunger strike, she succumbed to a delicate whitefish blend.

The hunger pains had to be pretty intense by then.

So she gave in and ate her Friskies.

::

And now? Now she’s insatiable.

She can’t get enough.

Used to be she’d stand at our feet if she thought we might be mixing up a little milk for her, and she’d let out an occasional meow. Nothing major, just enough to let us know she was ready and waiting.

Now if she thinks there’s even a chance the food is coming out (even if I’m just brewing coffee) she hops around where we’re standing and yells at the top of her lungs.

Where’s the good stuff? I want my Friskies! Is it salmon today? Maybe the roast beef dinner?

Oh, come on! What’s taking you so long?

And when she finally gets her food dish back, she snorkles through it in just minutes, licking out every last morsel she can find.

And she’s ready for the next meal as soon as she finishes the first.

Now she wonders what all the fuss was about. It was as though she spent herself on what was not food, what would not satisfy. Now she eats what is good, her soul delights in the richest of fare. And we find that she is much more content on the whole.

Yes, she’d still like to chew my hand right off my arm. But now it’s all in good fun, not because she’s hungry and cranky. Now she’s content from time to time, when she’s not chasing shadows around the living room floor or stalking someone’s bare foot, to just curl up beside us and purr.

She is eating what is good and has delighted in the richest food.

And so she cannot get enough. She has enough to fill her, oh yes. But she earnestly desires more. She knows when she eats that “there’s more where that came from.” And oh, she wants it. 

::

So how about you? Still on your own hunger strike?

Lapping up the milk now and again but not sure you want to commit to the Friskies? 

There’s a lot in life that offers to satisfy, and never really does. There’s a lot we spend ourselves on that is not bread, is not food.

God offers us real food for free. Real food that leaves us full and content. Real food that meets our real needs. 

Take it from Sanchez.

Don’t spend yourself on what is not going to satisfy. Eat what is good.

Your soul will delight in the richest food.

::

2008/08/04 | Categories: Sanchez the cat | Tags: , | 1 Comment »

Adorable Kitten Needs New Home: Litter Trained, Has Had Shots, Loves to Drink Milk


“We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.” (Hebrews 5:11-14)

Maybe you already know the saga of the cats at our house.

In case you don’t, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, a scraggly mother cat was cared for her young kitten in our neighborhood. Food was scarce, and forced to scavenge she often dug in our trash cans and killed birds on our lawn.

(The rest of) my family felt compassion and began to put out food for them. The cats filled their belly with fresh cat chow.

Soon the cold winds of winter began to blow. And the cats needed a place to stay. The boys crafted a shelter in the garage with comfortable beds and warm blankets. The cats were content to call it their home. (Something that was often lost in the freqent hissing.)

As they became more familiar they got their own names, just like part of the family. There was Mommy Kitty, and Baby Kitty. Clever, I know.

Soon, we noticed other felines staying at the shelter. We presumed it was Daddy Kitty, often accompanied by a cat we called The New Girlfriend. And on particularly cold nights, Daddy Kitty would bring along some others known as The Drinking Buddies.

Our garage was completely taken over by a dysfunctional cat family seeking food and warmth.

::

Once spring came, it was time for the cats to move on. And once their food supply diminished, they went their way.

We haven’t seen Baby Kitty in months.

But Mommy Kitty still passes by now and then, looking a bit battle weary again.

Perhaps she catches a glimpse in the window of a small kitten that looks . . .  just like her.

::

sanchez-3Her name is Sanchez. She was abandoned, apparently by a Mommy Kitty, in a neighbor’s garage. For some reason, the neighbor thought we might like to have her. After all, she’d seen some cats going into our garage.

When Sanchez came over, she might have been three weeks old. Her eyes were open, but she couldn’t really see. She couldn’t walk very well without falling down. She didn’t meow much. She mostly just screamed.

And she drank milk from a tiny bottle that Lane patiently fed to her numerous times each day.

She stopped screaming, started growing and finally learned to drink from a bowl. Instead of being off balance and falling down all the time, she runs and climbs and pounces on anything that moves.

As you might expect, despite the short-term transitional housing we intended for her, now she runs the house.*

::

She had her first visit to the vet yesterday. She had some new experiences involving needles and thermometers that reminded her that life at our house is really pretty good. But the vet told us it was time for her to stop drinking just milk.

She needs to grow bigger and stronger. She’s holding herself back with the formula.

We’ve already been trying to move her to solid food for a long time. But she will have nothing to do with it. She likes her milk replacer. She even prefers a certain brand. The others make her sneeze.

She has no intention of giving it up.

But she has to.

She can’t grow strong and mature if she just keeps drinking Perci-Lac.

So in a couple of days, she will go cold turkey. Or cold cat food, perhaps. She will have to decide to eat solid food or not eat at all.

::

The writer of Hebrews encourages us with respect to our maturity. We need to be growing. We need to eat solid food.

We like the formula. It’s comforting.

We stick with the basics. But God wants to take us further than that. He has much more planned for us. We need to move past the very basics of our faith, dig deep into the Word, and let it do its work in us.

To grow us and mature us.

“Solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves” to understand right and wrong, to understand God’s will and plan for us, to understand obedience. We train ourselves in maturity by constant use of the Word.

By constantly allowing God free reign in us to teach us and try us and test us.

Just above these verses, we are reminded that Jesus learned obedience through suffering. We learn obedience by constantly submitting ourselves to God’s direction, which may mean we experience difficulty at times, deal with pain at times, face great hardship at times. But by craving the solid food instead of just milk, we begin to grow strong. We begin to thrive. 

::

Sanchez is about to face some hardship. Some painful times. She’s going to have to learn the hard way how to eat solid food.

When it’s done, she’ll be a healthier cat, and she’ll begin to mature.

But it won’t be easy.

She’ll have to give up the milk.

::

*This adorable kitten can be yours to take home today. Please contact me for details.


2008/07/24 | Categories: Sanchez the cat | Tags: , | 2 Comments »

No Water, No Life

“This is what the Lord says: ‘Cursed is the one who trusts in man, who depends on flesh for his strength and whose heart turns away from the Lord. He will be like a bush in the wastelands; he will not see prosperity when it comes. He will dwell in the parched places of the desert, in a salt land where no one lives. But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.’” (Jeremiah 17:5-8)

I can’t be trusted with green plants. The only greenery I can keep alive is growing in my refrigerator.

Really, plants are a big commitment. If you don’t water them, they die. And that’s just too much responsibility for me.

JP brought me a plant from school for Mother’s Day. It was a little the worse for wear after the walk home, but he’s nursed it back. He waters it and watches it pretty closely. And it’s flourishing on the deck now. It’s a good thing this plant wasn’t forced to rely on me. JP is much more ready for that kind of commitment than I am. (Memo to my family: This doesn’t by extension mean that we should keep Sanchez, the tiny and helpless abandoned kitten you are nursing along.)

Jeremiah warns about trusting in man, depending on the flesh for strength. He says this kind of man will have turned away from God and will be like a bush in the wastelands, dwelling where no one else lives in the parched desert salt flats. 

All dried up.

No water, no life. 

::

Trusting in man, trusting in the flesh, is like a plant trusting in me to care for it and water it. That plant may just as well be stuck in a clay pot in the Sahara for all the help it’ll get from me.

It isn’t going to make it.

A man can’t trust in himself and in his own strength and resources and still have his heart turned toward God. The two don’t work together. 

::

But contrast that as Jeremiah does with the one who does put  his trust in the Lord. Like a tree planted next to the water. Its roots go out to the stream. Unlike being abandoned to the salt flats, it never has to fear heat or drought. There’s always an abundant supply of water within easy reach.

If my confidence is in God, I have all the resources I need.

My leaves stay green. 

::

Notice that it doesn’t say that it never gets hot and it never gets dry. This vegetation growing by the stream, though trusting in the Lord, does face drought. It does encounter extreme heat. It says so right in the text: “It doesn’t fear when heat comes.” Not, “It doesn’t fear that heat may come.” And  ”It has no worries in a year of drought.” Not “It doesn’t worry that a drought may come.”

Make no mistake, the one who trusts in God will be tested, and thoroughly.

The heat will come — intense, fierce heat.

Drought will come — long, agonizing periods of drought.

It will get hot, and it will get dry.

::

But to trust in God ensures a bountiful supply of water, of all we need. Our roots go down deep and can still reach the source. We still find life. We still bear fruit. Because we trust in God, even in the midst of fiery heat and withering drought. 

It does no good to trust the flesh, trust my own abilities and resources. The desert is way too hot and dry to leave things in the care of someone who can’t or won’t remember to pour a cup of water in a flower pot every few days and move it out of the wind. 

But God knows how to draw our roots out deep and stretch them so they reach the source. To keep them close enough that we can still draw on the cool, refreshing water we need for life. 

Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord.

Stay close to the water. It’s the only way to survive the desert heat.

::

2008/07/02 | Categories: Finding Life, My Kids, Sanchez the cat | Tags: , | Leave A Comment »

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