Seeing Wyatt

Wyatt is the family cat. He belongs to our oldest daughter, but she is away at a university. So for now, he is the family cat. I’ve noticed him because he has changed over the past few months. He is a newcomer to the family. He came as a kitten four years ago. At that time, we had an old-timer, Ruben. He had been with the family eleven years when Wyatt arrived. The two didn’t get along very well. Wyatt was feisty; Ruben, settled. Wyatt bit; Ruben purred. Wyatt was strong and heavy; Ruben, a lightweight. In the spring of this year, Ruben went the way of all life and now resides near the heart of God.

Since that time, I have noticed a change in Wyatt. He purrs loudly. He waits at the front door for those coming home from somewhere. He follows me around until I spend fifteen minutes petting him. And now he climbs into the lap of anyone seated on the sofa, arranges himself comfortably, and lies there purring until the lap rises. I’ve been thinking about these changes and how they are a metaphor for my own life.

I wonder how events have affected me and brought about change. The loss of anything requires a change in myself. I like to think that losses like unhealthy attitudes, unproductive habits, and destructive thoughts bring about changes in my life that move me toward maturity and becoming the person God designed me to be. Loss creates space to be filled. I can choose what fills that empty place.

I want to choose that which gives my Creator permission to remake and transform me.

Day nine of the Thirty Days of Seeing