Parker's Night Out

Our cat Parker, a quiet, shy, indoor cat, gets it in his head that he wants to go outside, not in the daylight where it would be safe, but out into the darkness. With each spring evening he stays out later and later until finally the darkness overtakes him. We call and call, but still he will not come in. We sit and wait for the inevitable and finally we hear the unmistakable sounds of a cat fight. We go to look for the wounded, but there is nothing, just some wisps of fur.

All night long we wait up, calling, waiting. Dozing off we even dream of calling, waiting, knowing that Parker is hurt somewhere. "If he only makes it back," we muse, "We can make him well again. We'll tend his wounds and protect him from the bully tom cat." But still he doesn't come.

Finally, just as it begins to turn light, he appears at the back door, silent, bruised and battered. He cannot face us yet, so he runs and hides in the closet. He refuses to come out to let us check his wounds. He is afraid even of us, the ones who love him. Why? Did we send him out into the darkness, did we harm him? Our desire was only that he be safe.

In the midst of the relief of it all, comes the revelation of our relationship to the Father. I see myself sitting there through the night and think of how it says of our heavenly Father "The Lord never slumbers neither does he sleep."

We want to explore the darkness; we think we can see what's out there without being hurt. But we can't. After the inevitable pain, we come crawling back to the Lord in fear. Is he going to hurt us too?

In II Sam 14:14 it says, "For we must needs die and as are water spilt on the ground which cannot be gathered up again; neither doth the Lord respect any person: Yet doth he devise means that his banished be not expelled from him."

God has provided the means for us to return to him through His Son. We no longer need to hide out, ashamed of our bruises, our brokenness, our sins. We can come back. He is always waiting.