This is my cat, Cymru (which means 'Wales' in Welsh. It's a long story, don't ask). He's a cuddly and curious cat who is mostly content to sleep during the day and steal shoes at night--all of which end up under our bed. He hasn't quite caught on to the fact that we know where his hiding spot is.

Today, besides reaching under the bed to grab his stash, I got up early to lure him to his kennel, his most unfavorite of places. The Kennel usually means we're headed to the vet and I'm sure he had flashbacks of needles and cold hands, but this time we were headed somewhere completely different. Our house was getting sprayed and small furries like him could be harmed by the fumes.

The whole ride over to my mom's house, he cried. He meowed. He pawed. He was distraught and his little eyes looked at me questioningly as if to say "Why? Why are you doing this?"

How could I tell him that this was all for his benefit? How could I let him know that I was trying to protect him?

The fact is that I couldn't because well, he's a cat. His one foot tall perspective was so much different than mine. I knew things about his world that he didn't and there was no way to bridge the gap and explain them.

And if I'm honest, I feel a little like my cat sometimes. Things happen in life that have no explanations and I'm left to ask 'Why?' Of course, my five foot five perspective is all I know. My worldview is small and I'm increasingly aware that there are things in this world beyond my perspective. I just have to trust the God whose gaze reaches farther and deeper than mine. I have to believe that He works all things for the good--even and especially when it doesn't feel like it. 

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD.
Isaiah 58:8


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