A Whimsical Look at God’s Delight in Us

We have two cats: Simon and Loki. I really, really love our cats.

I am a cat person through and through.


It’s 6 am.



Sliiiiiide. Thump.

It’s breakfast time, and I’m not up yet.

I pull myself out of bed.  

I open one eye and see Simon on my dresser, systematically knocking items off. He’s cool and calm about it, looking over to me after every slow swipe.

Loki has joined Simon in the hall, and they’re both weaving through my feet as I head to the kitchen to start my coffee.

I get water. I get coffee. I get to talk to Loki about the horrors of starving to death overnight. Through his insistent mewing, I’ve been educated on his deteriorating state of health that is in crisis. Right. Now.

As the coffee brews, it’s food time. The boys lead the way to their bowls. Simon jumps onto the counter in the laundry room. Loki has to use the side table I keep there because he’s afraid to jump that high.

Finally. Nourishment.

It’s 8 am

I’m at my desk, engrossed in getting some work done while Simon is purring at my feet.

I take a look down to give him a pet, and see a live mouse sitting in front of him. He has ONE job in this house, and instead of eradicating vermin, he’s playing with it. And pretty proud of himself.

In the end, my Yorkshire Terrier got the mouse.

It’s 10 am

Wrestle time.

The boys are adorable to watch pouncing, stalking, grooming, tumbling . . . until someone gets hurt.

Loki tears after Simon through the house.

A plant goes down. I get to clean it up.

It’s 2 pm.

I’m sitting on the couch for my 30 minutes of reading time. Simon saunters up. He lays down just out of reach.

I lean over to pet him and he purrs. I’m stretched sideways on the couch to scratch his ears, and he licks my hand appreciatively.

I scooch closer to more easily reach him, and he indignantly stands up and walks away.

Loki walks over to let me know he’s starving again.

It’s 3 pm.

“No, Loki. You can’t have any more food.”

It’s 3:30 pm.

“No, Loki. You can’t have any more food.”

It’s 4 pm

“No, Loki. You can’t have any more food.”

It’s 4:30 pm

“No, Loki. You can’t have any more food.”

5:00 pm

Time for Loki’s evening snack.

I head to the laundry room with him following behind. He stops at the kitchen. Our old dog Hunter is lying just beside the doorway.

“Come on Loki, Hunter won’t hurt you.”

Hunter lets out his old man grumble.

Loki looks at me with mistrust.

“Come on Loki.”

He won’t budge– he sits down and starts grooming himself as if that’s exactly where he meant to be all along.

I walk over, pick him up and carry him to his life-saving refreshment.

He flicks his tail toward Hunter.

11 pm

Simon decides my legs are the perfect place to sleep. I spend all night in one position so I don’t bother a cat.

I love them so much.

And that got me thinking . . . .

Am I God’s cat?

It’s 6 am.




“Knock and I will answer.”

Amanda is up and needing nourishment.

On our way toward her daily bread, she wraps around my legs asking questions, needing encouragement, being fearful, and generally slowing our progress.

I show her where her bread is, and she’s afraid to jump that high. I give her a side table to help her get to it.

It’s 7:30 am

It’s Amanda’s work time. I’ve given her a special job. Something I’ve specifically made her for.

I peek over her shoulder to see how things are going. She’s procrastinating. She is finding everything in the world to do but work.

I hope I don’t have to get someone else to get it done.

It’s 9 am

School time.

Amanda and her daughter are a delight to watch as they go about their school day. Laughing, learning, exploring . . . until the reading lesson.

Frustrations mount, learning has stopped. They need to take a break.

I get to clean up some tears.

It’s 2 pm.

I’m ready for our afternoon reading time. Amanda shows up with her Bible, we start a delightful conversation.

She’s opening up to me. I’m comforting and encouraging her. We’re enjoying each other’s presence.

Then the phone rings, and off she goes.

It’s 3 pm.

“No, Amanda. You can’t have any more food.”

It’s 3:30 pm.

“No, Amanda. You can’t have any more food.”

It’s 4 pm

“No, Amanda. You can’t have any more food.”

It’s 4:30 pm

“No, Amanda. You can’t have any more food.”

5:00 pm

Time to lead Amanda to her answered prayers.

She’s following along–it’s what she’s been asking me for for a while now.

She stops.

“Come on Amanda, you are capable of this.”

Fear growls.

Amanda looks at me with mistrust.

“You can do it. You have my power and my protection.”

Insecurity barks.

She sits down and gets comfortable where she is.

I walk over in the form of a friend or her husband, and carry her to where I need her to be.

She flicks her tail at the obstacles, proud of herself for overcoming.

11 pm

Amanda decides she needs my peace to get to sleep. So she lays down in it, and I stay still all night so I don’t wake her.

I know I’m not as obtuse as my cats, but as I was having fun writing this, the similarities came a little too easily. I’m not sure the analogy was supposed to fit as well as it did.

But it makes me all the more thankful that the Lord loves me as I am, and is patient as I continue to grow. He even delights in me.

The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.

Zephanaih 3:17

For …

God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Romans 5:8

I pray that I don’t confound the Lord and that my obedience grows day-by-day. But in the meantime, I’m thankful that the Lord seems to be a cat person.

When we seek the Lord during our everyday lives, He teaches us lessons from the small things. And lessons learned first-hand lead to deep spiritual transformation. Slow down and learn to turn to Him throughout your day with scriptural meditation. Begin your journey here.

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