He is home. Gar came home.
At 6:30 . . . an hour before the snow fell. . . he meowed at the front door.
It's actually day nine of his adventure.
We will never know where he was or what happened to him.
He's skinny and dehydrated and his nose, paws, and ears are red.
At 5:30 my sweet student said, "I really hope your cat comes back. I think if he comes back everything will be better."
Yesterday the washing machine had a global nuclear meltdown and I had to stand by with the fire extinguisher. This morning the roofers came back to make us feel petty about the thirteen million things that went wrong with the roofing job. About noon today, I had had enough. I was putting events on the calendar and realized I scheduled my studio Christmas recital DURING the advent choral service, which I help accompany. Primal scream.
Sometimes you can't help but feel like your beautiful blessed life is just plain under attack. What now????
I stood in front of the mirror and prayed out loud. I reminded myself that this house is a house of love, built to be a blessing to all and shelter us from the world, not to frustrate and exasperate us. Nothing can separate us from the love of Christ--not kidney hoopla, not missing cats, not broken washing machines and wrecked decks and windows. . . not scheduling malfunctions. . .
Nothing can really attack us. I believe that angels are standing by--when we just remember to call them.
It's not that we always get our way. . .but this time Gar walked up to the front door and I can't help but believe the attack is over. I think everything will be better now.
Welcome home Garfield.
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