In mid-June, while we were in France, I got a tearful phone call from my eldest son -- a visiting friend of his had left Anthony's door open, and his beloved cat, Mirko, ran out and was lost. We landed in Seattle a few days later, on schedule, and while my son was brave and pragmatic and devoting every ounce of his energy toward finding Mirko, he was crushed. Jeff and I stayed a couple of extra days to help look, but we left, figuring that either someone had Mirko or Mirko had met an unhappy ending.
Either way, it didn't look good, and we were crushed for our son.
Flash forward to today, just about twenty minutes ago (5:40 p.m. August 2). Anthony just called and said that he was on his way out of his apartment and there was Mirko -- filthy, oily, skinny and terrified, but alive -- and he made his wobbily way toward his owner, nestled into his arms, and is right now eating, drinking, resting in Anthony's apartment and prepping for a vet visit tomorrow to make sure he's sustained no lasting injuries.
My heart and my tears pour out to our God in thanks that he showed Anthony, and Mirko, such mercy. Not a sparrow falls to the ground without our Lord's knowing, and a skinny, sheltered little 18-month-old cat this time was kept in God's gracious care as he wandered around metropolitan Bellevue, Washington, for six weeks, finding his way home to a young man whose faith is no doubt strengthened by the love his Savior showed him.
However you do it, rejoice with me -- it's "just a cat," and that's the point. God is that good -- he showed my son a great mercy, and his dad and I praise him for it.
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