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Gambino The "Plan B" Kitty
by Carol Balizet
Here is a short story about how God showd me how he reacts towards "Plan; B" Christians. |
There are three bits of background I need to explain before getting into the story. Please bear with me; it really is essential to the story, which I think is worth it.
The first concerns the fact that although I live in what is almost the geographical center of a huge, growing urban area, there is a 37 acre wood behind my house, and there is a good deal of animal life living there. We see squirrels (of course), raccoons, armadillos, possums, foxes, and a lot of cats. There are feral cats, abandoned cats, stray cats; all of whom reproduce over and over, so there are several generations of their offspring. They slink around garbage cans and run in terror from humans, and "live; lives of quiet desperation".; Because I am a firmly committed cat-lover, and have been for over seven decades, I just couldn't stand the thought - the sight! - of hungry, thirsty cats. So a daughter, a grand-daughter and I took some of the tamest cats to the Humane Society, had them neutered, registered and even inoculated ("Submit; yourself to every ordinance of man" no matter how you feel about what they require). And the cats prospered. They gained weight, calmed down, learned our routines and almost became "ours;".; They had names, collars, a place of belonging and relative security. That's background #1.
The second is a situation, a condition, among Christians which we in our group call "Plan; A".; I have no argument with these people; I am not one - a Plan A Christian - and I have very few intimate friends who are, but I‘m not disparaging them, nor am I jealous of them. They're brothers and sisters in the Lord, and I love them.
Who are they? Well, these people are those with the perfect background. Born into solid Christian homes, raised in wisdom, discipline and love, in economic security if not actual abundance, physically attractive, bright, awash in security and blessing, and protected from most sin (of course the main sin - that sin nature which is within each of us individually from birth - still needs to be confronted), but mostly these folks have been isolated from the world, the flesh and the devil. These Plan A Christians gravitate to each other for marriage and ministry, and they rise to positions of influence and authority in the church as surely as the sun rises each morning. It is assumed by almost everybody that these are the most blessed of the Father; they certainly seem to have an easier path to walk. No divorces, no abuse, no rejection, no broken homes or broken hearts.
I went into that long description because our little group also recognizes what we call Plan B Christians. These are the ones from broken homes, broken marriages, abusive fathers and/or mothers, poverty, maybe a bit of time in jail or prison, the victims of lives that often started wrong and stayed that way for decades. Plan B Christians are usually fervent and grateful to God for their rescue, but the vast majority have wounded and crippled areas which haunt them for decades.
Just before meeting Gambino, I had been reading a book written by a very prominent Plan A Christian author. He's a very wise and Godly man, and he's a very good writer, but he has a big blind spot where many of his brothers and sisters live; with broken marriages, dead children, chronic illnesses, a reputation for failure, on and on. This man has no idea how his description of his role as a loving father can overwhelm the readers who never had a father who loved them, or those who raise children who have no such man in their lives. It's as though we have two different faiths. One says, "See; the goodness of God by what wonderful things He has done for me" and the other says, "I; believe in the goodness of God because my life has not yet destroyed my faith".; The book I read was true, well-written and probably helpful to many. But to me, it just emphasized the differences in this man's life and the lives of most of my friends. Plan A and Plan B.
And now that these subjects have been discussed, let's go on to the story of Gambino, the Plan B kitty. I can remember the first time I saw him. He dragged himself out of the woods to reach the front porch, and I looked in horror at this pitiful little guy. He was small and scrawny, completely hairless on his head and neck even down beyond his shoulders. The rest of his fur was scanty and dirty. He had wounds, oozing lesions, all along this area, as though he had been cut with a knife. One of my daughters thought he'd been tortured, but I couldn't stand that. I chose to believe it was some other phenomenon that had so scarred him. There was also something grossly wrong with his feet, and he could hardy walk, but he pulled himself along slowly.
The other cats had established a sort of pecking order, and they ate in turn together without discord. When Gambino arrived, he gave one low growl as he lurched painfully toward the bowl, and the other cats simply backed away. He was the smallest, the weakest, in no condition to fight for first place, but something about his need and his desperation caused the other cats to give place. (That's when he got his name: like a mafioso, he had some unseen power that no one questioned.) He ate a little, drank a lot, and crawled away from the bowl. And he crawled to me, and sat at my feet.
I reached down to rub him, to touch him as I prayed for him, and he began to purr. It was rough and loud and infinitely touching. It might have been the first time in his whole wretched life that he had purred! That he'd had reason to purr! I began to cry, my heart in tatters because of his pain, and the totality of his need. I prayed for his healing, for the pain to leave, for a good home for him, all without a drop of faith. Nobody would want this pitiful creature! I picked him up and held him - and he wasn't fighting my embrace - and my heart was absolutely broken. I really love cats. (I'd be an earth-shattering Christian if I loved humans as fervently and as undemandingly as I do cats!)
And then I heard myself say: "I;'ll keep him! I'll make him my cat: indoors, canned food, brushing and loving and everything." So I took that stinking, oozing, pitiful little thing into my kitchen, put him on a clean towel and began to clean his fur. He smelled just ghastly, and I tried not to think of the contamination of my clean kitchen. I was still praying, crying, murmuring to him when I heard the Lord speak. He said: "That; is exactly how I feel about Plan B Christians. They tear my heart out!"
So Gambino (in his towel) and I ( almost undone with tears) sat on the couch, and together we worshiped the God who made cats and Christians and loves us all. He sees us broken and starving and stinking and He brings us into His family and cleans us up and weeps over our wounds and pain and hunger and thirst, and we become His. It doesn't matter if we're not Plan A; we can be Plan B, or even X, Y, or Z. We become His, and it's all made right in His love and His provision.
I saw again how deeply and sacrificially our God loves us when I sat in tears praying for a stinking, ravaged, but for that time and from this particular person wonderfully loved, little cat.
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