The Hands of God

This was the bunny fluffy post I was going to write about two weeks ago. At the time, I felt more exhausted that anything else, so I wrote about God’s Gym instead.

I decided to write about the hands of God the following week. Life happened and my bunny fluffy post took a decidedly different turn. I personally experienced the hands of God this weekend when I faced the death of a small furry friend.

Let me start off by sharing a story. Two boys came to my home a month ago carrying a pet carrier between them. Inside this carrier was the smallest, skinniest kitten I had ever seen. He had also just peed on himself, which made him appear even more pathetic. These boys were trying to find a home for the little guy.

I am an animal lover and felt instantly sorry for the kitten. But before I would take him, I had to make sure he wasn’t feral. So I took him out of the carrier and immediately the little guy looked up at me with the biggest eyes and began to purr. Love at first sight.

We named him Tiger.

Tiger immediately went to the vet. He had a flea problem and who knew what else. He was small for his age and needed fattening up said the Vet. So we took him home and fed him, loved on him, and gave him everything a growing cat needs. Our dogs loved the little guy and got along great with him. And he was a lover: all he did was find a lap to lie on and purr.

Sometimes when you get a cat, you take a chance on getting a cat with good personality. Tiger was perfect. Except for one thing. He was a very sick kitty and we didn’t know it.

He went in for his next vet visit and had only gained an ounce. The vet was concerned now and wanted to start running some blood tests the following week.

Tiger never made it past the weekend.

I will not go into details, but watching an animal die broke something inside of me. You feel helpless as you try and comfort the little thing. In the end, we had to put Tiger to sleep.

I cried and prayed and cried and prayed. For the first few hours I would find myself expecting to see Tiger come trotting into the kitchen and asking for food. Or jumping up into my lap. Then I would start replaying his last painful hours. Going over and over my helplessness to save him. I couldn’t let Tiger go, even though he was already gone.

I asked God to help me. I couldn’t do this alone. And then I had this picture in my mind: me as a little girl with pigtails clutching her little kitten while God knelt before me, holding his hands out, telling me to let him have Tiger. I was scared to give him Tiger. I felt like letting go of Tiger would mean I would forget him.

But then I realized God could take care of Tiger so much more than I could. And he was asking me to let go. I do not know what happens to animals when they die; I do not believe the Bible is clear enough for us to make a stand one way or another. But the Bible does tell us about God. And what I’ve read about God is that his hands are loving, strong, and gentle. He takes care of this world and everything in it. Including kittens. So I know whatever God has done with Tiger, that Tiger is in good hands now. And so are we.

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