My cat Calvin, a black display of ponderous fur, likes to make his home atop a mound of clean laundry that sits on my living room’s loveseat as of late.
In the entourage of fleece, flannel, denim blues and cotton undergarments, he is perfectly capable of blending his stealthy pigment in with the occasional heap of clothes waiting to be folded.
He is so flipping cute.
I walked over to him to snuggle him, but as soon as I peeked my nose in his napping business, he dug his nose into the cuff of a pair of jeans. I wiggle my face closer. He silently moans and stretches his back paw. I snuggle closer. He begins to pur and head-butts me in ritual.
There is no good way to explain the little things that cause the heart to flutter.
Calvin fetches. In the summer, he sometimes pants and barks. He is the most hyperactive of our two cats, despite being the most obese. Whenever he runs across our wooden dining room floor or jumps from the fridge onto the countertop, his fat ripples like a flailing parachute. Oh, and he only drinks water from our bathtub faucet.
Today, I woke up at three in the afternoon (rather early for having worked an overnight shift at my gas station job). I met up with my cousin Ryan, and we had coffee at Dunn Bros. (a coffee chain in the midwest) while conferring about current events, spiritual stages, and life. Ryan had spoken to me about the convictions he has been recently facing, toting his tea over a gold-laced Bible. He reminds me that no matter what strength we muster in one of our spiritual fronts, Satan will always incur about another. He reminds me that Satan is quick, tactile and deceptive, and will relentlessly undermine a weak fissure in that armor. The Word defends from such attack.
Now, although this is a concept of Paul spoken in Ephesians and Acts (of whom you will discover I discern and analyze greatly), I do appreciate the context of which he writes. Satan is wise, but like all things, he twists what is good and tries to deliberately use the truth to deceive for his own nefarious purpose, much like Judas Iscariot.
I love Ryan. I am grateful to have had that short meeting in the coffee shop, to have him near as a mentor during this desolate time of my life.
An obvious Christian, Ryan originally invited me to church when I was in the eighth grade. I reminded him how it was him who had invited me to Generation Church (GC), which led to me being “saved” on November 2, 2005. He laughed with glee as we progressed on the subject of our family and developing faith, reminiscing and joking, encouraging and listening. It was a short meeting, but it brought warm light into an otherwise cloudy Sunday.
Olive, my Wheaten Terrier, is taunting me to play fetch with a slobbery, beat up orange ball. I hate ignoring her. I myself am also rather tired, but I hope to blog later about some pressing issues that I should share.
Laila Tov (goodnight).