Preface: I used to not really like cats. In fact, I’m ashamed to say I used to say I hated them. But only until sweet Genevieve entered my life and stole my heart forever. We were at a volleyball preseason dinner in a sweet family’s home that had one too many cats than they could handle. My sister and I noticed a little kitty with short little munchkin legs and the sweetest starlight eyes, tucked away and ever so slightly peering over at us. She won us over. The next day, one of our dear friends, Sarah, showed up at our doorstep with Genevieve and she was ours.
For those of you who know Genevieve, you’re very aware that she is a pretty unusual kitty. She doesn’t really like hardly anyone, hide and not-seek is her favorite game, and she pees on almost everything. But despite her rather difficult characteristics, she brought such joy to our home with her motorboat-purring and placid disposition.
So I graduated from college just a few weeks ago and it was a day filled with celebration. I felt surrounded with warmth by people I hold very dear to my heart. However, when I got home that afternoon, my day took a bit of a turn. I was sitting on our beloved futon in our little apartment when Genevieve’s sweet tiger face popped up on the porch on the OUTSIDE of the sliding glass door. Terror hit me like a big sea wave, and she disappeared almost as soon as we saw her. I ran outside and began to call for her, but she was a phantom. My family spread out and looked for her underneath and around our apartment, but it was quickly growing darker and colder. I didn’t know how it would be possible to find Genevieve out in the wilderness when sometimes I couldn’t even find her in our tiny apartment. To make matters worse, my sister had just left for a mission trip to Malawi, Africa and I knew she would be devastated if she knew Genevieve had run away. So I decided to keep hush hush and pray pray instead.
My family went out to Blackbird Bakery that evening (probably one of my favorite places in all of Bristol!) but I chose to stay on my knees with the sliding glass door slightly ajar. I laid by the door with her food bowl at my feet and the cold winter breeze shoving waves of fear at me. There were no more signs of Genevieve that night. We always fed her in the mornings, so I had hope that she might return with the sun for her breakfast. So I fell asleep with tears in my eyes and mommy-worry in my heart.
I got up early the next morning and rushed downstairs to open the haunting door again and usher my sweet girl with the smell of breakfast and home. I searched outside as the sun began to rise and give me glimmers of hope, but there was still no trace of Genevieve. I had my quiet time on the floor that morning, where I prayed for her return, never leaving the door unwatched. My mom, sisters, and I had made long-time plans to go to the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, NC that day to celebrate and see the extravagant Christmas decor. I didn’t feel very full of Christmas spirit, but tried to let myself enjoy the day. My genius medical student brother had the idea of leaving her favorite nesting basket out on the porch with a few pebbles of food and to sprinkle flour around it, so we would know if she had returned at any time during the day. So we did just that and left for the day.
We got home later that night after dark and my sister and I snuck around the back of our apartment to the porch, hopeful that we would find little white footprints, or even Genevieve herself. But even her food was left untouched. I was overcome with sadness and knew nothing else to do but simply set my eyes free of their liquid expression. My sweet sister prayed over my worried heart and for my kitty’s homecoming. We only had one more day before we left to return to Texas, so I began to feel pressed for time. I just wanted Genevieve to understand how deeply I loved her, and I wanted her to want to come home. I went to sleep a little less than hopeful that night, but still praying for restitution.
There were kind neighbors who surrounded us and offered to search for her and even climbed underneath our apartment complex with kneepads and a flashlight. I was so appreciative of their concern, but I knew in my heart that if Genevieve wanted to come home, she would have to be brave and choose to do so herself.
The next morning, I awoke and once again rushed downstairs to find my mom waiting for me and looking at me with hopeful eyes and said, “Gracie, I think she was here.” I ran out to the porch and saw Genevieve’s sweet little flour-footprints pressed to her basket and then leading across and off the backside of the porch. Then I looked to my right and saw that she had left her ultimate signature-a puddle of urine in a pile of leaves. I had never been so happy to smell cat pee…
I was relieved that she had returned, but my heart still faced calamity knowing that I had missed her. I knelt by the slightly-open glass doors and once again prayed for my sweet nugget to return to me.
A few hours passed and I had to begin packing my things downstairs, putting my youngest sister on kitty-watch duty. A little while later I heard a little gasp from my sister, followed by the sweetest “meow” that had ever graced my ears. I knew her voice immediately and calmly but swiftly walked over to the door. She looked at me with her softly piercing starlight eyes and I gently reached my hand toward her and whispered her name. Then my brave girl did it: she passed through the taunting opening of cold glass and into the tenderness of home. I slid the door shut and let out my breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. Tears of joy filled the eyes of my heart and spilled over my sweet Genevieve with warm kisses. I was overwhelmed with both relief and the purest delight all wrapped up in sounds of thanksgiving, because my little one had come home.
God revealed a lot of truths to me through the loss and return of sweet Genevieve. First of all, I realized that I am Genevieve. So often I run. I run from home and run from the loving arms of my Father. I flee because I am fearful, because I think I know what’s best for me, or because I know that I am so unworthy. Then I realized that the heartache I experienced in losing Genevieve is the same heartache I cause my Father when I run from him. And all he wants is for me to return home.
In processing and praying over Genevieve’s adventure, I felt like the Lord gave me a refreshing perspective of His own heart. Just as I beckoned to Genevieve, God gently called me by name, breathing out, “Grace”, with hopes of summoning me home. But it is only I that can choose to step past the glass door with my flour-covered feet, fear-filled heart, and tear-stained cheeks, and into the arms of the one who will always be waiting at home for me. Then I thought, if my heart can be so broken, and so filled by my sweet kitty, how much more deeply does my God feel about me. He drowned my fears in perfect love, and Love Himself came down to set me free so I could stand and sing that I, Grace, am a child of God!
“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!”
-1 John 3:1
So I pray the same for you. I pray that you would hear the gentle beckoning of your own name, and that you would have the courage to step through the glass door, flour-covered feet and all, and into the tender embrace of your Father’s home. It is there that he waits for you, sweet child of God.
