And, amazingly, it works out pretty well.
He restricts their movements so they don't take over the house, he feeds them, he cleans up after them.
He even makes sure the house smells OK.
Until he gets pneumonia.
Then I have to do it.
And I don't like it.
Not one little bit.
Every day, I grab up the litter bucket, sift through every one of the five litter boxes, and walk the disgusting, heavy mess outside.
It makes me crabby.
These are his cats, not mine. They don't even like me much.
They are dirty, and arrogant, and tempermental.
Of all the nerve....
And then I remember what I asked God for....
I've been asking Him to teach me humility.
And I think of Jesus...
taking up the basin of water, tying the towel around Himself, and washing the disciples' feet...
their dirty, smelly feet.
And I remember what He said then--
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OK, I get it.
Feet are little different from litter boxes, and I can't do this with your willing attitude, Jesus.
At least not yet. But thanks for trusting me with the opportunity.
Thank you, Jesus-- for the feet, for the cats, and for the lesson.