He brings down to Sheol and raises up.
1 Samuel 2:6
from Hannah's prayer of thanksgiving
I haven't written on this blog for the past month. I've been very busy, and so has the Lord. The fruit of His busyness in me this month and this year will eventually become visible. I thank Him for all that He does to bind me to His heart, however difficult much of it is.
This week, one such difficult thing was a death. My 15-1/2-year-old cat, who has been on medication for some time, suddenly took a dramatic turn for the worse and died on Thursday night. She died at home. I was with her; my other cat, a year younger, was there as well. There were four of us present.
My math is not wrong. To say I "saw" Jesus there would be an exaggeration. To say there was nothing unusual would also be untrue. He was there.
The number 26 (2 x 13) has several times been a death date in my world. To remove any remaining superstition I had about 13's or 26's, a couple of years ago the Lord had me write these numbers on a piece of paper. Then, crazy as it sounds, He said to chew the paper and spit it out. What a graphic picture. This worked.
The Lord doesn't play games, so I was sure my kitty would not die on the 26th, and she didn't. The next morning, Thursday, she seemed quite a bit better. She came into the kitchen at lunch time. The sound of me in the kitchen has always been to her like a dinner bell going off. "You're there. Food is there. It has something to do with me."
In the early evening, I came downstairs to make dinner. There was no sign of her. The thought crossed my mind to check the basement where she had been nesting, alone, preparing herself. But I was having a productive, joyful day; if she had died, I didn't want to know just yet.
I went upstairs to continue working. An hour and a half later, I went back downstairs, intending to make tea. Still no sign of her. Now I knew something was wrong. I tested this out by getting some tuna from the fridge. Kitchen + mummy + tuna = "how fast can I run?" Still no kitty. My heart sank. I hurried down to the basement.... At first when I saw her, I thought she had died. She hadn't, but the process had begun.
I carried her upstairs and held her in "our" chair for quite a long time. I sang to her. She draped her arms over me and clung softly, but facing away from me.
After something like twenty minutes, she suddenly began to climb down. She had all but lost the use of her hind legs over the past several hours, so I helped her. I made her a bed on the floor out of a pillow, some towels, some sheets, and a blanket. She immediately became very focused. This was always her way.
I lay near her on the floor. Sometimes I stroked her gently. A few times I cried. I also prayed. I asked Jesus to take her gently, and not to let it take a long time. I asked Him to be with her as she died.
He answered every word. I strongly sensed His presence, but as a physician attending a dying patient. It was my kitty He was there to assist. I was the onlooker.
I've seen pets die before, but I have never seen one die as relatively gently as she did. At the end, there was no great drama. Her breathing just quietly stopped. From the time I had placed her on the floor, it had taken an hour.
What I saw that night, if "saw" is the word, was something deeper than I know how to express. It was compassion. It was perfect timing. It was holiness, for death is always an incredibly holy thing. It was the Lord's love not only for me, but for a kitty He had chosen to be my spirited, curious, opinionated, wonderful friend for all those years.
The Lord of life came on Thursday to help my friend leave the world He Himself had brought her into. For He commands both life and death. His might is seen not only in displays of great force, but in gentle acts of mercy, in perfect control of the tiniest details, and in the honouring of quiet faith.