Just Call Me Lucy…

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Lucy got me good the other day.
You would think after 9 years of feeding, playing, petting, and spoiling that she would trust me implicitly.
After all, there has never been a day in all her feline life that I have not taken care of her.
It hasn’t always been to her liking – she would eat tuna every single day of her life if I would let her.
But overall, her little kitty life has been pretty spectacular.

But she doesn’t see it that way.
There have been times in the past where I have had to be very mean to her for her own good.
Like the time that I was painting the basement kitchen a bright, cheery yellow.
And I didn’t realize she had come downstairs.
And that she was behind me.
So when my foot hit the plastic on the floor and made a noise, she jumped backwards.
Into the tray of paint.
And then took off like a shot, through the carpeted apartment, up the wood stairs, across the new wood floors and under my massive bed.
Where she would have happily licked her entire belly and paws clean of yellow paint.
But, of course, I could not let that happen.
Before I could clean any of the flooring, I needed to clean her.
Which she thoroughly disliked.
Especially when it involved the help of a dear friend, some shears and thick leather gloves to get some of it off her tummy.
In her mind, this whole adventure was cruel and unusual punishment. Instigated by me. The paint, the plastic attacking her, being chased, being dragged out from under the bed, the washing and the shears – all completely my fault.
And, therefore, I am not to be trusted.

Even though I have fed her daily for 9 years.
Provided fresh water.
A clean cat box.
Lots of toys.
Play time.
Her sister as a companion.
And petting whenever she allows it.

In her mind, I am not to be trusted.
So last week, when I picked her up to pet her, that was just fine.
She was even okay when I carried her out of the kitchen, heading for the couch to sit down with her.
But when I moved my arm in a funny way in an attempt to turn off the kitchen light without putting her down, she lost her feline mind.
Claws out, legs rigid, twisting to get away from me.
And I ended up with scratches on my neck, across my palm and a hole in my t-shirt.
All because she does not trust me.

Sure. She trusts me when what I am doing makes sense to her.
Take out the can opener?
She is my best friend.
Open the package of treats?
I can’t move without tripping over her as she weaves between my legs.
Pick up her favorite toy? (The one I have to special-order replacements for on Amazon…)
She is there like a shot, meowing, purring, and raring to go.
But do something mysterious, like move my arm in a funny way?
Then I must be after her.
Her worst enemy.
Against her completely.
And she must get as far from me as she can.

Because I have done terrible things to her.
Shots.
Rescuing her from tight spots.
Giving her medicine.
Shaving the paint off.
Allowing the vet to exam her.

Therefore, I am not to be trusted.
In her mind, the equation is simple:

Lack of understanding = complete lack of trust = panic because, “She must be after me!”

Do you get where I am going?
God said about Himself in Isaiah, “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are my ways your ways.”
And even though I can recount thousands of ways that He has cared for me through the years, I still panic when He does something I don’t like or don’t understand.
Even though He has proved His character over and over again.
Even though I have all of His promises in His Word.
And even though I have seen Him come through in my history, in the lives of others through the ages, and in the stories in His Word, still I panic.
I kick and claw and run away.
Because what He is doing – or what He has allowed – does not feel good to me.
And I cannot see the higher purpose.
So I lose my trust in Him in a heartbeat.
Even though the evidence is securely stacked in His favor.

Just call me Lucy.

I will never be able to explain to her why I have done all these “horrible” things to her.
But one day I will see Jesus face to face.
And one day I will understand.
Because I will see the big picture.
And I will fall at His feet and worship Him because I will see how He, indeed, worked “all things together” for my good and His glory – because I am His.

A hymn writer put it this way:
“Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus,
Oh, for grace to trust Him more!”

That is my prayer for both of us today.
That we would be able to walk by faith instead of sight.
That we would be able to truly trust in the Lord with all our hearts, leaning not on how we understand the circumstances but instead fully leaning on Him.
Demonstrating that trust by doing things His way, even when it is hard.
And fully believing that He will direct every step – even the most difficult ones.(Proverbs 3:5-6)

Oh, for grace to trust Him more!

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