Lessons from a Kitten

This weekend I went on a Silent Retreat at the Chiang Mai Seven Fountains Catholic Church. The retreat wasn't mandatory but I had heard from some Messiah students last year who did it and said that it was one of the greatest times of personal spiritual growth from the whole semester. So though the idea of spending two and a half days in nearly total silence was slightly daunting, it was something that I wanted to experience. Plus I've read about different spiritual disciplines before and had always wanted to know why so many Church Fathers and Mothers saw silence as an important way to strengthen one's intimacey with God.

While there were many things I could share about the retreat, I'd love to share a lesson that I learned from none other than a cat that was roaming around the church garden. I'll just write what I wrote in my journal:

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Today as I was walking on the garden path, I saw a beautiful young looking cat attempting to pounce on bugs. I gasped and lurched to a stop at the sight of him: such a clean and beautiful cat (which seemed rare for what I had seen in Thailand).! His silver coat and bright green eyes were captivating and I beckoned him to come to me. As soon as he saw me he began meowing. His meow was as much like a child's cry as I think I've ever heard from a cat. My heart instantly softened towards him and as he rubbed up against my legs, letting me stroke his fur, his purring persisted. He seemed pretty thin and so I gathered that he must be hungry. I had great compassion for him and was filled with a sense of urgency to find food for him. Lunch wouldn't be for another hour, so no meat was around and all I had was a banana. Then, remembering the milk in the snack area, I set off on my quest: I was going to feed this cat.
After getting a cup from my room I rushed to get the milk and then rushed back to the garden, all the time thinking of how his aching would be soothed as soon as he got that milk in his belly. I imagined him eagerly running toward me, gratefully lapping up the milk from my little cup. But when I arrived back at the garden he was no where to be found! I looked all over for him and even retraced my steps, but there I stood with a full cup of milk and saddened over the thought of him going off hungry, completely ignorant of what I had brought him.
As I had been getting the milk, I began to think about the intensity of the compassion that I had felt for the kitten, although I had never seen him before and nor did I know if he was in fact starving. After all, such a clean and shiny coat was rare for any stray animal in Thailand. Then I had a strange epiphany, which I guess you are more open to having when a thousand thoughts from a busy, talkative day are filling the space in between your ears: If I was so moved by compassion for this kitten when he cried out to me, think of the immensity of the compassion that God must feel towards his children when they cry out to him! How could I give myself more credit than God for being compassionate? Wasn't it he who created me? If I have that kind of capacity for compassion, his must be overwhelming.
Sometimes I think we see God as this task master who coldly distributes supplies based on quotas and all kinds of facts and figures, not open to hearing any personal "sob" stories as to why someone might need something. But I think that I saw today how beautifully eager God must be to meet all our needs. If we would only cry out to him like that little kitten did to me!

Oh, and p.s. to all you little kittens out there: don't go running off before He can feed you. Wait-He will provide! Because, unless your grasshoppper hunting skills are better than my grey little friend's, you'll probably go off needlessly hungry otherwise