A LESSON IN FRUSTRATED COMPASSION
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem....How often have I longed to gather your children, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings; but you would not let me." Matt. 23:37, N.E.B.
I had no intention of bringing home a kitty. But there she was, curled up into a tiny ball in a box in front of the Lucky supermarket, two little points of ears distinguishing her head from the rest of her. I paused. She was mostly gray with little streaks of gold. I knew how much my kids wanted a kitty...
We called her Lucky, not only because that was where I found her but because that's what she'd have to be in order to survive with all the various dogs in our neighborhood. And survive she did, with spunk and coyness. Barely eight months later she had her first batch of kittens. Though she was a particularly good mother, only three lived.
Midsummer I began to notice how painfully thin Lucky had become. When I discovered that she was still allowing her kittens to nurse from her, I began to take measures to discourage them. Soon after, she looked fatter but became somewhat bad tempered. It wasn't long before I realized that she was pregnant again. Her weight gain was strictly around her girth.
The chill of fall was in the air. Lucky refused to eat much. I prepared a place for her, as I had the first time she'd had kittens. One day she reappeared, thin again. Her kittens were nowhere to be found, and she showed no signs of going to them. I finally located them in the old deserted doghouse. They were scattered and dying. Every effort I made to save them was to no avail. Lucky wanted no part of them. It made me think of today's text.
Lucky couldn't understand how much I wanted to help her and her kittens. And though, of course, her situation did not accurately parallel that of Jerusalem, it did give me an awakened sense of frustrated compassion. It made me realize, if only fractionally, how God must feel when we get ourselves into deep trouble, yet will not permit Him to help us. To force His goodness upon us would only produce terror and resistance. How heaven must marvel at His divine restraint!
The next time someone wonders out loud, "Why doesn't God do something?" I think I'll tell him about Lucky.
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem....How often have I longed to gather your children, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings; but you would not let me." Matt. 23:37, N.E.B.
I had no intention of bringing home a kitty. But there she was, curled up into a tiny ball in a box in front of the Lucky supermarket, two little points of ears distinguishing her head from the rest of her. I paused. She was mostly gray with little streaks of gold. I knew how much my kids wanted a kitty...
We called her Lucky, not only because that was where I found her but because that's what she'd have to be in order to survive with all the various dogs in our neighborhood. And survive she did, with spunk and coyness. Barely eight months later she had her first batch of kittens. Though she was a particularly good mother, only three lived.
Midsummer I began to notice how painfully thin Lucky had become. When I discovered that she was still allowing her kittens to nurse from her, I began to take measures to discourage them. Soon after, she looked fatter but became somewhat bad tempered. It wasn't long before I realized that she was pregnant again. Her weight gain was strictly around her girth.
The chill of fall was in the air. Lucky refused to eat much. I prepared a place for her, as I had the first time she'd had kittens. One day she reappeared, thin again. Her kittens were nowhere to be found, and she showed no signs of going to them. I finally located them in the old deserted doghouse. They were scattered and dying. Every effort I made to save them was to no avail. Lucky wanted no part of them. It made me think of today's text.
Lucky couldn't understand how much I wanted to help her and her kittens. And though, of course, her situation did not accurately parallel that of Jerusalem, it did give me an awakened sense of frustrated compassion. It made me realize, if only fractionally, how God must feel when we get ourselves into deep trouble, yet will not permit Him to help us. To force His goodness upon us would only produce terror and resistance. How heaven must marvel at His divine restraint!
The next time someone wonders out loud, "Why doesn't God do something?" I think I'll tell him about Lucky.
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