The shadows cast by the trees in our front yard stretched out toward the east. In the dying light of the setting sun, they grew longer by the minute. I stood on our front porch and anxiously called for Fritz, our eight-year-old orange tabby cat. He was very late returning to the house. It was just a few days before Thanksgiving, and the season's first hard freeze was forecast for this very night.
Fritz has roamed the five acres of our Middle Tennessee ridge since he was a kitten. Every morning he would request that the front door be opened so his highness might exit. Assuming the weather was to his liking, out the door he would go to make his rounds and explore his territory. But he had always returned in time for his midafternoon dinner. Until today.
I called his name again and waited a few minutes. No Fritz. I began to get a distinct feeling of unease. I slipped my feet into my hiking boots, grabbed my trusty hickory walking stick, clipped my knife to my belt, jammed a flashlight in my pocket, and set off out the door.
Calling his name periodically, my wife Charlotte and I set off on a grand circle of the property. We stopped occasionally to check some of his known hunting stops. Nothing. By now, the sun had slipped below the horizon, and the twilight deepened by the minute.
As we reached three-quarters of the way around the property, I called Fritz's name again. At the very edge of my hearing, I heard ... something. It might have been a cat or it might have been a bird. Moving about a hundred feet, I called again. And again. A reply came. This time, I was sure it was a cat. After moving and calling again, I was sure it was Fritz.
Slowly, we homed in on his cry. Suddenly, a few feet away in the dark undergrowth of the woods, something four-legged bounded off into the night. Fritz cried out again, this time very close. It was Charlotte who spotted him, nearly seventy-five feet in the air, clinging to the very top of a tree. His hackles were in full extension from head to tail. Whatever had run him up the tree had probably just run off as we approached.
Fritz turned himself around and started backing down the tree. When he got within range, he jumped into my arms with a look that said, What took you so long? Cats. Gotta love them.
Jesus will never stop looking for those of His flock who are lost. The Word provides numerous examples of the Lord reaching out to save those who beseech Him. It doesn't matter if you're clinging to the top of a tree with your hindquarters hanging out in the breeze or curled up on the floor of a cold, concrete jail cell. If you call to Jesus, He will answer.
Call to Him today.
Kevin Spencer likes to play with words, help others play with them, and is privileged to be a staff writer for Christian Devotions. He lives with his beautiful blessing of a wife, Charlotte, and his amazing collegiate grandson, Caleb.