Here's To Henry

This morning around 9:30, I got a knock on my door from our across the street neighbors. They asked if we had a cat, and, very hesitantly (I thought she was going to complain about his running through their lawn or something), told her that we did. She asked if he was a very large cat, and I instinctively told her no. (Henry is huge, but I've known him since he was born, so I forget sometimes). After I remembered that Henry is, in fact, pretty fat, I told her yes.

She told me that she found him on the side of the road, very badly hurt after apparently being hit by a car. I started to rush out the door and she stopped me; she'd already brought him to the vet, and he told her there wasn't much hope. At this I realized I was crying, which made her cry. But praise the Lord for the sort of kindness it takes to rush a stranger's cat to the vet.

I won't detail the gory mess I found in the crate they said Henry was in; this was not my Henry. It couldn't be. But it was. I started crying again (dang it), and they helped me get him ready to drive over to the VT animal hospital, where they could offer him better care.

I stayed there with him as long as I could, and I held my poor furry baby's paw the whole way over there. He was in so much pain. The vet said he was in shock.

I don't really know why I'm writing this. I guess just because I'm not sure if he's got a realistic chance of making it, and when Matt and I went to visit him tonight we weren't allowed to touch him, so this is the best way I know how to say goodbye.

I watched Henry get born. In March of 2011 my roommates and I took in the meanest stray cat you'd ever seen, only to find out that she was pregnant. (She was also apparently not a stray, as we found out several months later.) We named her Edgar.

Henry was the third of four kittens. He was the only black and white one, and by the morning you could tell he was going to have the cutest little stripes ever. I knew this was the cat I wanted, and I knew I wanted to name him Henry.

Henry has always hated being held. He is not a cuddler. Even still, he follows you into any room you go into, happy to sit next to you, but rarely on you. He put up with the occasional snuggling I would force on him like a champ.

Henry was a ninja. You have not seen acrobatics until you've seen this cat in action. He could jump about six feet into the air without a running start. He climbed to the top of our screen doors, and would cling to them for dear life even when we opened them. His favorite things to play with (besides mine and Matt's toes!) were our corn hole boards.

Henry is terrified of balloons. Matt got me a big silver balloon for my birthday last year, and it took us three days to realize the reason Henry would not leave our bedroom was because he was afraid of the balloon. He was also really afraid of the life size cut out of "The Rock" I gave Matt for his 26th birthday. (Henry probably really hated our birthdays.)

Henry loved to slow blink at you, which is a sign of contentment for a cat. It was his way of saying "we're cool." I did that with him last night, and I'm really happy about that now.

On Saturday, I caught Henry eating mulch. He spit it out and looked up at me like he was embarrassed. It was awesome, and I wanted to share that but never did, because... well he's just a cat, and who really would have cared?

But Henry is my cat. He's been mine literally from the moment he was born. I've gone from holding him in the palm of my hand to hardly being able to pick him up because he's so heavy. All I want to do right now is give him a big hug and kiss and force the snuggles I know he secretly loves on him.

I can't do that, though, so this is what I'm doing instead. I love you, Henry!

Why Do Bad Things Happen If God Is Good?

One of my biggest pet peeves is when Christians, posed with the question "why do bad things happen if there is a good God?" respond in the following manner: "Even though we only see the negative effects of (insert tragic situation here), maybe God is using this for good. He has a bigger plan."

I think that's a shallow answer-- one that does not really reflect Biblical teachings that accurately nor reflects the general character of God. I think this is something that Christians hear long enough, attached with a proof texted version of Romans 8:28, and eventually begin to regurgitate, not necessarily out of laziness, but out of fear. Because what if we really thought about that question? What if we really, honestly considered how such bad things can happen in this world if God is simultaneously sovereign and good? Without our go to "it's secretly a good thing" mojo, we might get uncomfortable pondering that question.

I'll never forget being a senior in high school, relatively new to my faith, and having a good natured, mostly joking conversation with a friend, who isn't a Christian. And suddenly the conversation got very real, very quickly, and before I knew it, he was citing incidents of children who die of cancer and people who starve to death and honestly asking me, "where's your God now?" And I had no idea what to say, because suddenly thinking that God intended these things for any purpose seemed far fetched-- a convenient assumption made to answer a hard question.

This in mind, I think of the account of Adam and Eve very differently than I used to. It seems straight forward enough: God makes paradise. God puts man in paradise. Man breaks law. God punishes man. Boom. Genesis.

But I don't think that's exactly accurate. I don't think God put us all in a world where tragedy runs rampant because He was angry and wanted to punish us. I think God was angry because He knew the result of sin-- He foresaw the terrible things that could and would happen in a fallen, flawed world-- the tragedy that would strike the people He loves. This world, as it is, is not something God ever intended. Death was not an original part of God's plan, but rather a result of sin. God hates the senseless things that happen here more than we do. I believe that.

And so when I see people using a tragedy like the one that occurred today to say either "we may not understand it, but God knows what He's doing," as if this was something He intended-- a blessing in disguise-- or "this is a form of God's punishment for kicking Him out of our schools," it makes me sick.

God hates death. And He doesn't joyfully dole it out to advance His kingdom (either as a blessing or as a punishment.)

I'm praying hard tonight for the people of Newtown.