Monday, February 28, 2011

What I Saw, What I See

So by Saturday I felt the 'Lennon the Cat wound' was near a healing, a closing. Life felt hopeful again and I'd not even had any dreams about Lennon at night (I'd asked God to give me a dream so I'd feel better). Also, I'd told Him that Heaven wouldn't be, well, Heaven for me if Lennon wasn't there when I arrived. Wasn't sure if feeling that way was ok, but there you go...

That was one sad week, let me tell you. But as I said, Saturday arrived and Life felt good again.

And then came Sunday morning!

I awoke around 4:30, decided to get up, checked my email and Facebook, made my hot chocolate, then burrowed into Tom's recliner beneath four heavy, warm blankets and began to watch a Netflix movie.

That's when Tom came cough-cough-coughing into the living room. He's had a flu of some type for days. Sigh.

So I tossed a couple blankets to him on the couch and then switched the movie to the A Man Called Pearl film I told you about yesterday, instead. Immediately I felt inspired to be more creative, to work harder. And I also felt sleepier and sleepier, so I leaned the chair back, turned toward Tom's messy lower bookshelf and drifted away.

Then moments later I slowly, luxuriously awoke, opened my eyes (I thought) and there I saw Lennon staring down at me from the bookshelf with that wise, compassionate look in those golden eyes of his. The look he always gave me while sitting together at the sunny front porch table.

For a slow five seconds I stared at him while thinking, "Doesn't he look contented?" Then I wondered, "Why is Lennon sitting on that shelf? It's usually too crowded with Tom's clutter." And then I realized, "Wait! Lennon can't be there. He's gone."

Then I really awoke, to no Lennon, only the cluttered shelf. But I smiled with gratitude, for I'd 'seen' Lennon and he'd looked fine, happy, healthy again. And I remembered what someone in the vet's office had written in the sympathy card they mailed to us: "Remember that your pet is watching over your family now."

Then I turned back toward the tv while thinking, "Now I know Lennon is waiting for me in Heaven. Everything's going to be ok." And it was ok.

But just a couple moments later at the end of A Man Named Pearl, a young people's choir, out in Pearl's lovely garden, began singing the song I often hum to make my worries flee away:

I've got a feelin', that everything's gonna be all right,

Oh, oh, oh, I've got a feelin' that everything's gonna be all right...

Wow. And then I really felt all right! And I thanked God for making Himself so obvious--in His timing, not mine. For I believe His message was to always first seek Him for comfort rather than His signs and confirmations. And then afterward, if something is still needed, let Him be the one to bring it. Let it be His decision, in His way, in His timing.

Life with God at the center is so very, very good.


And later in the afternoon? I felt so touched, so blessed to watch these videos from CBN about peoples' life-and-death, Heaven-and-Hell experiences. The Sting of Death and Heaven Can Wait stories (and men) blessed me the most, but all were very moving.


Elizabeth said...

Yes, Debra life with God at the center is Good!Happy you are better,my friend!

Julie in Texas said...

This is wonderful, Debra!

Anonymous said...

Love this one,Debra! Oh, b/t/w/ just read your post about a Man Named Pearl-and had to buy it. Years ago there was a segment about him on Gardener's Diary with Erica Glasener(HGTV). Thanks for recommending. Joyce in TX.

Blu-I'd-Blonde said...

We lost our tabby-cat, Tabby (yes, his name even tho' he was a boy) that had grown up with our 2 kids and I cried harder than I did at my 103 yr. old mom-in-law's funeral (shhh, don't tell her).

I knew he was alright when our other kitty, on the day after he died, came up to me at eye-level and butted her fore-head against my fore-head. Only Tabby has ever done that with me. I felt it was a message from Tabby that he was alright. Bunny has never done this again.

Tabby, the calm, sweet gentlecat is still close to my heart. Sometimes I think our pets are our angels in disguise, bad behavior aside of course. Keep healing.