People kept advising me to get a pet, but I resisted. Yes, I could use the company, but wasn’t keen on sharing my domain with a creature prone to shedding all over the furniture.
One day, though, quite impulsively, I checked the website for available cats at DeKalb County Animal Services, and in seconds located a likely prospect — an orange, 3-year-old, rather fetching feline.
His left eye was closed, however, possibly from an injury — and when I called the shelter, I learned he was on antibiotics.
Still, when I drove over to meet him, he was so overwhelmingly friendly — and fuzzy — that I filled out the paperwork immediately.
At home, we got along famously, especially when he snuggled near me on movie nights. Plus, he had me laughing when he’d lie on his back with all four paws waving in the air.
But when a vet told me Mr. Fuzziwuz — as I named him — would need eye surgery, I went into high-gear worry mode.
Could I afford it? Well, yes, if I cut numerous corners — but what about the special attention he’d need afterward?
My faithful friends have offered help, but somehow I still began fretting.
“He’s just one cat in the entire universe,” I said to God, “and you have so many human beings needing attention. I hate to waste your time with this tiny problem, but please lead me to the right eye doctor — and help me stop worrying.”
I felt relieved as I surrendered the problem to God, since the situation was, after all, in his hands anyway — just like every other aspect of my life.
One day, though, my motto “give it to God” crumbled as I began spinning a web of accusations. “Really, you could have gotten a cat in perfect health,” I chided myself.
“Yes, but he’s the one I wanted,” I said in my own defense, “and he suits me fine.”
I suddenly recalled a boss from long ago who would assign a writing project and then stand in my office doorway — impatiently waiting for me to complete it.
She was the ultimate micromanager, who apparently didn’t trust her staff to meet deadlines — and would even rummage through writers’ desks to keep tabs on our progress.
Isn’t that what I’m doing with God? I asked myself. Meddling in his business?
I answered rather sheepishly in the affirmative, although I suspect I’m not alone — since many people give their problems to God and then reclaim them.
“Many do not believe in Providence because they’ve never experienced it,” explains Jacques Philippe in an excellent book, “Searching for and Maintaining Peace.”
The problem is, he notes, “They seek to resolve everything by counting on themselves.”
His words spurred me to open my trusty Bible and read Psalm 123, which assures us, “Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”
And Proverbs 3:5 advises, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
Then I reminded myself that the one who fashioned the oceans, the sky, the sun and the moon will handle the medical problems of one fuzzy orange cat.
As for me, I must surrender to God with my whole heart — and stop micromanaging him.
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