A Gentle Touch

A gentle bumping of the sliding kitchen door heralds the approach of Indy, the smaller of our two cats. Indy doesn’t always live up to her name: a baby’s cry or laugh can send her scurrying for a secure hiding place. But she has mastered the art of sliding the door open by lying on her side and prising at the opening until it moves.

I am working on my computer on the kitchen table. I hear Indy’s entrance and soon I feel a slight tapping on my left elbow. A little face looks up into mine. Please feed me, that expression says. I respond.

Sometimes when I go to sit with God I make a bit of a song and dance. I might read something out loud from the Bible. I might sing a chorus or two, or launch into a cry for help with something that’s going on. 

But sometimes I just sidle up to God, so to speak, and sit down. I imagine he might hear me coming. I know he feels the light touch of my heart reaching out to him. I don’t need to ask: he knows that I need to be fed. And he knows exactly what to feed me.

I am so grateful.