Lessons on non-verbal communication... from a cat

Yesterday I came home from work, and after greeting me at the door, Potok went and stood in front of his dishes. And I realized that-- without making a noise, let alone speaking in anything remotely resembling English-- I nevertheless knew exactly what he was telling me: in this case, "mom, even though there is food in my dish, I don't like to eat out of the bottom of the dish, so I would like some more, please." (We'd even discussed that morning, that this would happen when I got home from work. I'd asked him to remind me.) As I crouched in front of the hall closet to refill his food container from the big bags, he followed and rubbed back and forth against my legs, clearly communicating "yes, yes, this is exactly what I wanted" and standing before his dishes and kissing my hand as I poured the food in told me "I am excited about this! I love this food! Thank you, thank you!"

If only we could all communicate so clearly, and yet so simply... without a doubt I was able understand what the cat needed, what he wanted, and how he felt about the scenario. How did we get so far from that, being able to simply communicate our needs-- without resentment or hedging or manipulation or changes in the balance of power? Babies do it. They cry: this tells us they are hungry, or wet, or sleepy, or want to be held and talked to. They even have different cries to tell us these things. Watching us tells us that they like us, and are interested in what we are doing. Their laughs are deep and genuine, their cries just as heartbroken and open.

So, I will try to take a lesson from cats and babies. More communicating, less "communication."

More than I could ever have wanted

So this evening, while at our absolutely wonderful new Wednesday night church service, we were singing the song "You alone," which has the lyrics:

You have given me more than
I could ever have wanted

and I just had one of those "whoa. yep."  moments. Because it's so true-- well, no, not exactly true at all, in one sense anyway-- because this life is so much better than what I would have wanted for myself. I mean, don't get me wrong-- this life still has a lot of troubles, and a lot of things I would want for it, or want out of it, and a lot of pain and frustration and uncertainty. But if I'd had my way in things? I would be missing so many of the wonderful blessings I have in my life today.

I realized I've been saying "yeah, God knows what's best for me," but in the sense of a kid whose parent took away the ice cream cone because they knew it wasn't good for you-- but as the pouty little kid, you still wanted it. But God did not give me the life I have now as some sort of a consolation prize for me not getting to plan it all out myself and always get my (usually not terribly wise) way. He took away the proverbial ice cream cone, not only because it wasn't good for me, but because he wanted to replace it for me, with something even better.

So tonight I got to go to church and see a bunch of people I love dearly, and worship and grow together. And last Sunday evening I got to share with other people at church about our India trip-- I mean, I got to go to India, in case I freaking forgot that, and got to have an incredible blessed experience there. And then I got home from church and finally listened to my voicemail and had this little precious girl singing "happy birthday" and telling me "love you, Aunt Corrie." And this all does not even touch the tip of the ice berg. Especially in relative terms, in sharp relief (pun somewhat intended) against the ice cream cone of the life I would've wanted.

As the song says... I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive. God is good, all the time.