No Turning Back

“When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ So he got up and went to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.”

—Luke 15:17-20

Farm cats are typically outdoor cats that keep undesired rodents from entering the farmer’s house and eating stored grain crops. My mouse-catchers, Sam and Sandy, are tough cats. They’ve weathered many storms, sheltering in the crawl space beneath my house. I was sure they would do the same in the recent blizzard, which blew in on a Friday afternoon.

I fed them well that morning and then settled in myself, bracing for the storm, predicted to rage for a couple of days.

After the sky dropped more than a foot of snow, it gave up its tantrum and smiled brightly on Sunday morning. I emerged from my shelter to shovel and clear a space on the deck, where I placed bowls of cat food and water.  I called for the kitties, but neither came forth. I called again. Still no response.

Shovel in hand, I trudged through knee-deep snow to the entrance to the crawl space. As my boots crunched through the crusty surface, I heard faint feline mews rising from beneath the hatch, now covered with a mound of white stuff. Quickly, I went to work, digging deep, until I had opened up the passage. I called to them, but they didn’t emerge. I called again. Still nothing.

They will come when they are ready.

Twenty-four hours passed, and still they had not emerged. I counted off the number of days. Saturday, Sunday, Monday.

Three days without nourishment. I began to worry.

They probably caught a few mice. I said to myself while I pulled on my boots.

As I rounded the corner of the house, I heard their now urgent cries emanating from below. They must have heard me coming.

I peered down at the hole I had opened up the day before, but I couldn’t see them.

“Come on, kitties. Come on out.”

Repeatedly, I called to them—to no avail.

Maybe there’s another way.

I trekked along the outline of the house, scanning for openings in the metal skirt, which enclosed the crawl space. Everything looked secure on the back. Everything looked secure on the side. Then I reached the front.

“MEOW! MEOW!”

My eyes darted in the direction of their cries and spied them behind the porch lattice, keeping them captive like a prison cell.

“There you are!” I called through the diamond-shaped openings.

Sandy shot toward me, and, furiously, I bent back a portion of the pliable vinyl. She took one step forward, then pulled back her paw.

“C’mon,” I coaxed, “c’mon.”

She took another step, then once again withdrew.

“Come out!” I spoke with urgency. 

But she wouldn’t budge.

She’s leery of the snow, I told myself.

Here I am to rescue her, and she’d rather stay holed up under the house—without food or water—than to suffer through a little discomfort in the snow!

I stretched back the lattice a little more, enough to fit my arm through. In a flash, I scooped her out and set her on the snow. But before I knew it, she flew right back in.

Now what?

Perhaps a little food will entice them.

I left the lattice in its bent-back position while I went to the deck to retrieve the food.

Rescued!

I reached for the bowl, but was stopped in my tracks by both cats, scampering up the steps and crying loudly for their breakfast.

“Haha! I guess you were finally ready!” I said, tousling each one's fur while they munched.

I wonder how many times our behavior has resembled that of my cats. How many times have we sought comfort, even refuge, in sin? How many times have we relied on something other than God to get us through the storms of life?

Even when we know that our go-to source will ultimately lead to our demise, we still find ourselves resorting back to it. Is it because it’s familiar? Because it’s pleasurable?

There is pleasure in sin for a season (Hebrews 11:25), but its end is the way of death (Proverbs 14:12).

God has made a way of escape for us (1 Corinthians 10:13). It’s up to us to recognize it and step through.

While His way is perfect (Psalm 18:30), it isn’t always easy. Like my cats that had to endure the chill of the snow when they withdrew from the crawl space, we too may have to endure discomfort when we withdraw from sin, whether it is an addiction to a substance like alcohol, drugs, or food or bondage to a way of life. He will be with us through it all and will strengthen us with His grace (Hebrews 13:9).

In Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11:32), the father never stopped looking for his son to return. Our Father never stops looking for us to come to Him. He hears our desperate cries from the crawl space. And like I left the lattice open for the cats, He has left the gate open for us. He is waiting for us when we are ready. When we eventually come to our senses and realize that the pain of crawling in the pigsty of sin is greater than the pain of walking out and walking in His ways, He will be there with open arms.

And, like a loving father, He may even tousle our hair, as we rejoice in newfound freedom.

Dear Father, thank You that You never give up on me. You love me no matter what. No matter how many times I fall, You are always there to scoop me up and lavish me with Your everlasting mercy and grace. Give me the strength to break free from my crawl space for good. I don’t want to turn back ever again, for You are my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble (Psalm 46:1), my shelter in the storm (Isaiah 25:4). Amen.