So, my family collects animals. An outsider would think we are a black market, underground animal rescue mission that has set up a front posing as a white, middle class, suburban family. It goes like this:
“Can we get this kitten at the humane society?”
“No. No way. Hell no. No.”
Two days later, I go up to my daughter’s room and open the door. And there it is…the dang kitten. For one, why do they even ask? Doesn’t matter what I say. Secondly, why do I even answer? It doesn’t make a difference. I have no power. No one listens to me. Am I allergic to cats? Yep. Doesn’t matter.
It is fitting that yesterday morning when the kitten broke its shackles and tore apart its chains, and slipped through the cracked back door and climbed about 12 feet up into the first tree it saw. You know where this is going, right? Of course, it doesn’t know how to get down, so it digs in and clings for life.
Several options here. I could call the fire department. I’m sure they’d love that. They were trained to walk into fire and risk their lives to save others. I’m sure saving cats out of trees is what they woke up this morning hoping to do.
I could leave it up there in the tree. It’ll eventually figure out how to get down. I could wait for it to jump or fall. Maybe a hawk will get it. Maybe lightning will strike it. But no. My wife gets the ladder out and tells me to go get my long handled fly-fishing net. It’s 7:15 in the morning, I have no shirt or shoes on, standing on top of a ladder having a conversation with a kitten who refuses to come down or make any attempt to bridge the one-foot gap between it and my hand. Stupid, stupid cat. Stubborn. Refusing to accept the help being offered…even if offered by a somewhat unwilling savior.
I don’t talk “cat.” No way to make it understand that I’m trying to help. It seemed it would almost choose to remain in that dangerous, uncomfortable place rather than come to me and allow itself to be rescued.
There are times when my soul is dying of thirst…when my heart is starving. Yet I am reluctant to go to the One who offers me living water…the bread of life. The more stressed, overwhelmed, or worried I become about a situation, the more I find myself walking the sands of the desert. All the while, Jesus invites me to come and drink.
I can’t, there’s no time.
I must figure this out.
I must work harder until I discover the answer…until I fix the problem.
The more I feel the pressure, the busier I get, the more tired and weary I become.
All the while, Jesus patiently waits. And when I get to my whit’s end, when I run out of ideas, when I have nothing else to pull out of my bag of tricks, when I don’t have a single ounce of energy left…
Jesus says, “Are you done? Are you finished or do you want to keep trying? I’ll let you keep on trying to save yourself as long as you want to. When you’re done trying to figure it out on your own, I’ll be right here.”
Until I finally realize my own thirst, I will never desire living water. People who aren’t thirsty don’t desperately search for water to drink. Only the thirsty do that. Once thirst is realized, the mind becomes focused on finding water. The more desperate the thirst, the more desperate the search.
Water is a simple message. Only the thirsty listen.
Water, is taught by thirst.( Emily Dickenson)
And we know that only the thirsty listen…(Rich Mullins)
Everyone who is thirsty, come to the waters. Come. Drink. Buy water without money and without cost. Simply accept it as a gift of God. Why do you spend money for that which is not water…for that which does not satisfy? (Is. 55)
“And Jesus stood up and called out, ‘If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink!’ ‘Anyone who drinks the water that I am offering will never be thirsty again.’” (Jn. 7/Jn. 4)
ericfaisonstory 
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