A few years ago my wife and I visited Cedar
Key. It is a quaint little village with plenty of history, and, interestingly
enough, a place where some of our ancestors "stood toe to toe" during
the Civil War.
We had previously decided to stay overnight at
what might be described as a motor court along the main road which dead-ended
in what might be characterized as a benign tourist trap; lined with restaurants
and shops, a museum and wharf.
At that time I was pedaling ten miles a day,
and continued to do so until I had accumulated a total of five "Peter
Pans;" (at which point I decided it might be convenient to keep body and
soul together a bit longer, and reluctantly ceased and desisted).
And though I was forced to step away from
pedaling, I was determined to continue my physical conditioning, and, as a
result, I replaced the circular movement of my legs with putting one foot ahead
of the other.
And thus, during the wee hours of the night
which we spent on the island, I arose from my rented bed, and began the mile
trek which led into the sleepy little village; (though my wife thought I
shouldn't).
Strangely enough, while my eyesight has
deteriorated over the years, and I have the beginnings of cataracts on both
eyes, my night vision is virtually crystal clear. (And I have often thought
that if my whole world was darkness, I would have never had any use for
glasses).
I have always felt unusually comfortable at
night, even in unfamiliar places, and this night was no exception. I virtually
reveled in my momentary aloneness, (though in truth I am never alone for God is
with me). He is always sufficient, and He is always enough.
Having strode into the antique little town,
walked up and down the sidewalk which bordered the hotels, restaurants and
shops, I paused on a nearby dock, gazed into the dark waters, reminisced about
the lives of my and my wife's ancestors who lived, and moved and breathed here
before we were a twinkle, and finally retraced my steps towards my temporary
"hearth and home."
I had walked about half the distance back to
our tiny one bedroom bungalow when I noticed something moving a few feet ahead
of me, and I quickly realized I was looking into the eyes of a small yellow
kitten. Rather than "making himself scarce" he crept closer to me,
...and suddenly laid his little head against my right foot.
Once again I paused. And while I am,
admittedly, a "dog man," I have always treated all animals with love
and respect, (and hesitate to squish a bug). Bending over, I petted his head,
and stroked his ears and back. And now I spoke the only words I uttered during
the course of my two hour trek.
"Aren't you cute. What are you doing out
here by yourself? I wish I could take you with me. I wish you well, little
fella."
And with this, I continued my journey.
I suppose I will never know the fate of that
little creature, but as strange as it may seem I will always think of our
unexpected rendezvous as providential.
I like to think I rendered a bit of momentary comfort to one of God's tiny
creations. And though I could not take him with me, perhaps he understood that
someone took a moment to care, speak words of comfort, and soothe his lonely
little heart.
by William McDonald, PhD
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