Psalm 139: Wherever I Go, You Are There

 

Buddy the Cat

He came to us on a warm day in June, 2016. Our neighbor three doors down had called Debbie, inviting her to come see a recent addition to her rescue cat population. His name was Buddy.

Debbie told me she was going to see a rescue cat and I said, “I don’t want a cat.” She said, “I’m just going to see him.” So, Debbie and her mother walked three doors down to see Buddy.

When she came back, I knew we were getting a cat. Debbie said he was a beautiful orange tabby cat, who had belonged to an older lady. She had moved to a nursing home and she couldn’t take Buddy.

Our neighbor told Debbie Buddy had been placed first in a home with children and dogs, but he didn’t do well. He was scared. She said he needed us. And we needed a cat.

This time, we both walked to our neighbors’ house and came home with Buddy. Of course, he was skittish at first, but he quickly discovered we didn’t have any kids or dogs, and we did have a screened back porch which he took to immediately.

Buddy became a part of our family instantly. He wasn’t standoffish – he liked to sit between us on the couch and he loved being in someone’s lap anytime he could. He was sweet, didn’t scratch the furniture, got used to his litter box immediately, and told us when he needed things – water, food, his box cleaned out, the door opened, the door closed, and a host of other signals we, over time, learned to interpret.

Our house in Chatham had two stories, and when Debbie and I would begin to take the stairs to the second floor, Buddy waited a few seconds at the bottom of the stairs until we were well on our way. Then, he would take off like a shot, pass us in a blur, make the turn on the landing as his hind legs slid on the heart pine flooring halfway up, and arrive at the top. There he would wait for us, obviously amused that he had beaten us to the second floor. We played that game for years, along with watching horrified as Buddy jumped up on the banister rail at the top of the stairwell, walking it like a tightrope walker while looking over at us as if to say, “And for my next trick….”

Mostly, we settled into a routine together, and by that I mean we settled into Buddy’s routine. He ate when we ate, sat with us as we drank our coffee, and stretched out on our legs when either one of us was in the recliner. He loved Debbie’s belly rubs, and to be petted endlessly, turning his head back toward us if we stopped, with a look that said, “You need to keep going…”

He would sleep in the sunshine streaming through the large windows in our home, and in winter on the radiators. We learned to put a towel over his favorite radiators – the ones that gave him the best view of the outside – and he would stay there for hours. Or if he wasn’t napping in the sunshine, he was on the screened porch, lounging on the settee.

In short, Buddy became a part of our everyday living, and we grew to love and appreciate him in ways that we had never loved and appreciated the other cats in our past.

In 2024, he made the move with us to South Carolina, quickly adapting to our one-story house, finding the chairs or spots on the floor where the sunshine came in, and looking out the sliding door screen, which we told him was just like “going outside.”

Of course, he would tell us when to open the slider, starting early in the morning with whoever was first up. Buddy would be just outside our bedroom door, trot to the living room, past the couch and stand at the sliding door until we opened it. There he would sit smelling the air and watching the goings on outdoors. He saw bunnies – we have a rabbit family living somewhere in our suburban cul-de-sac. And, he listened to the birds. Sometimes he would come get us so that we could listen or watch with him, too. Debbie had many conversations with him about what he saw and heard on the other side of that screen door.

And, as the years passed, Buddy, like us, got older, a bit slower, and ran less through the house at breakneck speed. He no longer had a banister to show off on, which was a good thing because his balance wasn’t what it had been.

But Buddy also had some medical issues. He had kitty IBD – inflammatory bowel disease. We found a new vet to treat him, and he improved. But, he also had a heart murmur.

Earlier this week I had been thinking about what I would write for this reflection on the lectionary reading for this week. I had settled on Psalm 139, written by David, but not David the shepherd boy. No, this psalm was written by David as an older man, a man who had faced difficulty, including King Saul trying to kill him. David knew adversity.

The psalm begins –

O Lord, you have searched me and known me.
2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
    you discern my thoughts from far away.
3 You search out my path and my lying down
    and are acquainted with all my ways.
4 Even before a word is on my tongue,
    O Lord, you know it completely.

In other words, David knew that God knew him. Knew everything about him. Even before David knew, God knew. And David marveled in that divine knowledge.

But it doesn’t end there, and this is the part I had not understood before. Read these lines and stop for a moment –

7 Where can I go from your spirit?
    Or where can I flee from your presence?
8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
    if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
9 If I take the wings of the morning
    and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
10 even there your hand shall lead me,
    and your right hand shall hold me fast.

I had read these words dozens of times, but earlier this week it hit me. David was actually saying that wherever we go – up to heaven, down to Sheol (the place of the dead), or across the earth’s geography -- God’s Spirit is there already waiting for us. Think about that.

I have asked for God’s presence with others and myself before. But David wrote, God’s presence is there to welcome you when you arrive.

You’re not the first on the scene, He is.

Later this week, it became obvious to me why I had been thinking about this passage. On Tuesday, Buddy had a bad day. He stayed in the recliner all day, sleeping, which was not like him at all. Wednesday he was fine, back to his old familiar self, but on Thursday I noticed his breathing was a bit labored. When I counted his breaths per minute, I got 38. Cats breath normally about 20-30 breaths a minute, and more rapid, labored breathing is a sign of heart failure, as in humans.

When the vet heard his symptoms, she worked us in immediately. After an exam, she came back into the room. Buddy’s heart was giving out. We had known this day was coming and now it was here. We asked if we could come back the next day because we wanted one more night with him. We made an appointment for 10 am Friday morning.

Buddy had a good night. He ate more than he had in several days. We found some treats for him and he ate those. He sat with us and let Debbie rub him with his favorite toys – a balled-up sock and a crinkly cat toy fish. He sat with me on my stretched-out legs as he had done for every surgery, illness, and lots of baseball games since he came into our lives.

Friday morning he had a good breakfast, and we petted him, but his breathing was now 40 breaths per minute, and he clearly did not feel good. He let us gently put him in the carrier and Debbie sat in the backseat with him, talking to him on the ride to the vet’s.

When we arrived, Buddy and Debbie and I were shown into a private room.

I knew immediately the truth of that verse – in that room God was already present, waiting for us and for Buddy. His right hand indeed holding us fast.

A few moments later, as we cradled him in our arms, Buddy peacefully passed away, held by the people he loved and who loved him.

And from that Presence we drew the strength to let Buddy go into some other place where I’m sure there are birds to listen to and bunnies to watch.

Of course, we cried, and cried some more. And the house is too quiet and we see Buddy everywhere. And we miss his funny sense of humor, his jumping into our laps, and his patient staring until we finally understood what he wanted.

There’s a hole in our hearts at the loss of a yellow tabby cat whom we thought we were rescuing. Instead, it was Buddy who rescued us during a pandemic, several illnesses, moving to a new state and home, and the life changes that come unexpectedly over time.

So, we’re grieving for Buddy. We miss his presence and nothing can replace him in our lives. Many of you have been through this with the loss of a furry friend you loved.

Debbie says God sent Buddy to us, because we needed him. Of course, she’s right.

And, losing him is hard and sad and we will miss him the rest of our lives.

The valley of the shadow, the darkness of grief, the separation of death -- that’s part of what David understood when he wrote –

11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
    and night wraps itself around me,”
12 even the darkness is not dark to you;
    the night is as bright as the day,
    for darkness is as light to you.

Right now, we're still with David lamenting the darkness, waiting for the light to break through. It will. We know that. It just takes time.