Tonight I was sitting alone in my house at our kitchen table -- the kitchen table we've pulled out of the kitchen and placed smack-dab in the middle of the big main room. (We live in a very small space.)
I was sitting there by myself, and Kirk wouldn't be home for an hour. I was worn out, tired, pooped, and yet stirred up inside my spirit. I've had a somewhat discouraging 48 hours of life.
Where else could I go but the source of life? I cracked open the Bible and continued my reading of Matthew. In the way that it has of doing, it moved my spirit beyond exhaustion and confusion unto the point of praise, so I started singing. That's just what I do. I can't help it sometimes.
As I've written in a previous post, my cats get, um, a little stirred up in their affection for one another when I sing by myself in the house, and this time was no exception. Thankfully it didn't get too out of hand this time; though I think they moved toward the inevitable scratch-and-claw two times total by the end, the exertions were brief and at least stirred them out of their all-day lethargy of sleeping themselves into comas on the bed. Maybe Solomon even lost a few calories out of it. (And goodness knows he could stand to lose a few thousand of them!)
Eventually, though, after I had read some more and the cats had settled back on the bed, I decided I didn't want to sing old psalm melodies anymore so I popped in a CD. I started singing along with Jennifer Knapp and Mac Powell the words to a song that goes, "All creatures of our God and King / Lift up your voice and with us sing . . ." It's a great song; very earthy and sultry and raw.
So there I was, singing it out with the J-Knapp and Mac, my eyes closed and arms eventually raised to the ceiling, even, until at one point I wondered how the cats were doing with this one. I opened my eyes and looked over toward the bed. Diva, who had hitherto been laying on the bed in her lethargic state again, was perched with an astounding alertness on the corner of the carpet by the bed and facing me, her paws placed just so in perfect cat-watching stance. She was staring straight at me with her blue, blue eyes, like she was sincerely listening to me sing. Like she actually understood the words behind the song: "All creatures of our God and King / Lift up your voice and with us sing . . ."
But also thrilling.
Could it be that when I sing praises to Jesus, my cats actually respond to Him too? This may be something of a stretch, but I think it's also highly possible, for "all of creation groans to sing His praises; they eagerly await the day of His return" (my paraphrase of Romans 8). Who knows? This may be what their always-predictable friskiness when I sing is ultimately all about.