Mrs. Wagmore

Two things. That's all I want. Well, that's all I want today anyway. Tomorrow I will want two more things. When I came home from China, I desperately wanted two things: to not be easily irritated by the life’s little mishaps and to never pray the same again. I thought I was O for O. I arrived home in the wee hours Sunday morning. I slept 4 hours then I was up for the Easter festivities. By mid afternoon, the irritability set in. Yeah, I know…jetlag. But I wanted to be easy going. After all, I had missed hearing my name called 40 times an hour…really! And prayer? All I want to do this week is sleep!

The connection in prayer our team experienced was unlike anything I have ever known. The Spirit was directing us and it was exhilarating. We saw the hand of God move in us, in others, in our circumstances.

I realize life is what happens while we are making plans. I am not all that disillusioned. And I also realize that ten days in a foreign country is stepping out of my reality. But I wanted to share this because I think it is significant. It’s so easy to be disappointed with how mundane daily life can be. But as I slowed down today I realized something.

I am praying differently. I am expecting more from my God because I have seen more than I have ever seen before. I don’t ever want to talk AT God. I will listen first to see how He will direct me to pray. After all, He is always at work and I want to get in on what He is doing.

As for the irritability, I am more aware of it. And I guess that is a start. Things don’t change over night. So I am thankful for awareness. Yesterday I saw this blurb: Wag More…Bark Less. Yeah, I think I can do that.

Hungry

The house is quiet save the four week old kittens crying in my lap. Their mama is refusing to feed them. I've only been home an hour from a trip to East Asia. So here I sit at 3am filling the bellies of hungry kitties with an eye dropper full of warm milk substitute. I notice that one feels very thin and cool. I am not sure he will make it til morning. Another offers a meager reaction to the food. And two vivacious critters are scampering up my shirt trying to get sustenance. I quickly feed the strong ones. They are so easy to manage. They are cute and alert. Then I move on to the one who is responding a little. He really doesn't want to eat, but I manage to get quite a bit down his throat. Lastly I try to hold the cold one still so I can get some milk into his feeble body in hopes of warming him a bit. He cannot swallow too many times in succession. The others are crying louder and louder. They want to be fed. They want to curl up in my lap. When I cuddle them, they settle into the warm layers of my pajamas.

Suddenly I am struck with a sobering thought. This must be how the orphanage nannies feel trying to feed so many hungry babies with only two hands. Though these are only cats and not children, I am drawn to ponder what I have learned of survival. Feeding the weak ones takes so much more time and effort. They can't all be saved. You do what you can with what you have. The stronger ones will make it.

I sat on the floor and cried for the harried nannies and the hungry children who depend on them. And I cried for these kittens. I want them to live. They represent something so much bigger that most of the world will ever see.