From The Desk of Margaret Moody Lehman

Margaret is a precious sister and woman of G-d from Florida whom I met briefly in Seattle, if memory serves me correctly.
We became acquaited or reacquainted through Carlene Prince as Margaret networked with us and several of our mutual tribesmen and tribeswomen this past weekend in Spartanburg.
Below is a bit of writing of hers which is eminently savorable due to the dignity she gave to an animal that struggled for life.
It serves as a stark reminder that our destiny in facing transitions does not have to be marred by futility, even when that dreaded enemy compasses us.
Read the following and take it in. Make applications, and learn from this Follower of Grace:

What happened at my house today…
CYRUS LAZLO
“Mama, there’s a little cat outside facedown. I can’t tell if it’s dead or alive.”
Cori had taken our German Shepherd with her to lock the chicken coop at sunset. Fortunately she had opted for the leash. The tugging dog alerted her to the mangled mess in the grass.
Looking for signs of life, I spoke tenderly. The cat lifted its swollen head and wailed. Heartbreaking. So I did what I always do in an animal emergency—go get Mrs. Foreman next door.
She brought diced chicken and a towel. I fetched water. The kitten gobbled the chicken and tried to eat the napkin too. Wrapping him in the towel, I carried him to my porch for more food, water, and overnight safety.
He looked awful and smelled worse. Swollen eyes. Ragged ears. Bony frame. Nothing soft about his fur. Probably mauled by a dog in addition to starved and dehydrated, he now purred as we rocked on the porch swing. He spoke to me and tried to show me his eyes yesterday every time I checked on him. He would find my hand and follow it to the bowl.
But this morning he was not doing well. I cleaned up the mess around him and wrapped him in a towel to keep him warm. Eight-year-old Bryn joined me on the porch. This homeschool day would have a different flavor as I held a dying cat and Bryn made her first close encounter with the end of life.
We sang for a while, especially when the kitty would cry. I suggested she grab her Bible and read aloud to me. We started with Genesis 1 and God’s good creation. We talked about how the Fall caused all of creation, not just people, to suffer the consequences of brokenness and death. She decided to read next Mark’s account of Jesus’ crucifixion. Good choice. I told her to keep reading through the resurrection as well to the end of the book. We discussed the confidence Jesus’ victory gives us that God will one day restore all things and make new heavens and a new earth. Creation itself will be set free. But God waits for now so that more people have time to turn to Him. For today, we would comfort this little piece of His creation that was now gasping in my lap.
Bryn had decided to name him Cyrus. That was the founding king of the Persian Empire (or would that be purr-sian?). I had been calling him Lazlo. Turns out this Hungarian name likewise means “glorious ruler.” Cyrus Lazlo. Quite a whopper of identity to bestow on this bedraggled piece of fur.
This cat would not die abandoned and unnamed. He was not alone. The same Father who feeds the birds of the air made sure a couple of His daughters held this one, dignified him with a name, tended to his needs, and connected with his Creator and their Redeemer in the process.
A couple hours had passed, so I suggested Bryn bring her history biography for me to read to her. And sometime during David Livingstone’s second journey north from Kuruman, Lazlo very peacefully slipped away.
–Margaret Lehman, Nov. 7, 2018