In early 2025, our oldest daughter adopted a cat from a local animal shelter. Once she settled in, we got to meet Izzie on her territory. She was calm, sweet, and she allowed us to pet her and even to hold her. When we were asked to babysit this cat at our house, honestly, I wasn’t too sure. Pam and I were empty nesters in every sense of the word, so thinking through the ramifications of all we didn’t have seemed a bit overwhelming for my wife and me. And truth be told, we liked being empty nesters. Our house was quiet and tidy, and we could control what was and was not moved.

However, we agreed and so began the parade of cat dishes, cat food, cat treats, cat toys, cat litter, cat litter box, cat litter box scoop... You get the idea. Once everything was placed and we were alone with Izzie, babysitting this grand-cat turned out to be better than we could have imagined.

Izzie settled in quickly and seemed to enjoy exploring the house... including the piano, the dining room table, and... the kitchen counter. When she got the zoomies, she would thunder down the long hallway and then spin out perfecting feline donuts in the living room. We knew she was finally settled when she made the leap of faith and jumped up on the bed in the middle of the night.

To be honest, it was nice having a pet in the house. And though she more than once made her way from the counter, to the top of the fridge, to a frightening catwalk above the kitchen cabinets, pausing to contemplate a long jump to the adjacent living room couch, (which, by the way, she wisely thought better of) she filled an unexpected void in our hearts created when our black English Lab, Sophie, passed away. That loss crushed my heart to the point that I just thought we could never go through that again.

But Izzie’s presence reminded us of some of the best parts of being owned by a pet. So much so that after successfully grand-parenting this cat, we decided to make a trip to that very animal shelter just to see if a cat might choose us.

And that is where we met, whom we now call Bello. Bello was a scrawny, ratty-looking one-year-old tuxedo cat that hunkered down on a shelf in the shelter's “cat room.” She was a stray with no known history except that she had been at the shelter for three weeks, and that covered shelf was her safe place.

The staff snapped one quick photo after we signed all the paperwork, and Bello easily went from our arms into her brand-new carrier. During the 45-minute drive home, she remained completely silent. In fact, she didn’t move. Speaking gently, offering a snack, and gently petting her yielded no response.

Now, the night before we got her, we had purchased everything we sensed she might need... and more. All the basics, of course, but then walking through the store, we kept seeing things, thinking, (now mind you, we didn’t even know her) “Aww, that is so cute, she’ll just love that.” Coming home, we washed everything and prepared her room with all the feline accoutrements that would say, “You are loved, and you are safe.”

When we got home, we gently brought her in the carrier to her room. And though we never said it, perhaps we had this idyllic image in our heads that when we unzipped the carrier, she would pop her head up in awe and wonder, step out, linger on the bed, and settle blissfully into the soft blankets prepared for her. But that didn’t happen. Rather, when we unzipped the carrier, she bolted off the edge of the mattress and scampered into the darkness under the bed. Peering into the darkness, we could see that she was pressed against the wall as far back into the corner as she could... silently cowering in the dark and out of our reach. And there she stayed.

Putting her food and water dishes right beside the bed, we were mindful that this was surely a lot for a little one to process. So, we sensed that the best thing to do was to give her some space.

After a little while, we gently came into the room, softly calling her name. Hearing no movement, I whispered her name. Saying more times than I could count, “It’s okay, Bello. You are safe. We’ve got you,” I lay beside the bed on the floor. She did make eye contact, but she remained frozen.

Leaving her alone for a bit, I came back again. And when she kept looking at me, I slowly extended my arm to her, treat in hand. Placing it before her, I gently withdrew my arm and lay on the floor, once again gently reminding her, “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’ve got you, and we promise that you will never have to fend for yourself ever again. We’ll take care of you, and we are going to protect you.”

The second day, when we quietly stepped into the room, we could see that she had moved from the head of the bed to the foot of the bed. With fresh treats in hand, we left a trail of treats that led to her food and water bowl. Still softly speaking, still reassuring, still gently extending our hand to her, remaining calmly present, offering countless words of comfort.

On the third day, it still appeared like she had not eaten. All that I could think of was, “Please don’t die under this bed.” And while I know you can’t rationalize with a cat, I kept saying, “Bello, you are safe. And you can trust us that we have your best interests at heart. We want to show you how much we love you and to take care of you. We’ve got you.”

The next day, we could tell she had at least come out to eat. When I got home from work, I grabbed a Churu (think Gogurts, but for cats) and was able to coax her out to where her paws were exposed, but her head remained under the bed. The day after that, I did the same thing, but slowly moved the treat so she would have to come out further. Each day after that, I would do the same thing, drawing her further out from under the bed. Still whispering, still reassuring, still gently reaffirming her of our love for her.

Breakthrough finally came one afternoon when she came all the way out, head-butted my hand, and then flopped on her side for pets. But as soon as she heard an unfamiliar noise, she would get spooked and scurry back under the bed. And honestly, it felt like we would start this routine all over again. And so began a journey of being consistent, quiet, calm, and us gently wooing out of a place of love. It has taken weeks and months.

My favorite breakthrough was the moment she chose, rather than meowing and wandering through the house at night, to jump up on the bed and purred loudly as she settled into the blankets.

Along the way, I posted our journey on social media to chronicle her progress.

"A Bello update… in just shy of five weeks, we are finding our groove. From a post-work churu to 9 pm zoomies, Bello is timidly exploring the house. She loves her brush and head scratches. The biggest breakthrough is learning to eat in the dining room and an occasional peek out the living room window. We are grateful she is learning to trust and so thankful for the lessons we are learning in this new journey."

Two weeks later, I wrote, "In just shy of seven weeks, each day seems to be a breakthrough. She readily jumps up on the bed now and has discovered the comfort of a fluffy fleece blanket. She also enjoys attacking the fringe on said blanket! From zoomies that include a brief pause to look out the dining room window to a very courageous leap from the floor to the top of the couch, she is settling in. Our biggest heartbreak was leaving for work and seeing her look out the front window. This has been a beautiful journey of seeing her personality blossom as she learns to trust."

Having her for 9 weeks, I wrote, "Bello has found her voice. Her gravelly bellows have been replaced with vibrating purrs, and her mousy squeaks have turned into full-fledged meows. The couch has become her throne. Rather than running away from her toys, she now bats them down the hallway like a professional soccer player. Our new adult game is called “Cat-toy round-up,” as we scour the house searching for all of the toys she lost. We are ever-grateful for the joy of discovering the amazing gift we have in her."

And our final update, three months into this journey: "If this final adoption update had a title, it would be 'Leaps and Boundaries.' In just shy of 12 weeks, that scrawny, scared little cat we met at the shelter has become a well-nourished, bold explorer (we found footprints on the cooktop). She loves being brushed, greeting us from the top of the couch when we get home from work, and figuring out her new treat puzzle. She has tried scaling the bathroom vanity, the kitchen counter (leaping from the couch), and, less successfully, the pinnacle of the headboard on our sleigh bed. A few days ago, through tears, I told Pam that I never thought I could love another pet after our dog, Sophie, passed away… but the best part of this Bello journey is discovering that I can… and I do."

In the very early days of this journey, at a loss for what to do with Bello, I wrote this question in my journal: “How do you make someone know that you love them and that they can trust you? If she just knew the kind intention of my heart toward her and that she is safe.”

Pausing, I sensed the Lord gently answer, “Welcome to my world.”

Humbled, I understood what God was saying. Over the last eight years, I have been on a journey of healing transformation in my own heart, realizing at that moment just how similar Bello and I actually are. And so I continued to write, “Ultimately, how do you make someone trust you and love you? I guess the reality is that you can’t. You cannot make someone... You cannot force love and trust. You can’t make someone understand your heart and your nature toward them. So what do I do with this cat? I guess I can only respond as You do to me: Patient. Willing to wait. You keep consistently demonstrating it, relentlessly reminding, constantly showing, and stubbornly loving. And somehow in this process, You don't take it personally when I reject you and scurry under the bed and into the dark. No, You keep loving, protecting, and providing. You’re in it for the long haul, and You are driven to love. And you let me discover Your nature... the kind intention of Your will toward me. God, I would sure love that cat to trust me like I am learning to trust the kind intention of Your will towards me. Pour out your grace on me to love as You have loved me.”

I share this adoption experience to say this. You have One Who has sacrificed everything out of love for you. This One, so filled with kind intention toward you, so filled with profound love, says to you, “You are safe. You are protected. You are seen. You are heard. Beloved, you don’t have to live in survival mode anymore. Exhale. Rest. Know. Trust. Resist the desire to flee.”

God extends the invitation in Matthew 11:28-30, “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

We are invited to take steps on a journey of discovering the kind intention of God’s will toward us. It’s a journey of living with God instead of living for God. It's a journey of living into him instead of living up to him. It's a journey of sharing with him instead of talking at him. It's a journey of surrendering more instead of trying harder. It's a journey of resting to receive rather than striving to earn. It's a journey of thanking him for rather than begging him for. It's a journey of believing as an heir instead of pleading as an orphan. And.. it's a journey of fulfilling destiny rather than manufacturing momentum. Beloved, you are seen, you are heard, and you are loved.

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