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Cody and I met in 1998. He was four years old. His family had to move away and leave him behind and they were heartbroken when they left him at the Humane Society shelter. His former owner left a letter to the new prospective owner telling about him, what words he knew, what food he liked and didn't like, and any other information she thought was necessary.

I was impressed with that. I was also impressed with this huge cat with the most gorgeous pea-green eyes. At 4 years old, he was about 17 pounds but he wasn't fat - he was just BIG. Part Domestic Long Hair, part Maine Coon, and 100% chicken, he absolutely hated everything about that place - the incessant meowing of the other cats, the barking fits of the dogs when someone would walk in, the smells of ammonia and cleanser, the hardness of the floor of the cage, the bars. He was miserable.

I snaked my hand into his cage. He rubbed his face against my knuckles and closed his eyes - as if to shut out the other distractions and concentrate on my touch. I knew he and I were a great match.

I was right. After the initial difficulty of getting him to go into yet another cage for transport as recommended by the caring staff at the shelter, I brought him home, my hands and arms raked with scratches. He wasn't sure about our dog until he realized that there was a baby gate keeping her in the kitchen, and she went to a crate at night to sleep. It took him about a week to settle in. Before long he was jumping on top of her crate after she was in bed for the night, lying down and twitching his tail in front of the crate door.

But he never forgot that day when I went into the shelter and took him out of "that place."

Ever afterward, he looks upon me as his savior. He's absolutely devoted to me. He thinks the sun rises and sets on me. I can see it in his face when he looks at me. He has never forgotten the awfulness of the place I took him from, and he has never forgotten that it was I who rescued him. It's never gotten "old." He has never taken his new life for granted.

He dotes on me. It's a little embarrassing because he holds nothing back.

Yet, his undivided attention has taught me so much about worship, about living the Christian life the way Jesus intended - the way He mentioned to Martha when she complained about her sister Mary. I can be doing something completely unconnected to Cody, and I'll look and there he is - watching me. Then he blinks long and hard, the way cats do when they're really happy, and if I listen really closely, I can hear a very faint purring coming from this shy giant. As I type this he has - without me even realizing it - snuggled down beside me on the sofa, as close as a kitty can get without being on my lap, eyes closed in feline bliss.

I'm not even petting him. He's not getting anything out of this. He is just enjoying being in my presence.

My hubby told me this morning that someone commented to him recently about the way I worship - they said that I worshiped with all that was in me. My response surprised even me. "I can't do anything less," I said. "He rescued me - over and over again - from hell, from so many things, and from myself." And my eyes spontaneously filled with tears. That kind of reaction surprised me - not the statement itself (because it's true) but my strong emotional response after all these years.

But I got to thinking about it. Really, the amazing thing is not that I worship so intensely.

It is that He loved me first - way more than I could love Him back.
He loved me - enough to reach into my self-made prison, and unlock the door.

I echo the words of a recovered alcoholic, who said, "I know not whether God in His grace and mercy will open up the gates of Heaven for me, but I do know this : He opened up the gates of hell for me ... and let me out."