Hanging On by a Drip and a Prayer
We love our animals, and we protect them fiercely. They are our family. But no matter how much love and care you pour into something — or someone — accidents still happen. That’s why they’re called accidents.
Pet people — the real ones — know the difference between neglect and a moment gone wrong. And trust me, this was the latter. In our house, we spoil our animals to the point of ridiculousness. I mean, we’re the people crafting cabanas for a frog that wandered up on the porch and made his home in my flower pot. So when something nearly happens to one of our own? It’s not because we don’t care. It’s because life is messy, and sometimes, the door shuts before you realize who’s still outside.
Yesterday, I almost lost my precious kitty-cat. Pawley is approximately 18 years old. I rescued her in 2008 as a young adult from Pawleys Island, South Carolina.
She’s been with me through job changes, health scares, my young boys becoming men, and more late nights on the couch than I can count. But back in 2021, when I had COVID so bad I truly thought I might not make it through, it was Pawley who stayed right there with me. One night after an infusion, when my fever was 103 and I was beyond sick, she did something she’d never done before. She climbed into my lap, nestled between my legs, put her head down, looked up at me like, Mom, I’ve got you, and stayed. We both drifted off like that. It was one of the very few moments I felt peace during that whole ordeal. She had never been a lap cat in all those years before, but she knew I needed comfort.
So yeah — she’s more than just a cat. She’s more than just a member of the family. She’s the comfort Jesus gave me when He was bringing me through one of the worst parts of my life.
That’s why yesterday shook me so hard.
I’d just laid down for a quick nap during my lunch hour after a long deposition out of town. Almost an hour on the dot after laying down, Otis beat my alarm clock to wake me. He was barking… and that usually means he wants to go out or wants a snack. Most of the time, it’s the latter. Jeff even said he had just let him out before I got home. So most days I would’ve ignored that bark and just gave him the snack to hush him up. Thank God I did not this time.
When I opened the back door, I saw two strange wet spots right there on the deck. It was a hundred degrees out. Nothing stays wet in August unless it’s fresh. And before I could think too much about it, that’s when I saw her — my Pawley — crumpled near the water hose, laid out in a way I’ve never seen her before. Flat. Gone-gray. Sunken into the earth, like the light was leaking out of her. Completely collapsed.
She couldn’t stand. Couldn’t cry, except a guttural moan that I’ll never forget. Her front paws were soaked, her fur matted, drool pouring from her mouth, and she was panting like she was fighting for her last breath. I picked her up and ran inside with her. I laid her on the cool hardwood floor, wiped her ears and belly down with a chilled washcloth, put the fan on high for her, and began to pray with my hands shaking. “Jesus, please help her. Please don’t let her go like this.”
And somehow, He did help her.
And here’s the thing I can’t shake:
I think the only reason she made it — besides Jesus being gracious enough to spare her — was because she had just enough strength to crawl to the water hose — and that old hose has a rip in it, so it leaks. Not a gush, not even a full stream. Just a steady drip. But it was cold. And it was something. Enough to wet her paws. Maybe enough for her to drink. It’s the only thing I can think of that kept her from slipping away. That tiniest leak may have saved her life.
She wouldn’t take any water from me at first. She wouldn’t even move. Just laid there panting. I thought about taking her to the vet, but I worried the ride itself was too stressful while she was in this condition.
And something in a small still voice said, “wait.” So I let her rest and get her breathing under control while I quietly watched.
An hour later, I opened a can of wet food hoping to entice her to get some fluid into her since she was refusing water. And boy howdy, she tore into it like she’d just remembered she wanted to live.
By bedtime, she was walking normally. Eating. Breathing like herself again. Even playing with Otis. And this morning? Curled up like it never happened. And I’m simply amazed how she could’ve gone from so close to death to completely well... especially at her age, after at least an hour in that 100-degree, full-sun Georgia heat. But isn’t Father God good just like that?
Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready for my next nine — but still deeply unimpressed with your drama.
~Pawley
Truth is… I know. I know what I saw. And I know Who saved her.
So if you’re reading this and feel like you’re barely making it — like you’re sunken in, flat-out, panting through the heat of something that might take you under — don’t underestimate the power of a small drip. You don’t have to come with much — just the faith of a mustard seed. He’ll meet you there.
The prayer of a worn-out woman.
The bark of a dog that won’t quit.
The grace of a Savior who sees everything, even when we miss it.
He sees you. And Jesus is the Comforter to those who need it. He is the Living Water that sustains.
Sometimes, we’re barely hanging on — but that thread still holds.
Sometimes, the drip is enough.
Sometimes, Jesus shows up in a puddle.
Sometimes, the very thing we’ve been meaning to fix is the thing He uses to save.
I won’t ever forget the night Pawley kept me from giving up. And I won’t forget the day I got to return the favor.
This popped up on my phone this morning for my “verse of the day.” It’s so fitting it ain’t funny. I see You, Father… and thank You.
Thank You for all of it.
“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
— 1 Thessalonians 5:16–18