Cat

In this season
Of unexpected visitors,
A gray and white cat has come,
Lurking in the barn,
Peering through the bushes,
And, at last, waiting at the back door.
It may be a neighbor's pet,
Out for a stroll.
But I have heard that stray cats
Will go quietly from house to house
For weeks or months before they choose
That single, best place
To say, "Here I am.
This is home.
Let me in."
We are all wanderers,
Searching through our years
To find a place where we belong.
This is our Advent yearning,
The call of candle, hearth, and table,
Of arms outstretched, and laughter,
Of kindness, warmth, and rest,
Of love that welcomes most of all
The lost son, the wounded daughter,
The weary traveler at the end of the road,
The cat with no place else to go.
For a while, here,
We make a place to belong,
A lodging with our pictures on the wall,
A place to lay our head.
But like Mary, Joseph,
We are always summoned
To leave familiar dwellings,
To take some stranger road
To an unknown destination
Where there is a manger waiting,
Filled with holy light
Streaming through a crack in the wall
Of the world.
In that brightness we may see,
For a moment,
With cow and dove, donkey and cat,
Our one true home.