May 1, 2003 - The cat had kittens on the trundle bed in the downstairs guest room. We didn't think that was such a good idea, so we collected them and placed them on rags in a cardboard box in front of the kitchen fireplace until we could come up with something more suitable.
by Ruth Bell Graham
But the mother cat had a mind of her own. We watched with amusement as she entered the kitchen silently, stood on her back legs, front legs on the box, sniffing for her babies. Then leaping nimbly over the side, she checked them over, picked one up by the back of the neck, leaped out, and quietly returned it to the trundle bed. This was repeated until all that was left was the runt of the litter.
She did not come back. She may have been exhausted from her efforts, or she may have been busy playing lunch counter to the others.
Finally the tiny scrap in the bottom of the box let out more of a squeak than a mew. It was almost a non-sound.
Instantly, soundlessly, the mother cat appeared, bounded in and out of the box, the littlest kitten in her mouth, and carried it back to the guest room.
Three doors, two rooms and two hallways away, and yet she heard. It wasn't even a full-fledged cry.
Nor are our prayers necessarily full-fledged prayers—or even articulated cries for help. According to the Bible, God responds to our sighs, our tears and our murmurs. Even our longings can be interpreted as prayer.
John Trapp said in commenting on Psalm 145, "The Lord is near to all that call upon Him; yea, He can feel breath when no voice can be heard for faintness."