Brave Like Mackin

We have a cat named Mackin.  He’s . . . special.  Brains aren’t his most outstanding quality.  Our other two cats love to drink out of the sink.  Mackin sits in the sink and licks the drain.  Our other two cats chase flies and moths.  Mackin watches them for a minute, then runs off to get a ball.  Our other two love comfy beds.  Mackin takes a napkin, claws it apart, and sleeps on that.

Mackin finds the world to be a terribly scary place.  His own sneezes make him jump.  If he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he’ll try to duck below the mirror and sneak out of the room—backwards.  Yesterday, I walked in the front door wearing a hat and sunglasses.  Apparently, this altered my appearance in a terrifying way.  Mackin took one look at me, folded himself to the floor and very, very slowly backed behind the couch, his tail bushy, his fur bristling.  And every night, when I give our three boys treats, Mackin tiptoes up to the treats I give him, circles them for a minute or two, looks at me, then the treats, then me—then in one quick bite, he eats the treats and runs off.  He does this every single night.  For three years now.  It just never gets easier for our Mackin.

For the first two years we had him, his big goal was to jump into the bathroom window from the vanity—about a foot of a jump.  He’d seen his brothers do it, and every time, he’d sit on the vanity and watch them wistfully.  He wanted it so badly but after watching them jump, he’d always slink out of the room, looking so sad and disappointed in himself.  I’d encourage him—“Do it, Mackin!  Doesn’t it look fun?  Just a little jump!  Come on!  Be brave!”  And he’d get so close—he’d crouch down, get ready to launch himself into the window, quiver all over, and—run away.  But one morning, he heard the birds outside that window.  And he jumped.  He looked stunned when he landed in the window.  He froze there for about thirty seconds, then jumped down, ran away, and hid under the couch.  But the next day, he jumped again.  And this time he stayed.  Now he spends more time in that window than his brothers do.

I think that many, many times, I approach life like Mackin does—like it’s terrifying, and the fun stuff is meant for others, not me.  But underneath it all, I hear, “Come on, Renee.  You can do this.  Just a little jump.  Be brave!”  God encourages.  And when I listen, He always talks me through the jump.  He always rewards my bravery, even when I don’t stick the landing.

The poet Louis MacNeice wrote that we should “risk a movement, without being sure.”  And we’re never sure, are we?  If we’ll make it when we jump.  If the risk will pay off.  Mackin definitely isn’t sure.  He’s jumped into that window countless times now.  And many times, he misses the jump.  Or he just suddenly falls out of the window–and he doesn’t always land on his feet.  But he’s still brave.  He still jumps because he’s had a taste of what it’s like to see that other world out there.  And every time he makes the jump, I congratulate him and tell him how smart and brave he is.

What’s the bravest thing you could do today?  How can you risk a movement, even if—especially if—you’re not sure?  Think about our Mackin in the bathroom window.  Can you be that brave?  You might fall.  Or you might stick the landing and get to see a whole new world.  There are birds out there singing—don’t miss them!  Make the leap.