Sunday, January 31, 2010

The Caracal & The Smell Of Death


Its coming up on 3:30am & I can’t sleep. I woke up tense, tossing & turning- not exactly comfortable & not sure why. I ambled to the kitchen to get a bite to eat & crawled back into bed. As I rolled over, an odd thought came to mind: the caracal & the smell of death.

My friend & I went to the zoo last Wednesday. Theres a small cat in the African exhibit called a caracal. It kind of looks like a lynx, but its something entirely different. Anyway, its enclosed behind fencing, as opposed to the glass that separates one from the lions & cheetahs & painted dogs. We happened to be there 1st thing in the morning- feeding time for everybody- so we watched the lions get their breakfast & then the caracal. My friend commented that it looked like they had thrown it an organ & asked if I could smell it. I said “no” (thankfully). She went on to say something to the effect that it smelled like a slaughter house- the smell of death. I’ve smelled death before- not very pleasant. But for some reason, I wasn’t able to detect anything that day.

Why my thoughts turned to the caracal this morning, I don’t know. It troubled me however & for whatever reason, I began to draw comparisons to my walk with God. Since beginning “A Call To Die”, I realize my relationship with God hasn’t been all I thought it was. What’s worse, I’ve not been able to detect the smell of my own spiritual death. Its been swirling all around me & everyone seems to know but me. Maybe I’m just used to it- desensitized- but I have to do something about it now that I know.

This death is darkness- the kind in which self thrives... I must bury the remains or be consumed. And if I bury it, I must trust God to raise me up to life, to roll away the stone in His time, by His prescribed means.

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