Cats are stealth. They creep around the house without a sound and sneak up on you–without warning. For some reason, our old Siamese cat, “Promise”–whom we buried in Budapest, Hungary, a few years ago–could be heard walking across the kitchen floor, if you had ears to hear it. It was the kind of soft padding with furry paws that was easy to miss unless you were tuned to the sound, tuned to the dimension of his realm.
In fact, so quiet was his padding across the kitchen floor that I never once heard it on my own, but my six-year-old daughter awakened that sound within me. One day she blurted out, “Mama, Mama, I can hear the music of his feet!” And sure enough the cat was walking across the kitchen floor to help himself to a bowlful of cat food.
We both became absolutely silent to tune into the sound that would be so easy to miss. And in that stillness, we heard the “music of his feet” as he ambled over the linolium. From then on, I kept listening for that special “music” that my daughter had been sensitive to and heard as a child.
As a poet, I absolutely loved the words she chose, “I hear the music of his feet.” I just knew my daughter was destined to be the next Emily Dickinson!
Funny how memory works, but now that we as a family are gathered together for what could be Dad’s last journey on this earth, I remembered my daughter’s words, “the music of his feet.” I thought about how her Papa is walking down a road in life he has never walked, a journey that is leading to a new realm and dimension, one that none of us has seen with our earthly eyes. He is walking through a valley that connects this natural realm, earth, to the supernatural realm, heaven.
I take great comfort in knowing that he is not alone as Psalms 23 promises: “When I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me.” King David calls death here only a shadow, and he clearly states there is no evil associated with the journey through the valley, because God remains right with us.
We are still praying for a miracle for Dad, because we know the breadth and depth of the suffering of Jesus for our redemption and for our healing; and yet we are preparing ourselves for the moment of “expiration” as well–when he will be translated from this realm into the next.
With the faith and wonder of a child, I want to tune my ears to his supernatural passage–to “the music of his feet” as he travels upward, homeward, heavenward, to the arms of Jesus.