Not a Sparrow Falls, Epilogue

As we pulled into the driveway after burying Shasta, I saw the sudden, bright spark of my first firefly of the summer. We took a walk, watching for little firebugs. On our way back to the house, somebody was waiting behind the lilac bush for us. It was Jasper!

Little night face.

She's not ours. I think she belongs to a neighbor. But she comes to visit sometimes. Usually Jaspie doesn't like to be picked up or cuddled, but on this night, after I gave her a good rub while she lay in the grass, she let me pick her up and carry her back to the house.

She felt so thick and warm and strong. She purred and looked around wide-eyed when I carried her into the porch. I put her down and went inside to get a dish of milk, which she lapped up eagerly. Then she trotted purposefully away and sat down to clean her paws and face while I watched from the stoop.

Jasper was just exactly what I needed tonight. She will never replace Shasta; she's not even mine, after all. But after saying goodbye to my seventeen-year companion, a little snuggle with Jasper did ease the ache a little.

And that's why I call this post "Not a Sparrow Falls." Shasta was a small creature, insignificant enough to be "sold for a penny." But he did not die without God's notice and his death's impact on me did not escape God's notice either. He gave me a little hour with Jasper because "not one of [these creatures] is forgotten by God." What a comfort it is to know that my God cares about these little sadnesses and orchestrates little joys to help soothe the sorrowing heart.