My cats have me well trained. For example, there is a little plastic cup in my bathroom sink. This cup is there expressly to serve the needs of cats who want a drink of water. If I fail to leave the cup properly situated and filled, I will hear about it.
Earlier today, I passed through the bathroom, and Wookie was sitting on the counter, next to the sink, giving me that “someone hasn’t been doing his job” look. She punctuated that expression with a firm but loving “Meow” to catch my attention. Well-trained human that I am, I knew immediately what this command was—the cup needed to be refilled.
I walked over to the sink, but, much to my amazement, the cup was filled to the brim. “So, what’s the problem?”, I asked. Wookie responded with a most insistent demand that the cup be refilled. So, I shook my head, emptied the cup out, rinsed it, and refilled it to the brim, just like it was before. Wookie then proceeded to drink from the newly filled cup.
Then it dawned on me that Wookie actually has better sense than I do.
She wasn’t about to drink from that cup of water that had been sitting there for who knows how long, when she knew that her daddy would refill the cup with fresh water if she asked him to.
I, on the other hand, have been known to go for days, weeks, even months, nursing the same cup of spiritual “water,” even after it’s become old and tastes funny, even after it’s dried up and left that nasty looking mineral crust on the glass. All the while, my heavenly Daddy was just waiting to rinse it out and give me a cup of fresh, sweet, cool water that was just right for the day.
But, unlike Wookie, I didn’t have enough sense to ask for a refill.