Living Inside a Sound
Finding hope in the midst of anxiety
I’m holding my orange tabby Winnie as I type this. She’s purring, the vibration coming from deep in her soul. If I could crawl inside a sound and live there, I would choose to live inside a cat’s purr. There’s no sound as soothing. It’s a rumble born of healing and contentment.
I’ve been a bundle of anxiety lately. I wonder if Winnie knows? Maybe she’s trying to remind me of the nature of hope — that hope doesn’t disappoint, even when the thing hoped for never happens. It’s the hope itself we need. Hope buoys the spirit — I feel like I read that somewhere. I think it’s true. The trick is to move from hope to hope, like jumping on stones. The floor may be lava, but there’s hope scattered like pillows.
Maybe she’s trying to lower my blood pressure and ease my stress. That’s what cat purrs do, you know. It has something to do with frequencies. I’ve always believed cats are proof of the goodness of God. Maybe Winnie knows I need to be reminded that I’m not alone. The God of the universe is on my side. I think He may even like me.
If I focus on Winnie’s purring and let it fill my mind, it’s as restful as the ocean. Hope is like that, too. It will fill our minds if we let it, crowding out cares. Anxiety is made worse by rumination — turning worries over in our minds again and again. Whatever fills your mind determines not only your emotions, but your behavior. (This is how Cognitive Behavior Therapy works — change your thoughts and you change your life). That’s the point of hope, I think. When I focus on hope, my heart lifts and I begin acting as if God is in control. I remember who I am and whose I am.
I can’t carry Winnie with me everywhere I go. Even if my boss allowed it, Winnie wouldn’t like going to the office with me. But maybe I can carry hope and the memory of a cat’s purr.
