Comfort

BETHANY TIPPIN

I petted the cats in the dark. 

These days, it’s normal for me to experience insomnia to some extent. I used to do a great job of utilizing time awake in the middle of the night for prayer. Not anymore. Right now, my body groans with the need for rest and an inability to quiet my mind. I tried to breathe deeply and stay calm. Last night, it didn’t work. Anxious thoughts began to circle once again: thoughts of to-do lists that are impossible to conquer in the wee hours, half-memories of tasks vaguely left undone, and questions about deadlines I might deem fictitious upon waking. 

Suddenly, a kitten jumped onto my back and settled into the crook of my arm. He immediately started purring and jabbing his head into mine, insisting upon attention. As I reached out to pet him, my senses shifted to a place of comfort. So soft, so warm. It was so utterly opposite of the circling thoughts in my mind. His purring attracted his brother, and I soon had two babies curled beside me. 

A wordless prayer began to rise—praise initiated through touch, a way of communication and worship I hadn’t considered before. 

And then, the familiar words of scripture: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” (2 Cor 1:3-4) 

Comfort. It comes from many places, but ultimately, from the hand of God. Soon, I fell back asleep.