We’re dogsitting the dog I love again. The dog must be the happiest dog to ever have been born, spinning around and chasing our Pekingese all through the living room, under the coffee table and beneath my legs, endlessly until one or the other tires, and they roll over each other, wrestling instead. How could God have planned that we’d find such comfort in our pets? Because there’s no way He didn’t, because when I’m sad, it’s the dog that tilts its head in sympathy and care. And it’s another way I know Him.
Walls Finally Fall
i hold this hope inside
