People who study such things say that around 12,000 years ago one of my ancestors (who is probably one of yours as well, Cuz) looked at one of Gus’s ancestors and said, “What a friendly puppy! I think I’ll make it a member of the tribe.” You could say that Gus’s family has been friends with my family for a very long time.

My daughter, who volunteers at the Humane Society, introduced me to Gus back in September. We hit it off immediately even though I had said repeatedly that I would never get another dog. Besides, we already had Lulu, a toy yorkie. Of course Lulu will tell you, “we” don’t have her, she is Kathryn’s. Anyway, when I met my guy I realized that I actually did want another dog and no offense to Lulu, one that weighed a little over five pounds. I wanted one that had a little spunk. One that I could do things with and since my spunk graph is slightly but persistently charting down it seemed like now would be better than later. So, I put in the adoption request, got my new partner and named him Gus, after the spunky retired Texas Ranger in Lonesome Dove. I am being sincere when I say that I believe that God brought Gus to me.

Every dog that has been a part of my life was a precious gift. I, like Mr. Bojangles in the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band song, after twenty years still grieve or five years or forty years, but Gus feels special. Perhaps it is because these days I am more inclined to see God’s presence in all creatures and less inclined to deny that pets can get deep in your heart and become a full member of your tribe. I love my dog.

I believe the feeling is mutual. I have proof of this from the internet. Gus does all the things that iheartdogs.com says that dogs do if they love you. Plus, I have the backing of the popular book, The Five Love Languages. Gus’s love language is clearly quality time. He likes to be with me. He is ecstatic when I come home after being gone just a short time, he dances when we are heading out for walk, jumps in the Jeep like we are going to Disney World when it’s just the recycling station, and tears down the steps to the basement so he can be a part of whatever adventure I’m on when I’m only going to the frig for a beer. Well, maybe it’s not quality time. Maybe it’s just time.

All this reminds me of the saying you’ve probably seen in gift shops or on social media, “My goal in life is to be the person my dog thinks I am.” I like that but I am not sure it actually captures the best part of Gus’s and my relationship. After all, based on the evidence available to him, Gus thinks about all I have going for me is that I occasionally take hikes and like being outdoors. But he loves me anyway.

On the other hand, I have observed Gus to be friendly to everyone, faithful, and constantly saying “I love you” (per Iheartdogs.com). He brings joy to those around him, and encourages exercise. None of this seems to require any effort on his part. It is who he is and he loves being who he is. Maybe a better goal for me is to be the kind of fellow my dog is.

“Am I going to be OK?”

I can still clearly see her face; wide eyed, fearful, yet brave enough to ask the question. It was Kathryn an hour or so before our first daughter was born. She was beautiful, vulnerable, and very afraid. I leaned over, rubbed her forehead with the cool, damp cloth and said something along the lines of “Of course you will.”

I have relived that moment hundreds of times. I think of it whenever I want to ponder the most sacred scenes in my life. I was overwhelmed with love for the woman who was soon to be the mother of my child, grateful that I could offer some assurance when she needed it, and I think for the first in my young, charmed life acutely aware of the vast chasm between “of course you will” and “most likely you will.” I tried to hide it but we were both afraid, both wondering if things were going to be OK. Husband, wife, emerging child, life, uncertainty, fear, hope, no idea what was about to happen, etched forever in my memory.

The other day I was revisiting all this when it occurred to me that I often stop the video in my mind right there. It’s like we had that moment and what happened later that afternoon is unconnected to our time of fear and uncertainty. It’s as if it is two separate days. I guess a baby girl’s arrival is kind of a stand alone event.

But it is connected. It was the same afternoon. We were right on the verge and very soon we would be in a new life, a wonderful life. In one late fall afternoon we would go from fear and uncertainty to joy that literally had me jumping, punching, and shaking when I went to the locker room to change out of my scrubs.

I have come to believe that the memory of that incredible afternoon is my life speaking to me. I think it points to a holy message that is a recurring pattern in our journey with God. The truly miraculous meets us in the scariest places. Read that again. Remember that even Jesus wondered if he was going to be OK when he called out “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?”

There are indeed very scary places on life’s path, hard places, heart-breaking places. Sometimes we fall deeply into that chasm between “of course we will be OK” and “not everybody makes it.” But, somehow life and scripture teaches us that those times are not the end of the path, they are doors. Life is coming. Joy is with us even there, even when we don’t feel it. The divine, constant “Do not be afraid,” is present. Our daughter was making her entrance that fear filled afternoon and long ago on that terrible hill the God of Life was about to say, “Arise my Son” to the suffering man on the cross.

Will we be OK? It’s a fair question. Truth is, we may end a particular day not feeling OK but the deepest truth is reflected in that wonderful quote from Julia of Norwich, “All will be well, and every kind of thing will be well.”

Perhaps when we are most afraid it is a signal that birth, new life, is about to happen.