Dear Linnea and Adam,

I feel honored to be the only canine who’s ever bunked under your roof. How many dogs get to go with their mistresses to welcome a new baby into the family? I had a fear you people might have thought I’d act aggressively, but as you know, all I needed was a quick sniff. Thanks for letting me investigate Micah Nathan that way.

I feared I wouldn’t be able to accompany Midge on her trip to see you, which would have thrown me into a blue funk for sure. Did you wonder why I never left your yard while I was outside, even without a leash or a fence? It was because Midge was inside. My M.O. of sticking close to her is still in effect. Thanks for letting me sleep in her room when you could have insisted I spend my nights in the garage or even on the patio. I’ve never gotten to sleep near her at home but have plans to campaign for this upgrade when we get back.

I also want to tell you what a delight it was to play with Skylar. Thank you for sharing this my-size person so generously and not insisting she keep her distance. I feared you might. The dog bones she gave me tasted twice as nice. I’ll miss her “Hi, Jackie!” in the morning and her tender “Oh, Jackie” in that soothing tone she reserves only for those she loves intensely.

I apologize for leaving my full water bowl and food dish within Skylar’s reach one too many times. I guess when she washed her hands in my water, they weren’t all that clean.

And thanks for Saturday when Midge, Skylar and I went to the library so you could wash all the tile floors. I’m sure when you did it, you found a disgusting amount of my black fur in your wash water bucket. I apologize. The Florida sunshine made it hard for me to hold onto my coat. I was afraid you might not like me as much after that.

One more apology is in order. I’m sorry I tore up your copy of C.S. Lewis’ “A Grief Observed” when I shook it around. After everything that’s happened in recent months, it was just my way of expressing deep feelings.

After Pidge got sick, I never quite knew where my place was. I feared I might not have one. I got excited every time his car drove in the driveway, but it confused me when he was never the one to step out of it. Eventually his car stopped coming at all. Then Pidge disappeared, too, along with the head-pats he used to give, a very confusing time for me. I began to get fearful every time Midge turned to me with her coat on and said, “You stay here, Jack. I’ll be back.” I never knew for sure. That’s why it was so great when you let me come with her to your house. Thank you.

Looking back over this letter, I see I mentioned fearing five different things. None of them happened. What a waste of energy on my part! I should stop fearing anything in the future, too, like Midge’s upcoming trip across the ocean. I’m tempted to feel afraid for her safety without me there to watch over her. But since my fears usually don’t come true, I’m going to let that one go, too.

Love, and without fear,

Jack

”I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.” (Psalm 34:4)

We’ve all heard the expression, “When in Rome, do what the Romans do.”

Tonight, after driving through Florida, Georgia, South Carolina and North Carolina, I’m an overnight guest at a friend’s home. There are ten people and two dogs in 1200 square feet, all of them asleep now at 2:08 AM except me.

On a borrowed computer, sitting on a bed with my friend lying next to me, there are people laid out in every room and lights are extinguished.

My only choice is to do what the Romans do and shut off this lap top.

Night night.

“God gives rest to his loved ones.” (Psalm 127:2b)

It was a milestone day for little Micah Nathan, two and a half weeks old. His belly button cord fell off. This is good news, since diapering will be simplified, and he can now be submerged at bath time.

I remember clearly when our first baby’s cord fell off. Thirty seven years ago, hospitals tied them with white string. Each time I changed Nelson’s diaper, that cord stub was a wonder to me. He and I had been linked together in God’s detailed design, sharing food and oxygen. But the birthing process had separated us, also God’s plan.

In the blush of new motherhood, I remember the day I unsnapped newborn Nelson’s sleeper and found his cord stub, dried and useless, separated form his tummy. To medical personnel it would have been trash, but to me it was precious. I knew I needed to do something special with it, but what?

I set this bit of dried skin on the bathroom window sill to think about later. It was protected from view by a curtain, so I knew no one would throw it away. Working with the needs of our colicky new baby, I promptly forgot about it until two years later.

We were moving, and when I took the curtains down, there it was, along with a quick Bible lesson. Just as God says in Scripture, we truly are made of dust. There on the window sill was a tiny pile of what looked like dust encircled by a bit of once-white string.

Had Nelson’s cord actually morphed into real dust? I cupped my hands around it and blew. Sure enough, it flew away. I thought about Adam and Eve being molded from the ground. God actually says, “Out of the ground you were taken, for dust you are, and to dust you shall return.” (Genesis 3:19) Coming upon our baby’s cord-dust was a glimpse into our human past, but also a power-packed statement about the reliability of the Bible.

There’s another scriptural reference to dust, this one with a positive spin on it. God lets us know he thoroughly understands our weaknesses, so gives us extra grace based on our “dusty-ness” rather than extra punishment based on our inability to measure up. I guess God knew not to expect too much from a pile of dust.

I’m thankful for my biblical lesson from Nelson’s cord and the reminder of it when Micah’s cord came off today. God’s teachings are all around us, particularly in nature, and I can’t think of anything more natural than our origin being from dust. But there’s an epilogue to the lesson of the cord. God is planning to override the natural finality of our dusty-ness by providing brand new bodies not made from dust.

He labels them “glorified”, and we’ll be housed in these new versions of our old selves throughout eternity. We can be sure they won’t decompose into dust at the other end of life in heaven, because there will be no other end!

Just one question remains. Will our new bodies have belly buttons?

“As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him, for he knows how we are formed. He remembers that we are dust.” (Psalm 103:13-14)