You’ll yawn at it like a cat bored with itself.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, 

neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth,

nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us

from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:38-39

Dear Me,

There’s a time when your dog, Roxie, won’t be able to handle the new hardwood floors. You move into a new house in Louisville, Kentucky with your husband and daughter and two dogs in tow. Your rental sits in a neighborhood that reminds you a little bit of dreamland, a small handful of houses down a winding row and set between the trees.

Roxie is not amused. She spends her evenings click-clacking against the hardened floors, an anxious something in her bones. She never settles until morning comes and then she’s thickly nestled in a couch cushion or a dog bed, soft and gently snoring.

You have no idea why she feels this way in this house until it comes for you too.

I won’t get to that yet, the point when the dark seeks you out. It’s been a long-term companion of yours, and even when your heart changes, it will continue to stalk you. No worries, though. It eventually gets the hint when every ounce of your being relies on Jehovah alone and His angel army to keep you from the evil that’s been feasting on you for some time now.

But let’s get back to Roxie.

Roxie does die one day but not then. I’m sure you’re aware that this is in fact a possibility. You’ll have so many beautiful memories with her, and you know now that this small gift, this Chihuahua mix with a short snout and endless love is a salve God’s given you to cover your wounds. Look at His goodness in this when you yourself are not good. And guess what? Neither am I.

But when you look back at Roxie’s two weeks of anxious pacing, you’ll understand something pivotal about the light and the dark. How the good can’t settle into it. How it’s always aware, that sense of salvation, prickled skin at something willing to take it away.

She was a smart dog, but also, she was God’s dog, a bit of His creation, giving you the foreshadowing you’ve always loved for in books. An alarm, an alert, a warning. Be ready because here it comes.

You’ll know with your whole soul one day that nothing can tear you apart from your Lord, not even evil trying its best. You’ll yawn at it like a cat bored with itself. But you can’t ignore it now, your dog who loves you like you’re the only thing to love, setting you up for the next phase of all you could never imagine.

Do me a favor. Go hug her for me.

Talk soon,

Ericka