A Yellow Dog and the Physical Presence of God
One of the many things I’ve discovered about myself in the last several years is how much “feel” matters to me. Not “feelings” as in “emotions,” (although those matter deeply to me as well!) but rather the actual physical, tactile experience of the world around me. When I’m shopping for clothes, the thing that I care about most is how soft the fabric is and if it feels cozy on my body. (Soft pants for life!) On every single trip to Costco, I subconsciously run my hand across the displays of soft blankets, close my eyes, and take in the soft, velvety fabric under my fingertips. I chose the mix of my dog’s breed specifically for a puppy who could offer me peak ear softness. I’m sensitive to temperature; don’t ask me to function like a human being if I’m too hot (I’m looking at you, Heat Dome 2021!) or too cold. When I’ve gone weeks without physical contact from another human, my heart actually aches in my chest for the warmth and safety found in a hug from a friend.
The lack of consistent physical touch as a celibate single person is a very real challenge. Craving the physical presence of another human can bring those familiar feelings of loneliness and isolation to the surface and send me spiraling. I was ruminating on this perceived deficit with my spiritual director last spring, and in a moment of brutal honesty I said to her, “I know that the Lord says that He is with me. Scripture is full of beautiful descriptions of God’s physical presence with His people, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Sure, the Holy Spirit is closer than the air I breathe, but I can’t feel Him. Sometimes I just need a hug from an actual human.”
As a good spiritual director does, she responded with a question. “What would it feel like for the Lord to be physically present with you?” I pondered this for a while; in fact, I don’t think I even had an answer for her during that session, but over the next few weeks, I began to express what it felt like.
It felt like my dog curling up next to me on the couch. You see, when I’m stretched out on our gray sectional reading a book, watching TV, or even typing on my laptop like I am right now, Ellie positions herself on the chaise lounge beside my left arm and curls up tightly like a cinnamon roll, as close to me as she can be. The heat of her body and the rhythmic movement of her breath is one of the most comforting feelings I have in my life, and every single time she snuggles in, I pause and whisper to myself, “This is a hug from the Lord.”
I know it sounds cheesy. Believe me, I know how cheesy it sounds, but I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that this noticing of my dog’s physical presence has changed how I view Jesus’ care for me. Ellie curls up in this spot multiple times a day, and every single time it is an opportunity to pause for just a breath or two, and thank Jesus for His physical presence here with me through a small, yellow dog.
Now hear me say that I have fabulous friends who would hug me anytime I asked; in fact I vividly recall multiple instances of a dear friend just holding my hand while we walked the sidewalks of a dark neighborhood or floated in kayaks in the middle of a lake while I cried. I needed a touch from someone who loved me in those moments, and those are also beautiful examples of Jesus’ physical presence to me. But no one is with me as much as Ellie is; she and I live by ourselves in our little Portland condo, and most of my evenings and weekends are spent with Eleanor Jane as my only companion.
The story of Ellie is one for another day, but for now just know that the idea of my dog ever being a comforting presence to me is something that once seemed impossible. Jesus has a sense of humor; I know this because I feel His love for me in the snuggles of a punky puppy every single day.
