Thunder Dog - Michael Hingson [45]
I’ve had many other dogs, but there is only one Roselle. And I know her. I know the feel of her ears and her neck, the nudge of her nose against my hand, and the lean of her powerful body against my calf. I know the sound of her happy bark, her drowsy snore, and her sad little whine. She was specially trained and set apart for me by Guide Dogs for the Blind, and she is unique. There is no other guide dog, or any dog, exactly like her.
And God knows me. He made me. He has studied me and watched over me, and he loves me. He “anoints my head with oil.” In the Middle East, hosts used to anoint their honored guests at banquets with oil on their hair and beards; it was meant to invigorate and refresh. Anointing also could be used to set someone aside as holy or sacred, meant for a special purpose. Part of the fun and challenge of living has been discovering my purpose. What was I designed for? How can I use what I have learned and the experiences I’ve been through to help others? Roselle knows her purpose. I am still discovering and living out mine.
God’s goodness and mercy follow me every day, like the shepherd follows after his sheep. He pursues each one until he brings it safely home, as in the story told by Jesus of the shepherd who left his flock of ninety-nine to find one lost sheep, rejoicing when he found and rescued it.
I heard a story about a man visiting Yellowstone National Park with his dog. They were hiking among the mineral springs, some of which contain water superheated by geothermal forces above the boiling point to temperatures of two hundred degrees Fahrenheit and above. He unleashed his dog, which promptly ran off and jumped into one of the springs. The dog yelped and began to struggle as the water seared his flesh. His owner hesitated for a moment then jumped in after his dog. There is no happy ending to this story; both perished. But I have always remembered the man’s extravagant love for his dog and his decision to chance death in the boiling water.
When the tower fell and I cried out to God, his answer gave me hope. When God is for us, who can be against us? There is hope for the future. I am part of God’s family, and “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
I didn’t tell anyone about my encounter with God that day under the shadow of the tower. I didn’t tell anyone the next day or even the next week. It was such a powerful moment, so intimate and so personal, that I didn’t share it with anyone for three or four years. I wanted to be able to present it right, and I didn’t want it to be some hokey, manipulative thing. I didn’t want to wear my miracle on my sleeve. I prayed about what to do, and slowly, as time passed, I grew more comfortable talking about my life-and-death moment, my desperate cry, and God’s response, and it slowly became a public part of my story. Some people might not believe it or might judge it wishful thinking or something that came out of my own heart and mind. Some people might even get angry, knowing that God didn’t answer the same prayers offered up by others. But he did answer mine.
I found out later that other people were praying for me that day besides Karen. A dear friend of ours, the Reverend K. Cherie Jones, was pastor of Atascadero United Methodist Church in California’s Central Coast. We met her when she was pastoring a church in San Marcos, California, close to where we lived. We three hit it off and began a lifelong friendship, growing very close when a good friend of Cherie’s was brutally murdered by her ex-husband. Her friend’s body was discovered six months later, and it was two and a half years before