“The Theology of Second Homes”

I wasn’t looking for a dog.
I was looking for a moment.
A little joy to hand my children -
a small act of mercy at the Humane Society,
where we’d go to love on animals
who’d forgotten what affection feels like.
And then came Bruce.
Big. Black and white.
Blue eyes like the sky remembering how to be kind.
Four years old.
Four years loved by someone else -
someone who had since left this world.
When I heard his owner had passed,
something in me went quiet.
Not from sadness,
but from the sense that heaven had just opened a page.
Because I realized -
this wasn’t random.
This was continuation.


Scripture says,
“He predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ.” (Ephesians 1:5)
That day in the shelter wasn’t chance.
It was chapter two.
God was still writing Bruce’s story -
He just began a new chapter.


See - God doesn’t replace.
He redeems.
He doesn’t erase the first story;
He expands it.
Bruce’s first human loved him into being.
I was simply called to love him into belonging.
It mirrors how heaven adopts us-
not as blank slates,
but as creatures with history, memory, and longing.
When God took me in,
He didn’t pretend I hadn’t belonged elsewhere.
He said, “Bring your past.
I can hold that too.”
That’s the pattern of heaven:
when one love fulfills its purpose,
God anoints another to carry it forward.
He’s not done - He’s just writing through new hands.
Love after loss
isn’t replacement…
it’s redemption.


Dogs grieve just like we do.
When they lose their person,
their oxytocin drops,
their cortisol spikes-
their bodies ache for safety.
And when a new human arrives-
consistent tone, predictable rhythm,
gentle eyes-
their nervous system begins to re-map trust.
It’s called attachment repair.
It’s biology performing resurrection.
Bruce’s loyalty to me
isn’t betrayal of the one before.
It’s his brain saying,
“It’s safe to love again.”
When he lays his head on my lap and sighs-
that’s theology, not thermoregulation.

Sometimes I still wonder,
did he love them more?
Did he dream their scent for a while
before he learned mine?
And the Spirit whispers -
you weren’t meant to compete with what was.
You were chosen to continue what began.
Because love isn’t measured in comparison -
it’s measured in capacity.
And real healing
doesn’t divide affection-
it multiplies it.

Four years before me.
Two years with me.
Now six years old today.
Four means creation.
Two means covenant.
Six - embodiment.
Foundation.
Union.
Embodiment.
That’s the whole gospel in paws and presence.
He lived. He lost. He loved again.
That’s not coincidence.
That’s creation complete.
A resurrection story on four legs.
 
Maybe that’s why shepherds kept dogs.
Not just for herding -
but for hearting.
They listen for tone more than words.
They obey through attunement, not analysis.
When Christ said,
“My sheep hear My voice.” (John 10:27)
He was describing resonance.
Bruce knows my voice -
not because it’s loud,
but because it’s his.
It’s faith made fur.

If the gospel had a bark,
it would sound like this:
Love can be lost,
but not ended.
Safety can be shaken,
but not destroyed.
Home can die,
but be reborn in another heart.
Sometimes,
it looks like a shelter cage swinging open,
a second chance wagging its tail,
and a woman realizing -
God just handed her a sermon on a leash.

Maybe that’s the whole point of adoption -
to show that love never dies.
It just changes hands
until it’s finished its work.
Bruce was loved once.
Now he is loved still.
Bruce was loved once.
Now he is loved still.
And somewhere, I imagine his first human
smiling from the cloud of witnesses,
grateful that their beloved
found safe arms again.
Because that’s how God writes -
not with a period,
but with a promise.
That’s how heaven works-
the story continues.
Grace finds another home.
“Behold, I make all things new.” (Revelation 21:5)

So maybe the question isn’t
what have you lost?
Maybe it’s -
what story has God invited you to continue?
Because that’s where the theology hides -
in second homes,
second chances,
and the quiet, wag-tailed miracles
that remind us:
Love always comes back around.
(look down at Bruce, smile)
And sometimes,
it’s wearing fur.

---

I didn’t adopt a dog.
I stepped into a resurrection story.
When I met Bruce, I didn’t see loss.
I saw continuation--
a life once loved, now entrusted to new hands.
And in that, I saw the gospel.
Because the truth is—God never stops writing.
He doesn’t throw away stories when they ache.
He just picks up the pen through someone new.
“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.” — Philippians 1:6
That’s what adoption really is: continuation--
the divine pattern of redemption made visible.
Something once broken being written whole again.
Every redemption story carries the same rhythm:
Death → Burial → Resurrection → Continuation.
That’s why Jesus didn’t appear to His disciples in an entirely new form.
He came back recognizable—scars still visible.
Proof that resurrection doesn’t erase what came before;
it transfigures it.
“Behold, I make all things new.” — Revelation 21:5
Not all new things.
All things new.
See the difference?
God doesn’t discard the old chapters;
He redeems them through relationship.
My relationship with Bruce isn’t instead of the first;
it’s because of.
That’s resurrection in motion.
That’s the theology of second homes.
When Bruce’s first human passed, love didn’t end--
it waited for new hands.
That day at the shelter wasn’t random;
it was a new chapter in the Book of Us.
Because God never stops writing.
He doesn’t replace; He redeems.
He expands what was into what will be.
“He predestined us for adoption through Jesus Christ.” — Ephesians 1:5
Adoption is heaven’s favorite metaphor and plot twist--
love crossing the threshold from one heart to another.
Psychology calls it attachment repair:
the nervous system learning that it’s safe to love again.
Theology calls it resurrection:
what was lost rises again in new form--
life rewritten through relationship.
Bruce’s bond to me isn’t betrayal of the one before;
it’s biology performing redemption.
Proof that even the smallest creature
can preach the gospel without words (Romans 8:19-23).
Proof that love never dies;
it just changes hands
until it’s finished its work.
#HappyBirthdayBruce