Auto-generated description: A close-up of a white dog with a person standing in the background on a brick pavement.
Lucy on her last day with us

July 29, 2026

I can’t remember exactly when I stopped dreaming (or at least not remembering my dreams). It was sometime toward the end of my doctoral work. Who knows why. I’d been reading and thinking a lot. We just had our second child. I was taking seriously my tendency to live as a theological nomad who wandered around the edges of religious tradition encampments, and had built my pack for exploration and survival. All of these things probably used up whatever spare brain cycles I had left. I simply went to bed each night – and it was almost like a jump cut to the next morning. Eyes closed, eyes open, next day.

Every once in a while I would have some foggy recollection of the self-made-movies of my sleep, but they came infrequently and ambiguously.

Fast forward ten years to 2018 and things were similarly heavy-layered. We had lost my mom to ovarian cancer, we completely gutted and remodeled a 115-year-old-house-turned-college-flop-house, and my dad – who needed a lot of help and medical care – moved in with us. There was a lot going on, but we thought we might try getting a dog since we had settled into a new place and the kids were old enough to help.

And that’s when I had a dream I distinctly remembered.

It wasn’t a long dream, there was no wild plot line or chase scene, just the face of this bright white dog, looking at me with coal black eyes. It was honestly a little haunting. Of all the forgotten or never conjured dreams to break through, why this image?

Within a week, we went to a local dog rescue to see a litter of older “doodle” puppies that had come in from the streets. As we were watching them play in the dog run, the dog I saw in my dream ran right up and presented herself. It was a little unnerving. I’m not a “dreams and visions” guy, even back when I was dreaming, so this was very unsettling. I told Krista about the dream and we took the dog home. She was not very doodley.

I wanted to name her Nooma, because she reminded me of a ghost, but the rest of the family (thankfully) overruled me and we settled on Lucy – which was just as apropos, since it means light - and she was bright white and was an immediate lift to the spirit of the house.

Lucy turned us into kinder people - there’s no denying that. She had a face that invited us to be the best versions of ourselves to each other and to those around us. She was always just a little on alert, but that made her couch snuggle or tail-wag greeting all the better. She was fiercely protective of our home and family, but once she figured out you were ok, she wouldn’t leave you alone.

It’s hard to see the creatures you love (and who have shown you how to love more deeply) quickly decline. We thought we had several more years, but the tumors grew faster than anyone (especially Lucy) expected. To watch her try to be herself and not succeed was the most difficult part of the last few days.

We were able to have all the family there as we held her and said goodbye as she took her last breath.

This really was the dog of my dreams in so many ways. I kept whispering to her in those final moments to “come visit me in my dreams again.” She helped me dream well – a dream about what the world could be when we are kinder to each other. She helped me pay attention to the world around me with a gentler focus. She helped me know that how you love something is how you love everything.

I hope she does visit me in my dreams; but even if she doesn’t, she’s taught me how to dream again – not while I’m asleep (that’s still hit or miss), but while I’m fully awake to opportunities of love right in front of me. I can never thank her enough for that gift.

We used to sing an old Compline (day’s end) prayer with the kids when they were young. I leaned on that again today at Lucy’s death:

“Protect us Lord, as we stay awake,
Watch over us as we sleep,
That awake, we may keep watch with Christ,
And asleep, rest in His peace."

Rest in His peace, ghostly dog of my dreams. You have done well, and I am a better person for your time with us.

Lucy on her first day home with us from the rescue:
Auto-generated description: A dog is lying on the grass looking at a red ball while a person wearing flip-flops is nearby.

Auto-generated description: A child is lying next to a white dog on a large gray dog bed on a dark wooden floor.

Lucy in the shop:
Auto-generated description: A white dog with a red collar stands next to an orange woodworking tool with clamps in a workshop.

Lucy always enduring the attempts at humor via outfits:
Auto-generated description: Two people dressed in festive holiday clothing are joyfully posing with a dog wearing a sweater in front of a decorated Christmas tree with presents underneath. Auto-generated description: A light-colored dog is wearing a red sweater with white pom-poms and a black belt design, standing on a wooden floor indoors. Auto-generated description: A dog wearing blue sunglasses is holding a chocolate-covered circular treat in its mouth.

An apology pic after a not so gentle play date with another dog:
Auto-generated description: A white dog is sitting in front of wooden cabinets wearing a sign that reads, I have impulse control issues. I'm working on it with my therapist. I am sorry.

Lucy welcoming Tumnus to the family:
Auto-generated description: Two dogs, one large and white and the other small and curly-haired, are lying on a wooden floor next to a person sitting cross-legged.