Things are sad at my house this week. Our 11-year-old golden retriever died this past Monday. Copper came to our family as a gift from friends and proved to be a gift of God’s grace. When he joined our family, our oldest was eight years old, and our youngest was two years old. With such a young family, Dana had a lot on her plate. She was home with the children, and a new dog would only add to her responsibilities. Because of this, I felt that the decision of when (or if) we would get a new dog should be hers. It had been a while since our first dog had died, and other than saying she wanted our next dog to be a small breed we had talked very little about getting anything new.

Then one day, Dana called me at church to tell me that the Hancock’s had offered to give us a dog. Mike and Cathy Hancock were members of our church and good friends. I had been to their home many times and knew that the dogs that they bred were beautiful golden retrievers and that the father was large for the breed. A little surprised that Dana was considering having another large breed dog, I asked if she was sure she wanted a golden retriever. She countered that she thought a new dog would be good for the children. I was happily surprised both by the gift of the Hancocks and the receptiveness of Dana.

I have a cheap little screwdriver in my desk drawer. Calling it cheap is likely too gracious of a word. It has the form of a miniature screwdriver but not the ability to perform the task of such a tool. This little screwdriver is not an effective tool for anything. It is cheaply made, and if it were to be used for anything that caused real pressure to be applied, it would likely break or bend under the strain. So why do I keep it in my desk drawer? I keep it because of who gave it to me.