few days ago my dog ran away. I had let him into the backyard to do his business, and a few minutes later when he didn't come back I thought it was eerily quiet. I stepped outside and called for him, and couldn't even hear his tags jingling. Dark was just falling.

Right then M. called and I told him what was happening, and he immediately jumped in the car and drove home from Berkeley. He's had pets go missing before. As soon as he got home he sprung into action: running through the woods in the dark, searching our road by bicycle, and finally driving up into the hills towards Mount Tamalpais. It was amazing to watch him apply himself fully to the task, but each time he returned home to regroup he came back empty-handed.

Finally we got the call. My dog had probably chased something out of the yard, wiggling under the gate. When he got his bearings he probably found himself not quite sure where home was, yet still on the familiar terrain of his usual walk loop. He walked himself down into town, where he was picked up on the main road by a truly angelic couple who called the number on his tag.

Barring any other factors, the fact is that I've experienced too many miracles in my relatively short life not to believe in God. And even when my dog was missing and there were no encouraging signs, deep inside I felt the calm of faith, like the deep still water underneath the churning surface. Sometimes I get a feeling that one day something terrible might happen and my faith will be truly tested. But in the meantime I'll just keep on feeling grateful.