(Faith Series Part 2)

There are moments in life when silence isn’t golden — it’s survival.

After giving up on God, the breakdown, the escape into “the world,” and then crashing back home thanks to a global pandemic, I entered what I now call my hermit era.

I wanted out.

Out of noise. Out of expectations. Out of people asking me how I really was.

So I unplugged.
From community. From commitments. From anything that required emotional investment.

I didn’t want small talk. I didn’t want deep talk. Honestly, I didn’t want any talk.

Because in my experience, being around people ends one of two ways: I disappoint them, or they disappoint me.

And as a people pleaser with an overthinking habit? That combo is deadly. Sleepless nights replaying every tiny conversation. Wondering if I said something wrong. Exhausting.

But animals?
Animals were safe.
Especially dogs

They don’t judge. They don’t ask questions. They don’t care if you cried in the grocery store or still don’t have a five-year plan. They just… exist with you. And sometimes, that’s everything.

The Therapy Dog Detour

In my search for purpose (and dogs), I discovered canine therapy.

Love at first click.

Dogs + helping people = a solid plan.

Also: “helping people” was a convenient cover story for what I really wanted — an excuse to hang out with dogs and avoid too much human interaction.

But then I saw the fine print.
“Must have a degree in psychology.”

Cool cool cool. That’s a no from me.

Back to Google.

That’s when I found Canines for Christ. A U.S.-based group where people and their dogs visit hospitals, schools, shelters, even funeral homes. The mission? Bring comfort. Listen. Pray. And — when possible — share the Gospel.

The Gospel part? Not sure.
But spending my days with Chuck (my dog)? Absolutely.

So I sent in a little video of us. Didn’t expect anything.

Then came the email.

Tears welled up as I stared at the screen: They wanted to interview me. Even invited me to visit.

Me. Working with dogs. Finally.

Blessings, Barks, and Panic

The team welcomed me right away. Warmth. Faith. Amazing dogs. It felt like a community I didn’t know I needed.

I admired their faith. The way they spoke about God like He was right there in the room. That kind of relationship with Him? I didn’t think it was for me.

Still, I joined the visits. And it was beautiful. Watching people light up when they saw the dogs. Listening. Comforting. Even praying.

Then came the moment.

One of the leaders turned to me:
“Would you like to pray?”

Excuse me, what?

I panicked. Tried to dodge: “Oh, I only pray in German.” (I know, smooth.)

Their response? “So?”

Great.

So I prayed. Out loud. Through clenched teeth. Stumbling through words that felt scripted. But inside, I whispered to God: Well, here we are again.

No angel choirs. No sudden clarity.

But I did feel something.
The urge to go home — even though my travel plans weren’t done.

The Whisper I Didn’t Expect

Back in Paraguay, I started visits with Chuck. First stop: a local school.

I thought it would grow into something big. Maybe even my full-time calling.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

Instead of joy, I felt drained. It was forced. Something was still missing.

But quietly, underneath all that frustration, a shift had started.

I started looking for a church. Somewhere to belong.

I tried a few. Watched some online. But none felt like home.

So I kept it simple. Short prayers. Honest ones. Some days it was just a single line: “God, please show me where I belong.”

Nothing dramatic. But through Chuck, the silence had already cracked open. And once the silence broke, prayer found its way back.

Then one Sunday, my mom asked, “Want to come to Concordia Church with me?”

Now, saying no to my mom? Almost impossible. Harder than saying no to cake.

So I went. (And yes, rolled my eyes at her excitement.)

But the moment I stepped inside those church doors, I heard it.

A gentle whisper.

Welcome home.

From Chuck to Church (Who Saw That Coming?)

From that day, things began to shift.

Was it possible that God had used Canines for Christ and Chuck to do canine therapy on me?

Because suddenly, I looked forward to Sundays. The sermons filled me. The music gave me goosebumps. The people — even the ones I barely spoke to — felt like a community I was slowly slipping into. And I wanted more.

I can’t fully explain it.

But God kept finding ways to break through.
Through quiet prayers.
Through dogs who didn’t ask questions.
Through people.

To Be Continued…

Now, if this were the perfect story, you’d expect me to say everything magically fell into place. That I floated through life on a cloud of peace, humming worship songs while sipping green smoothies

Yeah… no.

The whisper didn’t come with a reset button. Life didn’t suddenly line up.

But God was working.
With me.
Through me.
On me.

And how that unfolds?

That’s for Part 3. See you next week!