Grace.  We all want more of it, don’t we?  We all want people to think of us as a person with grace of all kinds — grace of movement, grace of spirit, and grace of living.  I have been luckier than most — because for the last 10 years, I have had Grace living in my house, teaching me daily all the possible lessons that you might think about when you think of living with grace (and living with Grace).

As I write this, we are walking through the final days of our little Grace’s life.  And by the time I make this public so that you can read it as you are now, she will be gone from this planet.  I thought, however, that the truly grace-filled thing to do would be to think about all that I have learned from living with her and from dying with her while she is still here, sitting at my feet, warm and soft as she has always been–not as a memory but as the real  living presence of God’s gift that she has been to me these years.

I know, it is a sometimes a cliché to say that I learned everything that I needed to know about life from a five-year-old, or from a puppy, or from a kitten, or from, well, whatever. Clichés, however, like stereotypes, have their foundation in reality.  And the commonality of experience that forges something into a stereotype can be viewed negatively or it can be seen as one of the great threads that binds us all together in this incarnated experience we call life.  Knowing all that, I still must say to you today, I learned more from Grace about grace than I could have learned from any other relationship.

Gracie is not your usual beagle (I’ve included one of my favorite pictures so that you can see her in her prime).  Yes, I know that everyone thinks that their child or their dog is exceptional.  I happen to agree — the person, the companion that you love is exceptional.  They are exceptional in your eyes, they have come into your life to love you and to teach you in exceptional, individual ways.  They are, indeed, God’s special gift to you in your life.  You bet that they are exceptional, in the best meaning of the word.  Exceptional doesn’t have to mean “better than” in the wider sense; it just means the best fit for you.

And so, when I tell you that Gracie is a perfect girl, smart, beautiful, and talented (I mean, how many beagles jump through hoops and find hidden treats under cups on command?), that is only part of her story and, in truth, those are not the things that make her exceptional.  What makes her an exceptional presence in my life is the way that she could stay calm in almost any situation, her extreme ability to focus on the object of her affection, her faithfulness and her loyalty to those she loved.  What makes Gracie most exceptional is the way in which she calls me to the highest expression of my Self — the ways in which she teaches me to be slow to anger, to laugh off the little irritations in life, and to live my life fully, each and every day. Gracie has thrown my heart wide open in ways unimaginable, and I do not regret it, despite the many ways that heart hurts right now.  She taught me patience (truly, you have to see her try to catch a fly FOR HOURS AND HOURS),  and most of all, she taught me the meaning of God’s grace in my life, that, as my Methodist friends might say, incredible love and mercy that flows to us, simply because God wants us to have it.

She lives that way to these very last moments, even through this terrible time when her life has become more and more narrow, and as our days together grow shorter and fewer.  The tumor on her liver, bit by bit, is robbing her of her energy, making it impossible for her to walk to her favorite park or even across the room, making it hard for her to breathe.  It has even begun to take from her her most precious thing — her appetite for all things edible, especially her favorite food, roast duck.  And yet, even during these last days, in fleeting moments of engagement, when she knows you are near, the kisses and the closeness come to life, just like always.  Even in the process of dying, the love and mercy flow from her, not because I deserve it, but because that has always been her exceptional purpose in my life.  That is and will always be the true meaning of grace, and of Grace.

Postlude: I had a lot of trouble imagining what it would be like to walk around the corner of a room and find emptiness instead of that beautiful furry presence looking at me with a great sense of expectation.  And the reality of it, now that she is gone, is even worse than I imagined.  It has now been a week since we had to say goodbye, and I still cannot quite see a way forward without that calm and steadying presence beside me as I write and read and cook; I wonder how I will ever be able to get myself to take a walk in the woods again.  I know, however, that I will figure it out, because, above all things, I will honor her little life by living mine as she would want me to live it — full to the brim with every kind of grace, fully aware of the grace that has and always will be mine, even after she is gone.

May I always remember the gentle touch of her paw on my life and the beautiful ways in which she taught me, through her love, about God’s love.  Amen.