Loving Him (Him Series Book 1)

One

When I was four years old my parents took me to a pop-up carnival, and I was over the moon because I'd spent the day having a blast on rides, playing games, and eating cotton candy and snow cones. My dad must have thrown at least a couple dozen hoops before he finally landed one around a bottle and won a huge, sparkly red balloon.

We were making our way toward our car when I saw a little boy crying. He looked so sad that my happiness vanished, and I felt like crying with him. Tears slipped down the boy's chin and onto his green and white striped shirt as he stared hopelessly toward the sky at a blue balloon that was heading for heaven. I didn't stop to think before handing him my own treasured balloon. For a second he seemed stunned, and then he smiled at me.

The boy's mom looked relieved and thanked me for the balloon and my kindness. My own parents looked concerned. I guess they were worried I'd regret giving away the prized balloon, but I never did. It still warms my heart to remember the little boy clutching my balloon in his fist and looking back at me with a grateful smile.

Two years later I was playing at the park when I saw some kids throwing rocks at something they were circled around. I ran straight for them and pushed my way into the circle and saw a big dog crouched down, his brownish-black fur matted with dirt and rocks. His head was buried pitifully in a patch of clovers as if trying to hide, and his eyes were closed.

"Leave him alone!" I cried, moving between the kids and the scared dog. "My dad is a police officer. I'll call him if you don't go."

"Maybe we should use you as target practice instead," one of the boys laughed. His friends laughed too.

"Good one Austin! Neither one of them has any friends," a girl said maliciously. I'd seen her before at school, and I think her name was Claudia. "Both of you are losers!" Claudia shouted.

"We are not! I'm a child of God," I shot back, echoing my mother's words.

"They are losers," Austin agreed, but he looked uncertain. "Let's go," he told his friends.

I stood my ground until they were gone, my heart thundering wildly against my chest. Relieved, I turned back to the trembling dog and found his big, brown eyes fastened on me. I took a step toward him and the dog cowered.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you."

He didn't look like he believed me, and I guess I understood the mistrust. Daring a step closer, I crouched and slowly reached my hand out for him to sniff. Then I gently stroked his head.

When Mama said it was time to go, I wanted to cry. I wasn't sure the threat of calling my dad would be enough to stop the kids from picking on the dog once I was gone. I wished I could take him with me, but I knew I couldn't ask Mama. She'd been sick a lot lately and Dad was working extra jobs to pay bills. Even at six, I knew dogs cost a lot of money. Sadly, I left my new friend.

The next morning I heard my dad yelling, "Shoo!"

I ran out the front door and onto the porch and saw my dog lying loyally beside one of the shoes I'd worn to the park the day before.

"Lucy get back!" my dad shouted, jumping forward and shoving me behind him.

"It's okay Dad. He's my friend."

I told my dad the story of how I'd met the dog. He talked it over with my mom and I was surprised and overjoyed that they let me keep the dog. I named him Jack, and he followed me everywhere he was allowed, slept in my bed, and became my very best friend.

Mama said Jesus had given me the gift of empathy because I could feel the sadness of others like it was my own. She said I'd have to be careful not to drown in an ocean of someone else's pain.