You'll just know.

The service was over, and we stood turning wires into small lassoes.

“Where are you in your relationship with Jesus, Natalie?” Wow. Way to be straight-forward, I suppose.

I think (and hope) that I give the same answer every time. It’s a question I hadn’t thought of much, but the past few months, I’ve been asked some variation of it more times than I have my whole life.

My answer begins with “I don’t know,” then I go on to say, “There’s just some things that are little walls that I can’t seem to get over.” And it goes from there.

The inquirer always seems to nod and agree and say interludes like, “Yeah, I was like that before I was a Christian,” or “I used to think that too,” but they never seem to be able to explain what changed their minds.

“You can’t force the belief. God will reveal himself to you, and you’ll just know.”

I second-guess everything. I think every option is the right option, and I run my life based on a wheel-of-fortune spin of sparkly emotions. I try not to—I know that you can’t build a house on sand, but that’s never stopped me from trying.

Since I moved to Seattle, I started frequenting the Animal Shelter on 15^th. It was within walking distance of my old apartment and still so with my new place. The past few weeks or so, my searching got more serious. Every weekend, Laura and I would walk in and look at each dog.

“What about this one?” Every visit, I would get attached to one dog. I would think that was it, but when I left, I didn’t think about it too much anymore. Like how it’s so easy to believe in god in church, but on Monday morning, it’s like the service never happened.

Finally, I expanded my search to online. I created a list of potentials and sent it to my sister. Then I applied for one of the dogs, just on a whim. She wasn’t at all what I had in mind, but I felt drawn to her for some reason.

A few days later, the denial email came—she was in a trial adoption with another family.

That night, I searched again. I added one dog to my list and crossed off nearly all of the others. I applied for that one dog. Her description sounded too good—she seemed like everything I was looking for.

The rescue emailed me—come visit tomorrow. I took a half-day off work and drove to Auburn on the first day of a long streak of sun. Laura’s dog, Chipper, sat on my lap and slept as we made our way through the traffic—out of the city and into the winding rural woodlands.

You know that excited feeling where you can’t contain yourself because you’re so hopeful and your chest feels light and giddy? Yeah, I didn’t feel that at all. I was so excited that my whole insides just stopped. I was trying not to get my hopes up, and the result was this surreal sort of half-consciousness.

I looked at Pickle and wondered. I was wary at first because she was a stranger to me, and she seemed very attached to her shelter mother, and she wanted to play rough with Chipper. As I stood and talked to the adoption woman and watched the two dogs interact, I knew that Pickle would be going home with me.

The whole car ride, Chipper slept on my lap and Pickle slept in the passenger seat. I couldn’t stop smiling and had a feeling of completeness. I thought about how all of the other dogs at the shelter had only appealed to me because I wanted them to—Pickle came through because she is it—she is the right dog for me.

I would say more about her, but that’s not what this is about.

In college, Laura, Katlin, and I would have “girl nights” where we would watch TV shows like “Say ‘Yes’ to the Dress.” I was always quite insensitive about it (still am), saying “Oh my gosh; it’s just a dress. Why cry over a dress?” (Yeah, yeah symbolism and all that; remind me if I ever get married.)

The whole point, though, was that I just couldn’t understand what it meant to find “the one”: the man, the dress, the day. None of it made sense, and it still doesn’t, but I’m starting to at least get a clearer picture.

When the “right” thing happens, you just know.

So maybe god isn’t to be found in a puppy or a wedding dress, but I’m trying to keep trusting that when he “reveals himself to me,” I will know.