Jack is the best kind of companion. He rides in wagons and tricycle baskets and runs beside her down the sidewalk, on forest trails, and along the beach. Adorning bonnets and sweaters, he patiently sits at tea parties, anxiously awaiting snacks and teacups of water. His favorite time to be near her though is right below her feet during mealtime. At night, like a real friend he hops up onto the foot of her bed and sleeps beside her.

Our family always says that Jack chose us. When we visited the animal shelter to have some quality time with the dogs, Jack faked a broken leg so that we would pick him up and carry him like a baby for his walk. At that moment, I knew there was something special about Jack. When we put him back onto the concrete floor and closed the gate, the sadness in his eyes made me feel like I couldn't leave him there, that he belonged with us. As I was up at the front desk with two of my boys to inquire about Jack, two workers from the shelter came running in.

Jack had apparently pounded on the gate with his tiny body and managed to escape in a desperate attempt to find us. We ran to the row of cages to see Jack dodging workers like a miniature football player, headed for the touchdown. After that, how could we not bring him home?

Jack has been an unexpected gift for our family. He is loyal and gentle and fiercely protective. He is my baby, my daughter's best friend, and an important part of our family. And... as he insists, he will continue to be a part of our photo stories as well.

Now that I think about it, the boulders and chains of societal expectations of how we must behave or feel were released and comfort was found in the simple magic that our home provided for us. Priorities in life shifted and we became increasingly grateful for the things we had instead of carrying the pressure of wanting more, doing more.

Although seasons and weather changed and fluctuated outside of our home, it was the quiet solitude among the familiar walls that offered the most comfort and made us feel more whole. I was forced to ask myself in a time of crisis, how I wanted us to live, how I wanted us to change. As we would return from our escapes back into the hustle and bustle of tall buildings and poured concrete, to blaring horns and the clicking of heels that carried expensive handbags, we watched the stark contrast of people and how they interacted with the world outside of our home.

We watched the superficial competitions and efforts to build things taller and bigger, to leave one’s mark on the world, and to find fulfillment. Yet I was finally able to identify the ironic emptiness that may leave one. I learned that to leave a mark, it is in the connections we create with others. We still need each other, but we must find a balance and we must recognize all the gifts and opportunities that the world has already presented us with.