"Something tells me Marianne Williamson did not expect me to tell her a story about a dog when she asked if anybody had anything to say about relationships."

Larissa Kaye Batten (LLbeara@aol.com) writes "Soul Food," a weekly column for SpiritSite.com.

Larissa is a prolific writer whose work has been featured in several publications.

When I am an old woman – rocking on my handmade rocking chair next to my sweet old husband Danny with our dogs and love gathered all around us – I will remember the day Marianne Williamson called on me to say a few words at one of her lectures on relationships.

I will remember how I convinced myself that Marianne Williamson could not possibly have called on me when there were hundreds of people crammed next to me in the audience.

I will remember how I stood up and looked down at my friend to ask her if I really had been given the green light to speak.

I will remember how a young woman handed me the microphone.

I will remember how awkward I felt hearing my own voice boom out of the largest speakers that had ever contained my voice.

And I will remember most of all what I said to Marianne Williamson and her audience about relationships.

Rocking in my chair years into the future, I will tell Danny and our dogs the story once again. I will not remember the story word for word, and Danny will be snoring by the end as though he is punctuating my story with sleepy sighs.

"Honey, do you remember that time I got up in front of hundreds of people and told Marianne Williamson the story about Miracle the dog?"

"Yes, honey," he will say because he has always been good at listening to me repeat myself.

Even the dogs will listen to me again. The dogs, of course, will enjoy the story about Miracle more than anyone.

Something tells me Marianne Williamson did not expect me to tell her a story about a dog when she asked if anybody had anything to say about relationships.

But Marianne listened to my story anyway.

Just like my Danny and our dogs for all these years since.

I planned to go to the beach for a walk the day I met Miracle.

God told me to go home. I wanted to go to the beach. I went home anyway. I would save the beach for any other day. I decided to listen to God.

On my way home, I saw a beautiful, black dog in the middle of the road. It had just been hit. People were scattered around in the rain and gray helping in any way they could.

A few men pulled the dog out of the road. People spoke to one another. Some just looked. Others lent their telephone. We used my coat to cover the dog.

I talked to the dog and prayed with the dog. I called my husband and asked him to call the police and the nearest animal doctor.

Too much time passed, and I knew we had to bring the dog somewhere. I found a stranger and asked him if he was an animal lover. He said yes.

"Good," I said. I handed him my keys. "Will you drive us to the animal hospital?"

He would, and he did.

I sat in the backseat of my car with a stranger driving.

The policeman gave us directions.

The dog bled onto me. He bled from his mouth and oozed from his head.

I held the dog in my arms and prayed with him and spoke to him and prayed with him and for him.

We brought the dog to the hospital and left him there. I sobbed so incredibly hard when I came home. I sobbed so hard for the dog, for seeing him in his pain and his blood.

I named the dog Miracle and visited him over and over again for months. I prayed with him, and I prayed for him. He tested positive for a life-threatening disease. He was treated for the disease.

I prayed with him, and I prayed for him some more. I asked others to pray for him. I asked people around the country. I got on the Internet and asked people to pray for Miracle the dog.

And the day I told Marianne Williamson and her audience the story of Miracle the dog, she asked her audience to pray for him.

Miracle survived the accident. Miracle survived his life-threatening disease.

The dog who had bled and oozed into my arms never lost his trust and faith in the world.

Slowly by slowly, Miracle learned to look into my eyes when I came to visit.

Slowly, his wounds healed.

His hair grew healthy again.

His laughter came back to his eyes.

He learned how to sit and how to lie down.

He learned to roll over for a treat to avoid wasting time with sitting and lying down.

He regained his strength and gained the weight he needed.

He trusted me.

After some time, he started to roll over with joy when I came to see him. His tail would wag and wag with happiness.

Miracle taught me about trust. He taught me that the world could go all wrong, and still he could trust.

He could have no home and no family, but still know how to love and have faith.

But Miracle still needed a home. I had three dogs already. A full house. Miracle needed another miracle.

I became so personally wrapped up in finding Miracle a home that I was unable to find him one. I had put myself in charge when there was a higher power who needed to be in charge.

And then I surrendered. I awoke one morning and let go. I prayed to my higher power to give me a sign if he wanted me to help find Miracle a home.

A new friend called that evening to tell Danny and me her dog had been put to sleep that weekend.

I called our friend and asked if she would consider adopting a dog named Miracle.

Danny is snoring by this part of the story. He has heard it so many times before.

Marianne Williamson, however, never heard the end to the story about Miracle the dog.

But knowing Marianne, she already knows what happened. After all, Marianne believes in miracles.

So do I.

Our friend Carol and Miracle the Dog have fallen head over heels in love with each other.

The joy in their hearts and their eyes reflects the light in my own.

One day when I am rocking in my handmade chair next to my husband Danny and all of our dogs, I will remember this story once more.

But then again, how could I forget?

Miracles are real.

All I need to do is open my heart to them.

I told Marianne Williamson and her audience that day that Miracle the Dog had taught me more about love and trust and relationships than anyone in a long time.

A friend told me once that I should always be careful when I am talking to someone because I might be talking to an angel.

I could have thought of Miracle as just another dog lying in the road waiting to die.

But I didn’t talk to Miracle like just another animal waiting to die.

After all, I might have been talking to an angel.

The whole wide world is full of love and miracles.

Thank you Miracle the Dog for reminding me.

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