From Blue to Thor and Joy

By Pam Kumpe

Across from the shelter, a weathered van sat with both side doors rolled open. A black dog stood at the entrance like a faithful guard, though his open mouth and wagging tail made him look more like he was welcoming visitors than warning them away.

Inside, a short, stocky older man covered in faded tattoos looked up at me.

“Hi, I’m Pam.” I smiled. “Would you like a cold Gatorade?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I don’t drink those sports drinks.”

I held one up, beads of condensation sliding down the bottle. “This one has your name on it. It could cool you off in a hurry.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That cold?”

“So cold it’ll make you forget this Texas heat for a minute.”

A grin finally appeared.

“Well… all right. I reckon I’ll give it a try.”

He reached over the dog to take the bottle. “Thank you. This heat’s been wearing me out.”

As he twisted off the cap, I noticed a neatly made bed tucked into the back of the van. A few shelves held everyday necessities. It wasn’t much, but it was home—for him and his dog—as they wandered from one highway to the next.

The dog leaned against my leg.

“Who’s this handsome fellow?”

“Thor,” the man said proudly. “His name means thunder.”

“He doesn’t seem much like thunder.”

Blue chuckled. “No. He’s mostly sunshine.”

“I can believe that.”

As if joining the conversation, Thor lowered his head into a food bowl and proudly emerged with a worn tennis ball clamped between his teeth. He nudged it toward me.

Blue laughed. “Go ahead. Throw it. He’ll catch it before it ever hits the ground.”

I tossed it across the grass where it did bounce, but it was my throw that made that happen.

Thor exploded after it, soaring through the air with surprising grace. Seconds later he was back, placing the ball neatly at my feet, ready for another round.

Again.

And again.

For the next several minutes, the three of us forgot about the blazing head in the afternoon. We simply laughed while one happy dog chased the same ball with the same enthusiasm every single time.

“He’s amazing,” I said, rubbing Thor’s ears. “I could fall in love with this dog.”

“He’s my best buddy,” Blue replied. “We travel all over the country together. I get my Social Security check every month, and when money runs low, we stop near shelters for a few days. Then we’re back on the road. Mississippi’s our next stop.”

I looked toward the group gathered beneath a nearby tree.

“They warned me your dog might bite.”

Blue smiled.

“He only bites people who give him a reason.”

“So…I passed the test?”

“You scratched his ears before you asked anything from him. Dogs notice things like that.”

I laughed. “I’m not always easy to figure out.”

“Neither am I,” he said. “I just love the road. I guess I always will.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out one of the Scripture cards I carry.

“I’d like you to have this.”

He read it aloud.

“Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.”—Psalm 37:3

He slipped the card carefully into his pocket.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be praying the Lord watches over both of you.”

Before I could turn away, Blue stopped me.

“Would you pray for Thor and me right now?”

“I’d be honored.”

So beside an old van, with one hand resting on a black dog whose tail never seemed to stop wagging, I prayed that God would protect them, guide every mile ahead, and remind them they were never traveling alone.

Walking back to my car, I couldn’t help counting my own blessings—a bed waiting at home, air conditioning, a refrigerator full of food, and a little miniature schnauzer, Annie Grace, who would soon greet me at the door.

Then I noticed the slobber covering my left hand. I laughed because maybe that’s what kindness looks like sometimes. A little messy.

The Lord has a way of reminding me that contentment isn’t found in how much we own but in recognizing His goodness wherever we are. Blue had a van. Thor had a tennis ball. Together, they had joy.

I want to keep noticing the lonely hearts God places within my reach. I want to keep tossing kindness the way I tossed that tennis ball, trusting Him with whatever comes next.

And if I come away with a little dog drool on my hand every now and then ...well, that’s probably a small price to pay for a lesson I’ll never forget.