April 28, 2026
"That's the one right there."
Pastor Kelly was pointing at one small puppy, off in a corner, sitting apart from the others. It was only 20 degrees outside. She was shivering, covered in mud. While the other dogs were running, barking, and jumping for attention she was just sitting there, looking sad and forgotten.
That was exactly the dog we’d been wanting, an Airedale terrier. She was the pet we’d been praying about. We named her Tabitha.
For the next several years, she traveled with us everywhere— thousands of miles in a 30-foot motorhome as we ministered full-time across the country. Our daughter was homeschooled on the road. Every night in a different city. Sometimes in areas not as safe as we’d like.
And every night, Tabitha slept right by the door. She never received that assignment from us. She just knew. There were nights she barked, sudden and sharp, at figures moving near the motorhome in the dark. Every time, they moved on.
After years together in that small space, she wasn't just our pet. She was family. Such a sweet, patient dog. And our protector.
Here is a picture of us together:
The Day We Said Goodbye
Then the years caught up with her.
At 11 years old, her hips began to fail. The pain grew slowly, then became so bad it was hard for her to stand. I took her to the veterinarian and they were clear. She had lived a long life. But she was suffering.
Kelly couldn't bring herself to be there. So I went alone. I thought I would be okay. But when the vet gave her the shot and Tabitha collapsed in my arms, I wasn't. I saw the life leave her, and something in me broke open. The grief wiped Kelly and me out for days.
Then, quietly, the Lord spoke to me: Don't go into grief. You have hope. You belong to me. You're going to see her again. I held onto that, but I had no idea what He was about to show me.
What I Saw That Night
It was Wednesday night service. I was in the middle of the closing prayer when everything in front of me opened up like an enormous 8K television screen. I told the congregation calmly: "I'm going into a vision. God bless you."
I knelt down. The room emptied. I didn't notice.
What I saw first was a park. It was vast, beautiful, and beyond anything measurable. Dogs beyond number, as far as I could see.
Then I saw the hill. Sitting on top of it was Tabitha. Fully restored. Every muscle was strong. All the joy and energy of her youth alive in her again.
The Lord Jesus walked up and stood beside her. He pointed to a leash suspended in the air near her collar. "Do you see this?" He said. "These don't exist here." The leash disappeared. An angel threw a tennis ball, what looked like a full mile. Tabitha took off after it faster than any greyhound, across grass more beautiful than anything I had ever seen on this earth.
Later in that same vision, the Holy Spirit took me to my heavenly mansion. Down a hallway. To a reading room I was only allowed to look into, but not enter. There were bookshelves. A fireplace. A beautiful wool rug laid out in front of it. And Tabitha, napping on her side in front of that fire.
I leaned in close enough to read her solid gold collar. There was writing on it, in cursive. It said: Tabitha Brooks. I almost came undone, the love of God hit me so hard. I realized right then I hadn’t lost her. She was kept— named, claimed, and waiting for us.
They’ll Be There Waiting
I have received so many emails from people grieving the loss of a pet. And I want you to know, I understand what you are facing. What I saw in that vision wasn't just for me.
In 1 Cor. 2:9, it says that “eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man the things God has prepared for those who love Him.”
Heaven is more tender, more personal, more complete than most of us have dared to believe. To anyone who has lost a pet, I just want to speak comfort to your heart. You will see them again. They will be there waiting for you.
Watch the full message: "Seeing My Pets in Heaven"