I was preaching at a church in La Vergne, Tenn., recently, to a working-class congregation with a diverse membership of whites, Blacks, and Hispanics. Great bunch of folks.

After a luncheon, I was walking back to my car. A tiny chihuahua emerged from around the corner of the building. She might've weighed five pounds soaking wet. No collar or tags. She looked hungry. I did what any decent person would do--I went back into the kitchen and put some pulled pork on a plate.

She tucked into it like she hadn't eaten in a week.

It kills me to see any of these little creatures suffer.

I have always enjoyed the vocal stylings of Canadian chanteuse Sarah McLachlan, even enough to sit outside in the scorching northwest Arkansas summer heat to watch her in concert. But after years of her haunting

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