Bert’s Story, My Story

When I returned to my childhood home after twenty years, I expected a flood of memories. What I found was complete devastation. The house on High Country Lane, the one that I depended on while growing-up, the one I ran away from was now broken down, beyond squalor and forgotten. But out in the weeds, we found him.. a small, mangy dog, terrified and alone.

He lived under the house, hiding from people, hiding from life. His only protection was the darkness. When I first saw him, I thought: this dog has survived here, but he definitely hasn’t lived.

It took time, patience, and a little food before we could get close enough to grab him. And the moment we did, his life changed. We put him in the car, and without knowing it, he began the greatest adventure of his life. His name is Yobert. Bert.

At first, we didn’t know how to help him. He was covered in cockleburs, covered in filth, his hair so matted and caked you couldn’t even tell what was underneath. We tried hosing him off, we tried cutting away the knots, but we couldn’t make a dent. Eventually, we had to take him to the vet to be completely shaved down, stripped of everything that had kept him safe and also held him captive.

And that’s when it hit me.

Because Bert’s story is my story.

I didn’t realize when I left Forney how much I had caked on me. I didn’t realize how many cockleburs had buried themselves deep in my soul. I didn’t know that year after year, decision after decision, I had been covering up the light I was born with. Just like Bert, hiding under that house, I had learned how to survive in the dark. But I wasn’t really living.

Coming back twenty years later showed me the truth. I saw in him what had also been true for me: that restoration is possible. That what is broken and bound can be made new.

Bert had to be shaved clean before his true self, this bright 10 month old puppy could be seen. 

And so did I. Through God’s grace, and the hard, sacred work of healing at a soul level, I’ve been washed clean. It didn’t happen all at once. It took time, trust, honesty, and the willingness to be undone and remade. But slowly, gently, layer by layer, I was restored. Reborn.

If Bert had stayed in that environment, covered up in the weeds, the mud, the fear, he would have lived and died under that house, hiding and unseen. And if I had stayed in my old environment, I would’ve lived the same way: caked, hidden, afraid to shine.

But here’s the miracle: Bert is moving towards freedom. To a new life. A new home. A new path. A new coat of beautiful fur. His eyes are bright, he’s all clean, and joy is bouncing out of him like he’s had it bottled up all along waiting…hoping.

Bert may be the dog we rescued from High Country Lane, but the truth is, he rescued something in me too. He reminded me of who I was beneath the layers, and who I am today at my core. Through this mangy little dog, I remembered that I shine in this world not by because of where I came from, not out of my own strength, but through the deep, cleansing grace of my Heavenly Father.

And maybe that’s the full circle I didn’t expect when I pulled into that old driveway twenty years later.

It wasn’t just about seeing what had fallen apart, it was about discovering what was still standing. 

Because even in the ruins of a broken home, even under the rotting boards where fear had taken root, there was life waiting. There was Bert. And there was me.

What looked like the end was actually the beginning.

Because we are all, in some way, being gently led out from under the house, out of shame, out of survival, out of the old ways of being and into a new life. One shaped not by what we’ve endured, but by the love that finds us anyway.

That’s the miracle. That’s the message.

And that’s the Grace I’ll never stop writing about.

With gratitude, 

Deanna