Through My Eyes by Tim Tebow Page A

real, authentic, and come from the heart. I still get nervous when I speak, but even so I would rather not have notes and instead simply have prepared enough to know the material I want to share, I might have several words jotted down to remind me of points I want to make, and I’ve found that being slightly nervous actually helps me, in that it boosts my energy and passion.
    Full days. Packed classrooms and auditoriums, and being worn out at the end of the day. That’s what our trips back to the Philippines were like. But we loved it, and I came back from my first mission trip to the Philippines renewed to fulfill my purpose of living for the Lord, whether here or there and in whatever place, setting, or game I found myself in.
    Life was good back in the States, too, when we returned from the Philippines. For the most part, life was quiet for us other than my schooling and studying with Mom, working, and sports.
    One of the hardest parts about living at the apartment during the week was that it meant I was apart from Otis, our beloved dog given to us by Peter’s friend Philip Hurst. We’d always had a number of dogs on the farm, but many of them didn’t survive—or didn’t choose to stay—on the farm. Otis set himself apart in many ways, including longevity. We got Otis when I was around five years old, so he and I had plenty of time to develop a trusted and close bond.
    Otis was loyal and protective, traits you’d hope to find in a dog. If you came by, you would see blonde-haired Otis, who looked to be a mixture of half Lab and half golden retriever, walking down our long dirt driveway at the farm and toward the house, keeping my mom company . . . and safe. He would wander the property, looking for threats to the family, including snakes. When he found one, he would neutralize the threat and then, proudly, leave the dead snake, I suppose, for us to see that he was keeping us safe. He must have done this a hundred times.
    Once at a birthday party, we were all swimming in the pool, when all of a sudden one of us spotted a small snake in the pool at about the same time that Otis did. He beat us to it, thank goodness, and leapt into the pool, grabbed the snake in his mouth, and made sure it would never again end up in any pool. Then he climbed out with the now lifeless snake draped out of his mouth, carried it off, and laid it to its final rest in our backyard.
    Otis met every visitor who came onto our property, whether invited or not, and usually before anyone else in the family had the chance. Our guests or any delivery truck or our large-animal vet—anyone and everyone—were all escorted—chased, really—as they came up the drive toward the house. He was always keeping an eye out for us and on all others.
    For my birthday weekend in August that year I went with my brother Robby and Kevin to Disney World. When we returned home after the weekend, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something seemed different as we drove onto the property. My mom met us as we pulled up in front of the house.
    “I haven’t seen Otis all weekend.” She seemed pretty unsettled.
    That’s what it was. That’s what seemed out of place. Otis (the “first greeter”) always greeted everyone on their arrival, always excited to see friends and strangers—even though he was too trusting of strangers until they showed him they couldn’t be trusted. That’s what was different. He wasn’t there when we pulled up. And now Mom was telling us he seemed to have been gone all weekend? It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for him to take off for several hours, but never several days. We were concerned, so we all headed out to find him.
    Getting more upset by the minute, I took off on foot, running around the farm, then decided that the car would be faster. So I got in and started driving around the property, calling as loud as I could, over and over again, for Otis. We covered the length and breadth of the property as well as some