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I didn’t get into fights when I was a child. I never picked on other kids. I was taught to walk away from trouble if I could. So I almost never had physical confrontations.

But there was one Sunday night — when I was about 12 or 13 — when a small-town bully left me no choice. I hadn’t thought about that confrontation for a long time, but I’ve dreamed about it repeatedly lately. I’m not sure what my unconscious is trying to tell me.

I was spending a week with a friend who lived an hour or so from my home. His father was the pastor of Oakman Central Baptist Church in the tiny town of Oakman, Ala., so I had been to the church several times that week. And there was a bully there — a slightly older kid — who seemed to think it was great sport to pick on the visitor.

Sunday night was going to be my last time at the church for that week. I was going home the next day. And it was after the Sunday night service — on the front porch of the church — when the bully pushed me one last time.

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No one will have any secret
No one will tell any lie
Things that we’ve done in hiding
Are gonna reach to the highest sky
— Annie Herring, “No One Will Have a Secret”

A friend of mine almost died Sunday. He was just finishing work when he knew something wasn’t right. He drove to an emergency room, where he passed out as he had a heart attack.

Doctors told him later that he was clinically dead for at least two minutes — and the work to revive him went on for nine minutes before it was clear he would live. If he had been anywhere other than a hospital, he would have died.

My friend’s experience reminded me of some study I’ve been doing lately about people who go through “near-death experiences.” One of the common features I’ve heard from the people who describe such experiences is of being in a place where everybody knows what they have ever done or thought or said.

In many of these stories, the subjects say that the people to whom they had lied or hidden things in life were completely aware of everything. There were no secrets — and they found themselves experiencing the pain they caused for other people.

In the weeks since I first encountered these stories — some in books and some on YouTube videos — I’ve found myself wondering uncomfortably how I would feel if this is really true.

I’ve realized that I would be ashamed if you knew many of my secret thoughts.

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Lucy made a new friend Sunday afternoon. By the time she and I went to a park near our house, it was late in the evening and most families were already leaving. But one little girl was running around by herself as her mother read a book on a bench.

“What’s your doggie’s name?” the girl asked shyly as we walked near them. I told her Lucy’s name and the girl was delighted.

“Lucy?!” she repeated with excitement. “That’s my name, too. She has my name. She’s just like me!”

The girl asked if she could pet Lucy. After we got her mother’s permission, I showed her how to approach Lucy and how to pet her gently. I explained that Lucy is scared of some people, but that she loves attention from kind people.

Lucy the girl sat on the grass in front of Lucy the dog and faced her. She gently stroked her furry neck and head. As she grew accustomed to her — and Lucy accepted her enough to lick her arm — the girl talked quietly to her, as she might to a best friend.

I held the leash and talked with the mother as our Lucys became friends.

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