When I went on a mission trip to Honduras a few years ago, everyone in my group broke down at one point or another from the emotions they felt about the children and the conditions they were living in.

Everyone, except me.

I remember thinking something was wrong with me… why wasn’t I moved to tears like everyone else?  Of course, I felt bad for them and was moved by their actions, like the fact that each held tightly to their shoebox filled with treasures and waited to look in it until they got home, instead of ripping into it the moment they got their hands on it (like most kids in America would).

And I had meaningful moments of my own with several children, despite the language barrier.  There was the little girl that latched on to me the first day, who would go play and then come back and stand by my leg, over and over.  Or the two little girls who played a game of bat the balloon with me for a good 30 minutes.

But when it came down to the raw emotion of it all, I just never was moved to tears.

That is until the day I broke down over the dogs.  Yes, the dogs.

They were running around loose everywhere, with no real place to call home.  Most of them were skin and bones and as if that wasn’t sad enough, people would shew them away by kicking them or throwing stones at them.  It was a far cry from the treatment of dogs that I was used to back in suburban U.S.A.

That afternoon, I had seen one dog seemingly “give up” and lay down in the middle of the field we were on.  Even though there was all kinds of activity between us handing out shoeboxes and the kids running around playing, the dog just laid there, ever so still.  One of the men in our group said something like he thought that dog was probably laying down to die… and I lost it.

I walked behind one of our vans and just cried.  My heart was literally ripping for them and I felt so helpless.  When the man from our group came around the van and saw me crying, he asked if I was okay and gave me a big hug.  But I remember thinking, they all probably think I’m so weird.  Breaking down over the dogs, but not the children.

Except that is who I am.  That is how God wired me.  I don’t know why and I can’t really do anything to change it.

Of course, I feel sympathy for people who are in peril, for young children, the elderly or those that are battling an illness.  And I’m not saying that I don’t shed a tear for them too.  I have and I do.

But I do have a ridiculously strong connection to animals and I know not everyone does.

It came up again recently when one of the dogs that I pet-sit for passed away.  He had been battling cancer so it wasn’t completely out of the blue, but it was rather sudden since I had just seen him the day before and he seemed okay.

After I got the news, I still had to go by the house to let their other dog out and once I was there and saw all his stuff – his blanket, his bowls, his toys… I lost it.

I cried and cried while I was there, came home and cried some more and then slept for most of the day.  My roommate was surprised at what a strong reaction I had, since after all, it wasn’t even my dog.  But for me, it felt like, how could I have any other response?

Again, that’s because that’s just how I’m wired.

I’ve come to learn that there’s actually a term for it… “empathic ability.”  Which basically means, I’m a big mushball when it comes to animals and I can pick up (and even take on) other people’s feelings and energy easily.  It’s why I also tend to have a stronger reaction than many to traumatic events like 9/11, the death of a celebrity or a shooting.  My brain tends to process it over and over, trying to understand the feelings of those involved.

It’s not always very fun, obviously.

But I have learned to accept it and realize that is just how God wired me.  And in its own way, it’s a blessing.  It might lead me to step into a situation and help where others may not.  And the same is always true in reverse too.

Someone else may be wired with a bleeding heart for the elderly, or the handicapped or sex trafficking or recovering addicts or a million other things.  But that’s the beauty of us all being wired differently.  If we were all wired the same, we’d all be stepping on top of each other.

But our differences make us unique and help guide us to our own purpose in life.  Not someone else’s.

So… some people might think its weird that I have to avert my eyes away from roadkill or a truck carrying chickens down the highway.  But that’s okay, because I know that’s just how I was made.