Picture of love

Happy July!

We had such a busy week and weekend with lots of pictures, but for some reason I can't download any pictures onto my computer.  So back to the 'surgeons' again.  Hopefully I will be able to post some pictures for Multitude Monday next week.


I have been quiet in my thoughts this summer that has translated to quietness on this blog.  I am still continuing my study on praying and trying to make sure that I am actually spending time in prayer, instead of studying about it=).  Coincidentally (although I don't believe in coincidences), this past week my daily email from GriefShare reminded me of a prayer I had shortly after Rebekah went to Heaven and how God answered that prayer.

Here is an excerpt of that email:

You do not need to be constantly burdened by sorrowful thoughts.

"Listen to my prayer, O God, do not ignore my plea; hear me and answer me. My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught" (Psalm 55:1-2).

Author, speaker, and humorist Barbara Johnson lost two of her sons. She shares how God gave her a special memory of one of her sons to replace the bad thoughts that were overwhelming her. She says: "The memory is so special that when I talk about my son and I think about it, God windshield-wipes the pain, and I can enjoy the other memories and think on things that are good and happy and fun and pure. And God, in time, does erase the painful memories. It's so important to think of the fun times."

A few days after Rebekah's funeral I was finally emotionally ready to look at the pictures that our amazing bereavement counselor took at the hospital and funeral.  As I was flipping through the album, one picture really stung my already fragile heart.  It was a picture of my little Rebekah cradled in my husband's arms.  Rebekah was fresh from my womb and you could see Dale was holding her strongly and protectively, but ever so gently. 

Immediately this picture gripped and squeezed my heart mercilessly as I looked at that picture of my baby's sweet body with her legs hanging over her loving daddy's arms.  The look of pain--mixed with love--mixed with brokenness was clearly evident as this father looked down at his baby daughter.  This picture moment captured her freshness and innocence and peacefulness and fraility.  The way her little body looked so tiny and swallowed up my her father's protective arms...it just took my breath away and hurt so very bad.

And for months after that picture would enter my thoughts and wring my soul. I would be driving and that picture would immediately enter my mind's eye.  I would be flipping through her album and be drawn to that picture.  I would try to sleep and have that picture moment replayed in my dreams. 

As the Psalmist cried out, I , too, found myself crying out to God and asking Him to take this picture from my mind.  It was like a spinning record that was stuck in a groove that kept spinning and spinning and spinning.  And with each spin I felt myself falling deeper and deeper in despair.

So, I cried out to Him...the One who created that sweet little soul.  The One who wrote her days in His book.  The One who 22 years ago lined up the circumstances so that two people would feel a spark and decide to take a chance with each other. And that led to a committment and five pregnancies and where we are today.  I cried out to the Great Physician because I was in agony and was weary and I needed Him to come into my mind and rewire my thoughts.

And then shortly after, I felt God turning my thoughts toward Him and to see this picture from a different perspective.  Instead of seeing a picture of Rebekah and Dale, I began seeing it as a picture of me in the arms of my protective Father.  Me...helpless, frail, weary.  And Him...strong, loving, protective....holding me with His strong arms...looking down at me with love and hurting with me as He understood my hurts.

This was one of the turning points in my grief.  As I learned to trust and cry out to Him, He began to reveal Himself in fresh new ways.  He reminded me that He didn't leave me here on the earth to figure all this 'stuff' out on my own.  He is waiting with loving arms to wrap around me as I call out to Him.

There have been many more instances of 'hitting a brick wall' or 'spinning on a turntable,' but since then I have tried to remember to stop hitting and spinning and start seeking Him.  It has been a process, almost a type of dance that I referred to in this earlier post.

Stopping...Crying out...Listening...Waiting...

One Step Forward and

Repeat and Repeat... 

Although, I don't feel like I can even categorize it as technically dancing.  It is more like learning how to walk again.  Baby Steps upon baby steps...

Leaning on Him, Running Toward Him and Resting in Him...

And the picture? 

That picture doesn't make me sad anymore.

When I look at it now I feel a glow and a warmth that starts from that album page and travels to my heart. It is a beautiful illustration of a loving father/Father holding his daughter.

It is a picture of love.