This spring, a couple in my congregation lost a young adult son.  Honestly, I don’t know all the details.  I know he struggled with addiction.  I know he was a beautiful young man who brought sunshine to those around him.

We believe in life after death, that the resurrection of Jesus Christ ultimately takes away the sting of death.  But the thought of all those empty, aching, gasping years between now and then leave one without words.

As I contemplated their loss, I sensed that God had words he wanted this couple to understand, and the following painting slowly came into my mind and out through my brush. A mutual friend mentioned that orange trees are particularly significant to this family and an orange tree was added in, truly bringing a sense of completion and rightness.  I only hope that when they see it and read the title, it will honor God’s message for them. “Well done, good and faithful servants.”

“Can I ask you a quick question?” I asked her as she left my house in a hurry. 

“Yes, of course!” She always has time for me, bless her.

“It’s getting to be spring”, I said, “and I know you love spring because of gardening, and you love gardening because of your dad” (already she is smiling and nodding) “what is a favorite thing you can remember growing with your dad?”

Her dad has been dead just less than five years.  He passed after my mom.  She was there for me with her sweet compassion and warm hugs.  When her dad passed, I asked her what I could do to help her through that time, and she asked me to ask her for memories of him now and then.  And I have learned some wonderful things about my friend’s dad.  What a wonderful man!

Today’s question brought forth another memory, but it didn’t answer my question.  Instead, there came a story of living in dry New Mexico when their well went dry.  Dad was digging the well by using a rope and pulley to lift a pipe that would then drop heavily down into the well.  As the well got deeper they would call the people to come weld on another length of pipe.  At some point it was too heavy for her dad to lift by himself anymore and he called her to leave her playing siblings and come help him pull.  She spoke with a smile about how eventually others came to help, but those moments of pulling just him and her were so special and how he turned to her and thanked her and told her that he needed her.  He couldn’t have done it without her.  My friend lit up with joy at the memory and after several moments she took a deep breath and refocused, came back to the early spring of Indiana.

“Thank-you for asking me that!” she said.

“You’re welcome!  Thank-you for answering!”  I replied. 

I felt a little guilty because I had an ulterior motive… I needed a story, a sacred moment of depth and beauty to fuel a creation.  But not too guilty, because the creation in question was for my friend’s birthday.  And what a sweet, beautiful story it was!