I broke my heart. A few weeks ago, as I was attempting to latch the chain for my locket, I lost my hold. The locket fell to the floor, and in a way that only a true clutz could do, as I bent to look for it, I heard a crunch. I'd stepped right on my beautiful locket. My dearest reminder of my little boy lay flattened and broken.
So, I did what any girl with a broken heart would do--I took it to my Dad for him to fix. He has an uncanny ability to repair just about anything. As I handed him the locket, I had complete confidence that he could fix it. I left it with him for just a few short minutes. When he returned it to me, it was indeed "fixed"--it opened and closed as it had before!
My Dad had mended my broken heart. Sure, it was still a little flat and slightly scratched, but it was fixed. It would never again look shiny and new, but it worked. The locket now stays latched most of the time, and I can open it anytime to see that sweet face smiling back at me.
As I think of my locket, I am reminded of my Heavenly Father. Just like my Dad, He can fix my broken heart. He's the only one who can. And, just like my Dad, he longs for the moment when I let him help me. My Dad has never been one to need grand accolades; simply knowing he'd made it better was always enough. I know in all of this he must ache for his daughter, wanting desperately to take my pain away. God is like that, I know. Dad gave me a book called
When God Doesn't Make Sense. I put it on the shelf that day and it has remained there ever since. I began reading it tonight.
So tonight I do that which my soul has longed to do for the past two months and my mind has resisted. I cry out to my Father--
Oh God, I am broken. My heart is crushed from the weight of this loss. It has been so long since I last saw my precious baby boy. Far too many days have passed since I touched his sweet face, held him in my arms, and felt his fingers wrapped around my own. My heart shattered into a million little pieces each time I walked away from him. That night as I left the hospital, then again at the funeral before they closed him in. More and more shards of my once whole heart fall each time I leave his grave. Fix it, God. Fix me. Put my heart back together again. I know it will never be shiny and new. I know it will be scratched and scarred forever, but please, God, let it open to love, to light, to life. I do still believe in You, and I do still want You--still need You to comfort me. I don't understand, God. I don't know why it was my son, my little Carter, who had to die. It's so hard to imagine him now, and yet I believe he must be with You. He deserves every joy, every luxury, and every bit of love in the whole world. It's You, God, who can give that to him. I'm glad he's with You, it's the best place to be. But I miss him. So take good care of him. Spoil him, shower him with all the love in heaven. Teach him to mind his manners, to play fair, and to be a little gentleman. Let him play in the mud, splash in the puddles, and build great big blanket forts. Tell him his mommy and daddy love him much and will see him soon. Thank You--for waiting patiently for me to come to You, for slowly working your way back into my life in ways I simply could not resist. I see You in the many friends who have shown so much love. I see You in Morgan, who said with 2-year-old simplicity that the face in the picture was Jesus, not baby Carter as our adult eyes see. And I see You in my moments of deepest desperation when, without even realizing, I cry out to You. And although I don't understand Your ways, I have to give my heart back to You--I cannot take the pain alone anymore. Amen.
My Carter,
