The picture over my living room couch beautifully illustrates the comforting poem, Footprints. A blue/silver beach scene: dunes, grasses, gulls, a stretch of soft sand churned by one set of footprints.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, that poem’s promise gave me focus. The need to gather information, make decisions, and prepare for my time of disability was overwhelming. Often, as I rushed past, I glanced at the picture, remembering that even this battle is the Lord’s.
But the gold and browns of frame and mattes struck a discordant note with me. “I’ll be spending a lot of time looking up at that picture”, I thought, on my last free morning before major surgery. “I’ll at least replace the mattes.”
I put the picture behind my truck seat and headed for the frame shop—only to find it closed. I checked the picture and found it safe, then drove home.
Though I had carefully avoided bumps, when I took it out again, the glass was broken across a lower corner. Swallowing my disappointment, I hung it in its place over the couch.
I did spend a lot of time looking up at those footprints that summer, groaning as all creation groans. When I couldn’t ignore the broken glass and clash of color, I focused on the poem and its message of hope.
Months later, as I looked up at the picture, insight dawned: How appropriate is this gift of broken glass! It completes the poem—for it’s a broken world He carries us through.
Avi, I have no words. Hear my groans as I call to You, and understand. I would rather be in Your arms in this broken world than in
You. In Your holy name, Amen. Eden