Till We Are Home

The conclusion to the 3 part posting of ‘Respite’.

I wish I could say the rest of the day, or even the rest of the trip went well. There were good moments, there were hard moments. That night, I fitfully slept still battling the fear that the staircase would magically unbolt and leave us stranded in the loft. Thankfully, it did not…and thankfully, my restless night ended. 

We woke the next morning, made coffee, and sat on the front porch in the morning’s humidity. Spiders, one of my least favorite of God’s creation, left evidence of their existence on the dewy grass topped by gossamer webs. The sun rose, but in the valley, we could only see the brightening sky. 

Hot coffee with Bibles in-hand, we sat on the front porch in the mountains of Arkansas and sought the Lord. We read, talked, and prayed together while finishing our coffee and enjoying the beginning of the day. Our plan was to finish up, get ready, then drive a little into the town of Bentonville for lunch and to explore the area. 

Bentonville, Arkansas is a gorgeous, small, walkable town to wander. We parked our car and began to walk the streets, window shopping, and ducking into a few of the stores. One of our first stops was a small art gallery. The artwork inside the gallery were created by artists local to the area or not too far away. Beautiful paintings of various styles, blown glass exhibits, and pencil sketches adorned the walls and displays throughout. We were amazed by the artists’ creations but were particularly drawn to one artists’ work. 

The paintings by Lori Weeks in the front room of the gallery occupied a nice little corner with several paintings ranging in size. We are not huge art connoisseurs; the only art we had hanging in our home at that time were our kids’ drawings – which were amazing, of course. However, when we walked into that gallery, something about her paintings drew us in. 

In the gallery, our eyes fell upon a few paintings but zeroed in on one in particular. In the painting, there is a stormy sky of deep blues and swirls of lightening grays in the background as if the storm is just rolling out of frame. Trees stand tall in a line protecting the field of wildflowers and tall grass in the foreground. Many of the wildflowers are sunflowers in brilliant yellows. There are bright oranges and loud reds mixed in, but the sunflowers stand out and take center stage.

As a father of daughters, one of the great privileges I enjoyed was bringing my girls flowers. It started with my love to bring flowers to my wife on special occasions and any random day in between. I love wooing her with a small gift of beautiful flowers and love gifting my daughters the same. At some point, I decided to give different flowers to each of my girls. For Aby, I like to bring her daisies because she’s gorgeous and to remind her of the delicate beauty she is as my daughter and as the Lord’s. For Isabel, I brought her sunflowers to remind her of her bright beauty and that she is my spunk and sunshine. 

When our little girl was committed to the earth at her funeral, our family chose to toss sunflowers to top off her casket. Sunflowers remind us of our Izzy, so seeing this beautiful painting of sunflowers bursting in color in a field struck us that day in Bentonville. We stood before that painting in the middle of the art gallery amid strangers milling about and wept at its beauty. 

Our interest grew for the painting. Again, we’ve never owned legitimate artwork, so we weren’t sure what the process was let along the cost. We looked at the price tag and let’s just say the number was a bit higher than what we’d sell our kiddos’ art for. Quite a bit higher. Even more than what I think we paid for our Airbnb rental. Standing there, we hemmed and hawed over the price and admired the piece a little while longer, but in the end, we decided to move on and keep exploring the town. The cost of the painting was too much for us to spend.

At lunch, we found a gastropub and tucked away in a small table of a corner in the restaurant, taking the opportunity to talk and cry and eat and cry. We spoke of our girl, of our grief, of the painting, of redemption. I remember thinking it was so convenient that not only were we in a corner, but it was also darker in that part of the restaurant so that we wouldn’t have to feel so awkward and to not feel stares from others while we cried. 

After we finished eating, we continued our journey down a few more streets, finding a coffee shop and some other stores to wander. But in our minds, we kept going back to that painting. We kept talking about it, but we just couldn’t swallow the price tag.

Finally, we finished our exploration of the town and headed back to our car. We pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the cabin. However, as we drove away from the town, something just kept gnawing at us about the painting. It wasn’t but a few miles down the road that we stopped, turned around, and made our way back to Bentonville and the art gallery. The painting pulled at our hearts as a piece that could adorn our own walls and remind us of our time in northwest Arkansas as we grieved our little girl. 

We walked back into the gallery, heading straight to Lori’s section. Standing in front of the sunflowers delicately painted on the canvas, we convinced ourselves that it was ok to splurge and buy this piece, frame and all. 

In the Bible, in the gospels in particular, we are told the story about Jesus. At one point in Jesus’ life and ministry here on earth, He and His disciples crossed the Sea of Galilee in a boat when a storm arose. 

“On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”” (Mark 4:35-41)

In this passage, the disciples found themselves in the middle of a raging storm. Fear arose in them along with panic over their situation. The storm, thrust upon them, brought great anxiety, concern, and heartache. They were overwhelmed in the midst of that storm, and so they cried out to Jesus in their fear. Jesus simply arose, rebuked the storm, and restored peace and gentle waves to the sea. 

Jesus brought calm to a place just ravaged by a storm.

The artist titled the painting in front of us, “After the Rain”. Standing before that painting, it became a mirror of our future selves. At a time and in the middle of a trip where great anxiety and fear and hopelessness raged like a storm in our lives on top of the storm of having just lost our little girl, those brilliant sunflowers framed in the foreground of a passing storm pointed us to the hope we have in Christ. One day, He, too, would bring calm after this rain. He even was doing so then, rising from His throne, holding out His hands to rebuke the wind and waves in the brokenness we felt. 

“Peace! Be still!” He spoke to us.

He would bring calm – a respite – to our lives, not in the way of bringing back our little girl, but in the middle of that tempestuous storm after losing her. And though we didn’t feel as brilliant and bright as those sunflowers in the painting, we knew one day we would. Right then, we were like flowers after a hard rain, still with our heads cast down from hard, pelting rain, but we knew He would lift our faces to Him.

“After the Rain” pictured hope for us. Hope not in the world…hope alone in the Giver of that rain, and the Giver of the sunshine afterwards. One day, that calm would be restored in our life and He would lift our heads again to brilliantly stand in the calm and peace He brings.

Jill and I spent the remaining few days of our trip resting, walking the grounds of our cabin, talking and grieving together. When our trip ended and we brought the painting home with us, we shared the story of it with our kiddos who returned from camp. They shared with us some of the joy they experienced and redemption the Lord brought to them, along with the sorrow and heartache from the first camp without their sister. 

The painting now hangs in our living room where we all can see it. We pass by it every day going to and fro while it testifies to us the reminder that the Lord is near. He was always in the boat with us through that storm of losing Isabel. And, He will always be with us through whatever storms may come. 

Until then, though, He’ll continue to bring His peace after the rain.