Beauty for ashes.......
Living with my dad for about six weeks reminds me of picking through the rubble of a burned out house and unexpectedly finding an heirloom painting, precious and beautiful, untouched by the devastation. So often I have asked myself, "Why did he live? What purpose could this interminable journey of suffering have?" I don't have the answers to how the world works or how God works in the world, but my soul stands breathless as I have watched how the finger of God has created a magnum opus of Chet Littlefield's life. It is a simple masterpiece, to be sure, nothing sophisticated or hard to interpret. But to see it is nothing short of stunning, breath-taking, awe-inspiring. I see it in the way he watches the birds. I see it in the way he coaxes Sammie to jump up into his lap. I see it in the way he slowly walks around the neighborhood or creeps up the stairs. I see it in the way he struggles to engage in conversation and never gets angry in his failure to find the right words. I see it in the way he revels in my cooking, smiling and saying, "very good" with heartfelt enthusiasm. He embraces the minutiae of life and elevates it to the sublime while patiently enduring his crushing limitations. So I think I understand a little bit about why God allowed him to receive this life's sentence.

When I began this blog, my intent was to magnify the beauty of a life that has experienced suffering. The film Life is Beautiful influenced my choice of a name because I was fascinated by the tone and message of that film--finding life to be beautiful amidst the most horrifying of circumstances.  I have written about my own journey of pain and finding God present in the thick of it. It has become a theme of my life--hope and belief in the beauty of life despite the difficulties of life. My father embodies the very essence of the purpose of this blog--to reveal the beauty of a life couched in suffering and loss. Beauty for ashes...

Where did I learn faith and faithfulness? My father. Stricken at nearly 51 years of age with a stroke that rendered him void of his abilities and life's work, he has never faltered in his trust in God. Though dependent on others for his safety and well-being, barely capable of communicating his thoughts, and subject to periods of confusion and fatigue,  he has never cursed his fate or given up on life. Today I watched him in amazement as he praised God for His goodness and care. He had gone out for a walk even though he hadn't quite been feeling his best. My mother and I had left at the same time to walk the dogs. Of course, we passed him quickly, and on our return trip found that he had gone farther than we had expected. We passed him again, confident that he could make it home. However, as Mom and I neared the house, suddenly the wind picked up and it started to rain. The weather in Savannah is capricious. I hurried into the house, grabbed my car keys, and set off down the street to get Dad. I pulled up to him as the rain started coming down hard, and Dad smiled as he got into the car.  Back in the house, he had barely seated himself in the recliner when he called my name. He wanted to tell me something. In halting speech, he communicated what I understood to mean--Ever since his stroke at age 50, God has never left him alone, never not taken care of him. His "rescue" from the rain had reminded him of that once again, and his face shone with amazement, gratitude, and love for the God who has always shown Himself to be faithful. A holy moment kissed with the divine presence.