, , , , , , , , ,

“I wish you were here Dad.”

The words whooshed out of my mouth as my heart swelled with an ache. Today is my birthday–another birthday without Dad. As tears brimmed my eyes the image of a photo rushed to the front of my mind.


I’m 10 months old. I’ve got a party hat on, but it’s not my birthday. And it’s not my memory. It’s his. Dad’s. He was the one behind the camera. But I never knew that until March 2012. We didn’t know it then, but three months later he would be gone from this earth forever.


My phone beeps with a new text message. It’s Dad.

“Hey La, can you send me that pic of you sitting on the floor as a baby.”

You mean the one with the pacifier in my mouth and the weird red thing attached to it?

“Yes, that one. I need to see it.”

I snapped a pic of a pic and sent it through the phone.

Dad replies through another text.

“Thanks La. This picture of you brings such comfort to me. I’ll never forget that day. It was your brother’s birthday and I saw you sitting there. I stole a moment to take pictures of you. You brought such joy to me. You still do.”

Dad, I don’t even know what to say. I love you Dad. So much.


God opened my eyes to so much through that memory.

I was only 10 months old and completely incapable of doing anything spectacular. I was a baby doing what babies do; sitting, crawling, eating, and sleeping–and yet even then I held the God-designed capacity to bring joy to someone.

Today I needed my dad. I needed to hear him, feel him, and know I am special. God granted my wish, my prayer, my need. God not only comforted me and brought my dad close in those moments, but He brought this memory to remind me what my dad always made sure I knew.

I. Am. Special.

…and I still have the capacity to bring joy, life and hope to others–and so do you.


Let’s keep moving forward in the journey of a healed hallelujah–together.