Going through pictures to make room on my phone and I see this picture and life stops for a moment. It all comes flooding right back.
I took this picture the morning after Hudson was born. It was his very first sunrise. His first new day. He laid in my lap and we watched it together. The dark gave way to every color-gentle blue and purple, bright pink and red, flaming orange and yellow. The sun rose and with it the joy of my precious Hope.
Just a year prior I was in the same hospital giving birth to a tiny perfect boy whose heart was still. My Beckett. He was born in the evening and I held him for four beautiful broken grace filled hours. And I went home in the wee hours and crawled into my bed. And I remember watching the sun rise from my bed and the longing in my heart almost killed me. How could the world go on when my heart had been shattered?
Beckett was our rainbow. He was suppose to be the one. But my tiny one never got to see the sun. The sun rose and brought light to the darkness of the night but my arms were empty and my heart broken. That moment, that single moment, will be etched into my heart for all my days. The crushing. The hope. Where Jesus met me when I was as broken as a human can possibly be.
Beckett’s eyes never opened here. Instead his first sight was Him. His sunrise was in heaven. And while there is joy in that the emptiness of it hurts beyond words.
And so this picture was everything to me. This first sunrise with my Mr. Hope. This new day. It was a gift to show that even the darkest blackest most broken nights do in fact give way. That He does bring beauty from the ashes. And He does redeem what is broken.
My heart may never be the same after Beckett. Nor should it be. But there is such joy and hope in the brokenness now. And I am thankful.