I remember the day my brother Dow told me he had only a month left to live. He died January 27, 2002. I think one of the defining moments of my life was the day he flew away to heaven. We were born only 14 months apart. I had never lived in a world without my brother.
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After Dow died, I thought the world should stop--we all did. But it didn't. I thought, why is the sun still shining, why are the birds still singing? But the sun kept shining, and the world went on much as it did before.
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But our lives had changed forever. Death has a way of prioritizing life. Suddenly things which were terribly important, no longer seemed so.
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One day I found a photo of my brother's hands. They were beautiful. I began to paint them against a black canvas. Hands formed, then for some unknown reason, I painted in the world--scudding in clouds, earth and sea.
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My son wandered past where I was painting. He stood there a little while, then said, "Why don't you put a moon right here."
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So I did. Then a sprinkling of stars, and sparkling robes. Glory light formed between his fingers.
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I looked at the painting for a long time. Then I realized, through my grief for my brother, God had illustrated His great love, and heart-breaking gift to the world.
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Today, the painting hangs on the wall in my parent's living room where the morning sunshine touches it with a special glow. Mom says she feels great peace when she looks at it. She says she senses the presence of God.
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Looking back, I am convinced that, in wielding my paintbrush to express my deep loss and sorrow, I was directed to paint Something Bigger.
