A Message From Heaven by Debra Smith
I don’t ever remember Thanksgiving falling on my father’s birthday, and five months after he died, I found myself anticipating the holiday with a bittersweet blend of emotions.
I had tried to keep busy, but the truth is, I was sad.
I was sad because I still loved my father just as much as I had when he had been alive. I loved him, and I missed him. I missed his smile, his sense of humor, his laugh, his hugs, his companionship. Most of all, I missed him loving me back.
This deep, heavy grief lasted for several weeks. I was tired of feeling it, but nothing could shake it. Not even busyness. I had unlocked the door, and there was no way that grief was going to leave.
One night I lay down on my bed with my daughter, Sarah. It was near her bedtime, and I was preparing to read to her from a book I had found while sorting through my parents’ belongings. It was an old book, one my mother read to me as a child—The Little Engine That Could, written by Watty Piper. It tells the story of a smaller, weaker engine overcoming the scorn of the bigger engines. It is about perseverance, positive thinking, and trust, and the moment I found it, I had been reminded of how happy I was as a child when my dear mother read it to my brother and me while snuggling up together in bed with her. With Sarah beside me and the book in my hand, it felt good to be re-creating such a happy scene.
Before I continue, there is something you should know about my dad. He had the most distinctive way of signing cards and notes. It was not just his penmanship; it was his choice of words. He had a special way of referring to himself, always signing his cards to those he loved, “Love, The Me.” He was “The Me.” I don’t know why, but he just was. It was one of the many things that made him so great, another example of his unique signature style on life.
As Sarah and I read, we reached the middle of the story, with the little engine feeling dejected and overlooked. I turned a page and watched in wonder as a small, raggedy piece of paper floated down from the book, landing gently on my chest. At first I felt inquisitive, but that soon gave way to feeling dumbfounded and overwhelmed. I picked up the little paper and drank those three words in, taking them down deep into my weary soul.
Love, The Me.
It was simple and succinct, profound and poignant. It was all I needed, and it left me awestruck.
Of course I could use logic to explain it all, but that would be like trying to define a kiss in terms of mathematical angles and chemical exchanges. I took the note to heart in the same way that it had floated onto my chest—unexpected, welcoming, open. When I needed to know my dad’s love, I got it. In that moment, I knew with an assurance greater than my grief that my heavenly Father loved me, just as I knew that my earthly father had. I knew it, and it changed me.
Perhaps it is not great theology, but I think you can summarize the whole Bible with my dad’s three little words, Love, The Me.
Read more stories in It's a God Thing Tell your "God Thing" story
It's a God Thing is a collection of 46 real, modern day miracles written by YOU! Check back each week to see a new story, and tell your story or purchase the whole collection below!
See more videos
If you start looking for God's activity in your life; if you start looking for "God moments;" it'll change the way you think of them. You start understanding that God is active, He's involved and He cares.