am poised upon a rock, listening to the rippling brook and observing the touch-and-go landings of the beautiful butterfly. I feel like a child again. All around me speaks of peace and beauty. The gentle breeze catches my hair while sweet sounds of birds, an occasional hum of a bee, and the soft touch of the September sun fill my soul with warmth, sunshine, and thought.

I am taken back to yesteryear as I hear echoes of my past. Though September is one of my most cherished months, it also opens the door to inescapable memories that I can see all too clearly. As a child I quickly learned the anguish of losing a father in September. I remember at special occasions being torn in my little heart as I watched all my friends and their parents laugh and have fun together. In my early 20s, again in September, my uncle died in my arms.

There was much more to come.

On September 11, 1966, my world caved in. I am reminded of all I had: a loving husband (a medical doctor), three precious children, and a home above the city, where many mornings I would awaken to an awesome sunrise as it splashed its hues across the summer and winter skies. We were the envy of many, but no one would covet what was to become my lifelong cross. No words are strong enough to describe the anguish of my heart.

The Anguish Begins
Our family had spent the afternoon with friends and started for home. On the way to our home in the hills we decided to stop and admire an interesting house. When we started back to our cars, Markie (our 21/2-year-old) trailed behind, investigating as he walked. The cars were parked on a downgrade. We walked between the cars. Shortly thereafter Mark came footing through. That was his last little walk.

Our friends' car broke from its bridle, catching our little boy in between the bumpers. Several attempts were made before the cars released a limp little body that fell to the ground.

Stunned, I knelt down and gathered my boy in my arms. I shall never forget the feel of his limpness as I placed him over my shoulder.

I leaned over the front seat as we were rushing to the hospital and asked my husband, "Will he live?" There was no answer. I knew all too well the meaning of the silence.

Then there were the endless questions while he lay dying. Why couldn't I be with my little boy? In desperation I made it through the wall of emergency room staff, only to lean over my precious child as he was taking his last breath and turning from white to blue. It can't be. This just can't be!

Slowly but steadily I moved toward the hospital chapel. The moments that followed I shall carry with me until my death. I started out with this child for an afternoon of joy, and now I had to walk out those doors without my child forever.

As I walked through the door of my home, Mark's little blanket resting in my hand and torture residing in my heart, I couldn't seem to get beyond my entrance desk. I picked up the phone and in my paralyzed state called the morgue, asking them to please put something over my little child, that he not be cold.

As I laid my head upon my pillow, minutes became hours, and again and again I heard the words: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."

The dreaded trip to the funeral home and standing in dismay as my child's clothing was tenderly placed in my hands are too painful for me to think about even now.

My life became an exhibition, with the phone calls, flowers, and people everywhere. Soon the terrible finale was embracing us: one last rose, one last kiss upon a lifeless, cold little cheek . . . and goodbye forever in this world.

Finding Strength to Go On
Two days after the funeral was the first school day for our other son, Billy. I can still see myself standing in line with a little boy, and his finger in my jeans belt loop. I seemed to notice people all around me viewing life as just another day. I wanted so much to lash out. However, I came to my senses long enough to forgive the crowd. They didn't know my loss or pain. I can't possibly convey the agony or the horror of that moment. Yet even with pain beyond description, at that moment I heard God whisper in my ear, "Keep the faith for these broken children.''

The days passed slowly and faded into blackest darkness. I could not ignore the degree of hurt and pain for all who came to pay their respects. Many times I went to the cemetery and looked up to repeat, "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help."

Now I was alone, and wanted to be alone. There were no magic words or events to calm my soul. I needed to search for new meaning. Sometimes something or someone soothed the pain, but then I awakened again to reality.

Trying to be wife, mother, and friend now took courage I never knew I possessed. There were all the questions the children asked about death-especially at night when the darkness closed in on us. Questions were asked that tore my heart. I knew I must answer with strength and wisdom, knowing the danger if I overreacted or underreacted.

Our hurts and pain are so difficult to quiet. How does one go on?

I am so happy for my Christian mother, who gave us a home of love and schooling about our heavenly Father. The beauty and joy of that early setting pulled me through trial after trial.

Somehow, in my darkest corners, a voice always urged me on. I believe, even though the pain beyond what we feel will never find a way out, that God helps us to see those about us that need our love and strength. Being strong for the family was an important part of my healing. I thank God every day that He showed me just how significant this was to my salvation.

I finally realized that I had to reach out more to God. Without His strength I was not going to look beyond my pain to see the pain of others. So many desire for someone or something to lift them out of the clay. My heart longs today to help some soul that has fallen beneath the load.

I know that I will have moments of flashback, but also that when I am in my depths of agony, God's presence is near. He whispers to me of His sweet love and tells me to reach out to help someone else so that my pain will soften. How often God's grace is revealed during these times. His magnificent character and beautiful kingdom come alive!

Thanking God Through the Trials
Sometimes I feel like a fawn coming to the field for the first time. Sometimes all I can hear is the strength of the waves dashing against my ship and filling my soul with fear. Struggles begin, and with anguish and tears I ask God, "Where are You?" When the struggle is lifted, I thank the Lord for the trials. Through these trials I grow. I learn how to care, knowing that one day I will see my Jesus face to face.

Many times I found a haven at the oceanside; the power of the waves, and the blue skies with floating white clouds, and the laughter of a child would speak to me of God's tender love. As the ocean stilled my anguish, the beauty of the forest and night sky spoke to me of my majestic God.

In spite of the adversities in my life, God has blessed me beyond imagination. The world will continue to manifest its wretchedness, but we need to turn our eyes upon Jesus and look full in His wonderful face.

Nothing in this world can keep us from God's love and care. He shall reign forever. He is the King of kings and Lord of lords!

When all seems lost and tears begin to take control, call to God. You will feel the presence of angels. Return to the rock by the brook, and let its music bring forth the love of Jesus. One day soon we will walk in the beautiful land that God is preparing for us, where pain, sorrow, and tears will be no more.

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Ramona Seath-Lubke writes from Evart, Michigan.