The little girl sat on the swings, tears fell from a face distorted in agony. In her hand was a picture that she had colored for Mommy. Pink and blue stick figures held hands on a background of green with a red and white rainbow. The little girl had made sure to color Mommy blue, because that was Mommy's favorite color.
Mommy had loved the picture, but it didn't make her better. The little girl had spent hours carefully drawing and coloring the picture so that Mommy could get better. She remembered the way Mommy had smiled when she got the picture. The little girl had prayed silently to Jesus that Mommy would get better. She knew that if she was a good girl and helped out with the chores and drew Mommy the picture, Jesus would heal her, like in the Sunday school Bible stories. But Mommy didn't get better.
Daddy had held her when he told her that Mommy had gone to be with Jesus. She didn't want Mommy to be with Jesus. The little girl wanted Mommy to be with her. She had asked Daddy why Jesus hadn't healed Mommy. Daddy just cried.
Small tears dotted the pictures, turning the little blue and pink figures into large ugly smudges of color. When the little girl saw what had become of her precious picture she screamed and tried desperately to wipe the tears off of the picture with her sleeve, smearing the picture even worse.
Her father rushed to her when he heard her scream. Picking her up, he tried calming her down. "What happened?" he asked.
Through hiccups and sobs the little girl managed a weak reply. "I ruined Mommy's picture. Now Mommy is going to be angry with me," she cried.
"No, Mommy won't be angry with you. She is very proud of you for being so brave. She and Daddy both are very proud of you," he said trying to blink back the tears.
"I miss Mommy so badly, Daddy." The little girl whispered into her father's ears.
Tears came unbidden in the father's eyes. God help me. Give me strength, Father, he prayed.
"I miss her too." He whispered trying desperately to hold back the tears as his little girl cried.
It started to rain. It was a warm soaking rain. The father and the daughter stood in the rain holding each other, both weeping bitterly. Suddenly the little girl stopped crying. "Daddy," she whispered. "Jesus is crying with us. He is sad too."
"Why is he sad?" the father asked.
"Because we are sad. Jesus doesn't want us to be sad. Mommy said that Jesus is sad when we are sad," she said innocently wiping the tears away from her daddy's cheeks.
The father stood in silence. He let the warm rain wash over him. He recalled the story of Lazarus and how Jesus wept for the crowds mourning. For one strong moment the rain felt like tears from God, tears of compassion, tears from a Savior who knew grief, tears from a Father that hurt for his little child.
They stood there, in the rain letting the tears from heaven wash their grief away.
Blessed are those that mourn, for they will be comforted. – Matthew 5:4