The darkened sanctuary was silent.  Candles blazed.  I heard only his voice and the water moving about me.   I remember I was singing silently...and there was a powdery smell of dryer sheets upon his shirt.  I had folded it from the laundry only hours before.

He asked me why I was there that day, standing in that moment.  It was a question for the crowd; he already knew the answer.  I answered for all ears to hear and saw his eyes rimming with tears.  My mind was elsewhere, still lost in Thankful song.  There was now a job for him to do, a job he had done hundreds of times but still every time he found it a symphony.  ...In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit he whispered, choking up a bit.  I remember distinctly.

The water rushed over my face and I was transported back to the precise moment, December 12, 1992, sitting on the floor empty, exhausted, when I was plucked from the world and the way I had lived.  The Lord called me and I followed.  I silently sang on.  Now was the moment of my public telling of that tale.

Savannah grew within me, plunged with me she did, as I acted out the visual of what had happened in my life years before.  My heart a birdsong, telling both myself and our unborn daughter a story of Faithfulness, of a God who Redeems.

He helped the drenched, robed, newly baptized me stand steady anew.  A room of eyes met me, brothers and sisters in Christ.  I felt her kick within me.  And his eyes met me again.  I remember distinctly.

Six years before, he was literally the first person I met after the Lord called me to Life.  I made an appointment to volunteer at the church near my parents home, knowing there was no activity from days or years previous that I could go back to now.  I needed something Life-giving to fill the hours of my days.

He was the youth minister in this very large church, known by all as a man of noble character.  My sister had been under his leadership for years and saw him as a treasured father figure.  I had heard his name many, many times as she spoke of the role he had played in her life,  but our paths never crossed.   And even if they had, we had nothing in common until that precise moment.   I had to interview with him if I wanted to volunteer.  I found him "too nice".  He found me "too abrasive".  (Its ok to laugh at that).

It was he who ushered me into the practicality of a walk with the Lord and in serving others, specifically young women.  I watched as he worked with their male peers.  I watched as he balanced seminary, preaching, training and living alongside people.    What sight to behold, this man and all he represented on this earth alongside this very lost and broken woman.  Could he have ever known that as I watched him minister to others I was learning to love his daughters?

It was he who held me, submersed me and who steadied me anew upon the completion.

But really, he was only a tangible picture of Who truly held me.

We had been married for a year and four months when my husband baptized me.

"Ones mind runs back up the sunbeam to the sun," said C.S. Lewis in Letters to Malcolm.  What he meant by that was that we know where the sunbeams come from.  The blessings in my life are sent straight from my God.  When I run my eyes over the story of how Doug and I met and all that has transpired to create that moment, and our life together, and what it is a picture of,  I think of sunbeams.

all pics taken by us at the Broadmoor Brunch this past Saturday