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Black-and-White Photographs



Black-and-White Photographs
By annabell on 07/08/2012
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Black-and-white photographs of a little boy hang on the wall.
His first swimming lesson. Building a snowman. Playing baseball.
Blonde hair. Green eyes. Rosy cheeks. A mischievous smile.
But the picture whispers a secret: the little boy''s been dying for awhile.
Hes dying before he has the chance to truly live
because terminal cancer is the diagnosis the doctors give.
Before long, he loses his locks of blonde hair.
No matter how hard I try, but I cant seem to utter a prayer.
I watch as he grows more fail each passing night.
I want to scream to the heavens, Why are you letting this happen? It isnt right! Hes just eight, God. It''s not fair. Why would you let this nightmare happen if you really care?
He should graduate, go to college, find a nice girl to marry.
But this is simply too much for a little boy to carry."
Even though his final days are drawing near, the little boy decides not to live them in fear.
Day by day he slips away, his face turning the color of grey.
But he softly whispers, I love Jesus. Everything will be okay.

When I get to heaven, I want to climb on Gods lap and ask, Why?
You could have stopped it, God. Explain why you let that eight-year-old die.
Thats all I want to know. Im listening-now speak.
Do you not care? Are you not powerful enough? Or are you just too weak?
How can we claim that God is great when theres a boy dying of cancer when he''s only eight?
This question plagues me, a question Ive come to wonder often.
How can I believe God is good as I watch an eight-year-old boy lowered into a coffin?
Its in the stillness I finally hear Gods voice.
Faith is not a feeling; it''s a choice.
I know how it feels to lose your only, precious Son.
Have you ever wondered how I felt when Jesus whispered, It is done?
It was for you that I didnt save my own Son.
Because of Jesus death, to me you can always run.
Have you ever thought how it breaks my heart when I see the suffering and pain?
So I sent Jesus to the earth. By you, my Son was beaten. Rejected. Made lame.
Dignity and fame He knew not. His companion was that of shame.
But He willingly died so that you, who mocked Him, could call upon His name.
Remember that pain and suffering didn''t spare my own Son.
It was only thru His DEATH your victory was won."
With those words, the picture is suddenly painstakingly clear.
Life is hard, but I know that one day God will wipe away every tear. It''s often in our times of pain we see our Father the clearest. It''s often when He feels like farthest that He is, in reality, the nearest.

Black-and-white photographs of a little boy hang on the wall.
His first swimming lesson. Building a snowman. Playing baseball.
These photographs are now merely frozen snapshots from the past.
But the memory of an eight-year-old with an unshakeable faith in God will forever last.


By annabell On 7/8/2012 7:56:04 PM
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