if you know of a hurting heart: a giveaway

It’s that one photograph that holds her riveted. The one of the Daddy bent over kissing the lid of the tiny wooden box.

The wooden box holding his baby.

She can’t turn the page. She can’t turn away.

After lunch, the plates pushed back around the table and us all still lingering, I read several pages aloud at the table of the book that came in the mail, I will Carry You.

The four boys, the two girls, all of them, they press round, peering at the photographs of Angie, Todd, their daughters, of their sweet Babe who is changing the world, Audrey Caroline. The Farmer listens quiet at the end of the table. I read. I pause at the end of one chapter. The kids beg for one more.

I force words out around the lump burning in my throat. My eyes sting.

And when the words flow all liquid, The Farmer reaches over, wraps a big hand around my shoulder, draws me into all that strength. His chest is warm. It’s his turn because I can’t anymore and he reads Scripture, the rhythm that closes every meal.

When he closes the Bible and 1 Peter, the Littlest One with the curly-q pigtails, she asks, “Can I pray now, Daddy?”

The Daddy smile nods and the daughter closes eyes. “God… help us to love and be like Jesus and not fight at all this afternoon.” I sigh, weak smile. “And please be with that beautiful Mama whose little baby is in heaven with You now. Amen.”

The Farmer’s hand squeezes mine, a pulse carried through the one flesh.

When we clean the table off, Shalom sits still, flipping pages to find that one again… of the Daddy kissing the coffin. I reach across the table for a stack of plates. And she stretches for me and hangs her arms around me neck, the bookstill gripped tight in her hands. Her body pressed into mine, she shudders tears.

I cup her into arms.

She murmurs from curls, “Why do little babies end up in boxes?”

My chest burns. This world hurts. I sweep back her little mop, looking for those eyes. I wipe her streams of sadness with my fingertips.

“That Mama and Daddy, Shalom… they love Jesus. Jesus carries them when they are weak.”

Her tears glisten with smile.

And then she lifts her head off my shoulder. She is brave and she shines wet and she holds back the ringlets falling in her eyes and she asks, “Can we go see them today, Mama? And love them up?“

How did she know that Jesus carries the hurting with our arms?

Giveaway

  Angie Smith’s book I Will Carry You: The Sacred Dance of Grief and Joyis an exquisite, lyrical invitation for “wounded dancers” to take Jesus’ outstretched hand and feel His love wrap around all that pain.

If your heart has ever hurt, if you have ever watched someone you love hurt… the song of these pages comforts with tenderly luminous prose, granite-real truth, and a steady and girding-up hope. This truly is a five-star book that I give my highest recommendation.

I feel so passionate about the message of I Will Carry You… I am doing what I haven’t hardly every had the courage to do here — opening up comments in this quiet place. But this is a one-of-a-kind, must read book…

Just leave a comment on this post by Wednesday at 9:00 PM EST and the publisher, B&H, will send one copy of Angie’s book to the name we draw from the comments. 

And please, check out your local Barnes and Noble, Books a Million, Borders, and LifeWay nation-wide for Angie’s I will Carry You. These retailers in particular are giving the book key placement in their stores for the first two weeks of May — so please, take a look for this title in-store. The more folks who find the title in-store during these first two weeks of May, the more likely stores are to stock it longer, enabling more people to see it who may not already be familiar with Angie’s story — the kind of rare, memorable read of a story that helps carry when the everything aches…