IT WAS 1982 - the healthiest and happiest year of our fifteen- year-old son, Jonathan, since his first of four brain surgeries nine years before. Bob, Diahann, Jonathan, and I loaded our suitcases into the trunk of our 1978 powder blue Buick and sped off to New York City on a summer vacation. Among the list of stops was the huge, copper-clad lady standing knee deep in the New York Harbor. At first sight, her magnitude was awe-inspiring and indescribable. We rode an elevator upward to the base of her dress and slowly strolled around her perimeter. For reasons known only to God, I took a photograph looking heavenward. The Lady only was in the picture with her right arm stretched up as far as possible, her torch of freedom a beacon of hope for all men. This miraculous picture was never perceived until over a month after Jonathan had passed away on April 16, 1983. The image God branded on the statue's dress was the same we had observed thousands of times since 1973. It was Jonathan's face with a blanket covering him. The object missing was the ice pack that had been placed on his forehead to help "freeze out" his innumerable headaches through the years. What comfort from a loving God, proving that our beloved Jonathan was finally free while his body was sleeping, awaiting his Savior to come and change it to a glorified one.