“I wonder what my life would have been like if...?” – Braden

“I have something fathers need to hear. I only hope they listen”. – Braden’s dad

Another year will soon become history and lately they’re passing at an increasingly faster pace. Only yesterday it seems we were storing away last year’s Christmas lights and next week, my to-do list already has me climbing once more into that dusty attic. “Old-timers” have long lamented how time speeds up as we age and I’ve come to realize it’s true. However, in addition to some of its less desired offerings, the aging condition brings at least one beneficial side effect… wisdom.

For years, my eyesight held steady at 20/15 (better than perfect). That is, until around the age of fifty, when my quality of vision quickly took a nosedive. Overnight, either my arms were shortened or I was rapidly becoming far-sighted. Though I can still clearly see a road sign from 100 yards away, reading a book at arm’s length has become impossible without the aid of glasses. Ironically, as time began to diminish my eyesight, it has greatly helped to improve my insight.

This blog is for all willing to read, but today’s message is mainly for parents and specifically, fathers. It was more difficult than others to put into words, and I’ve procrastinated. However, the message is important. Today, as we mark a new year of to-do lists, this “insight” from one father to another is long overdue. My only prayer is that it will be found useful.

On a Saturday morning last October, I had just two things on my weekend calendar. First, was breakfast with a good friend. The second, was set to take place later at a nearby park with more than 250 people who would be there to walk in remembrance of a loved one, a friend, or a child who had taken their own life.

For purposes of this story, I’ll refer to my friend anonymously as “Hank” since I don’t currently know anyone by that name. Hank is a few years older than me and a father of three adult children. One, a grown son. As we talked over breakfast, he mentioned that his car had broken down, but he lacked the money to pay for a mechanic. His son was going to drop by his place later that day to see how they might be able to get it running again. Hank’s son was struggling with the typical responsibilities of a young man and my friend was concerned. He’d tried everything possible to help, but it seemed futile. As a dad, I understood too well. As our kids grow, a father’s ability to help begins to wane. Work, marriage, children, finances, (or lack of these) begin to fall outside a dad’s reach to assist.

As Hank shared more, he was obviously searching for some way to help his “kid” and as his friend, I wanted to provide something beyond moral support and a prayer. As he talked about his concerns, a picture immediately entered my memory. Even with blurry vision, this mental visualization was far too clear. It was of a morning years earlier when I’d packed to leave on another business trip. Forgetting something in the house, I returned unexpectedly to a surprised family. On the couch sat our son, crying. Being too self-focused and wanting to hurry, I impatiently barked at him. With tears pouring down his reddened face, it was clear that he was feeling hopeless and broken. Standing there in shock and my own helplessness, one part of me wanted to hug him, but the other part wanted to return to my car and just escape. I’ll never forget his tear-filled words.

“I wonder what my life would have been like if my father had just believed in me.”

Trust me dads, this is not a phrase you ever want to hear yet one I can’t un-hear. For this reason, I’ve concluded it too important to dismiss. At least you might avoid hearing it yourself.

During my mental detour, my friend had continued with the conversation. I asked him to please repeat the words he’d just spoken, but this time to listen to them carefully. He looked at me like I was crazy, but began. He repeated, “My car is broken down and this afternoon my son is coming over to help”? At this point, I stopped him. “Now, just say that last part once more, but this time slow down and really listen”. He was now clearly convinced of my insanity, but he complied. “My son is coming over to help me today…..” Hank’s own words were now sinking in and his face reflected their deeper significance. My friend knew of our story but he had no idea about my own afternoon plans. He had no clue my next stop would be an event to remember a son who was no longer there to walk with me, much less work together on a father-son weekend project.

Then completely unplanned, I shared with my friend about the painful experience I have now shared with you. It’s one I’m still trying to forget of a desperately lost child, hungering for the simple approval from a dad who was too busy, too selfish, and too distracted to even notice. As my friend and I parted ways that morning, I challenged him with a very simple homework assignment. He thanked me later, so I now extend the assignment to other willing fathers. I’m confident it will benefit both you AND your children as you navigate your own lives.

Homework Assignment

Begin the new year by intentionally blessing your children. If you have just one or if you have many, bless each child individually based upon their individual personality. Yes, a mother’s love is vitally important, but nothing on this earth is more life impacting on our children than the blessing of their father.

But what does this father’s blessing even look like?

If you had a father who was absent or never gave you his blessing, you have the opportunity to change that trend for the family generations to follow yours. There is no better example than what God did through His Son, Jesus. So read the Bible to understand what it looks like and its implications. Simply put, it means consistently affirming a child’s intrinsic value as seen through their father’s eyes. As a father who has struggled with this concept, I falsely assumed my children must “just somehow know” of my love. But there’s something uniquely more powerful in a father’s spoken words. Here’s just one rough example, but make the words your own.

“Son/Daughter, I know this will feel strange and uncomfortable but trust me, it’s important. I want you to know without a single doubt that your father loves you exactly as you are. You are my gift from God and my most prized treasure. You will always be a success in my eyes no matter what you do, where you go, or what you achieve. This is my blessing to you and it’s too rarely given. Hold onto it tightly. When life or even death eventually separate us, keep my blessing firmly planted in your heart. Your father believes in YOU”.

Fathers. On our New Year’s resolution lists, before any other priority, let’s add the one I’ve listed here at the very top and make sure it gets a checkmark.

1. Give my children their father’s blessing

Prayer: Heavenly Father, thanks for giving us Your unconditional love and blessing. Being a dad is easy, but being a father requires more than we have, so we seek your guidance in this important role. May we learn from the mistakes we will certainly make. Bless this new year and those ahead through our family’s generations. May we, as fathers serve well the children with whom You have blessed us. Amen

“All these are the twelve tribes of Israel, and this is what their father spoke to them. So he blessed them. He blessed them, every one with the blessing appropriate to him.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭49‬:‭28‬ ‭

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43‬:‭18‬-‭19‬ ‭

“Be faithful for those who are faithless.” – Braden

“I’m still learning. Lord, keep teaching.” – Braden’s dad

On a bench in the middle of a small country church, sat a father who just lost everything. At least to him, it felt so. A wave of tragedy had struck with such enormity that his home had been obliterated, leaving only the struggling survivors. The words spoken by the minister that Sunday morning were garbled and yet the man struggled to listen. The message seemed distantly hopeful, but far beyond reach. He was completely alone with only the breath still left in his lungs. Then the minister said something that man will never forget. “I want you all to meet a man who is sitting here with us today. I’m not sure how he dragged himself here because he probably should have stayed home. This man is feeling completely lost and without any sign of hope. I want those of you around him to place your hands on him and to pray over him”.

I’ve taken medicine to make things feel better. I’ve tried counseling and countless other means of help. Nothing has ever felt more healing than the hands of those people around my shoulders that day. After their prayer, I looked up to discover the entire congregation gathered with their hands placed on one another’s shoulders, like a network of hearts connecting to mine. Their energy filled a depleted battery and to this day I draw upon that experience as a resource for hope offered nowhere else. Before that November morning in 2018, I’d never been prayed over in public. I had heard of it and even seen a few such occasions, but felt embarrassed for the person. Like begging for help on a public street corner. They must be pitiful. How could someone fall so far that they would need complete strangers to pray over them.

Recently, our church unexpectedly lost its pastor. The church he founded 25 years earlier was thriving and growing. He and his family remain solidly part of this church and in our hearts, but we are hurting. In one moment, a vibrant church was struck by tragedy without any warning. The feelings seem too familiar. Today’s message was titled, “The Lord is Faithful”. How God is always there even when we can’t see Him. As I thought about those words, they seemed overused. I’d heard the phrase all my life. Still, as I read them today on the digital display, they kept ringing in my ears… “the Lord is faithful.” Faithful. Faithful? I’m not sure I believe this. Doesn’t that mean God eventually comes through with our requests every time? He certainly hasn’t done that for us.

We had left our daughter at home alone because she was unable to join us at this very church service. This has now become a common occurrence as she battles a chronic health condition, still without answers. This storm remains with us while the looming cloud approaches of yet another anniversary of her brother’s death. It’s certainly not for a lack of prayers or the awareness that the Bible says God is faithful. Still, it begs the question. Is He, really?

Maybe it means He’s faithful to someone else. He certainly hasn’t been showing signs to us nor many of the other families who we’ve come to know. They’re still are dealing with storms beyond anything most of us could fathom. Still, those words kept ringing in my ears. He is FAITHFUL.

At the end of the sermon, the preacher said he wanted to do something unusual. He asked for anyone in the congregation who was facing a storm to simply stand. I found myself thinking, “How awkward for someone. How embarrassing.” Yes, the criteria applied to the guy sitting in my chair, but no one needed to know about the storms in my home. Pride had me in a locked and seated position. Then to my right, my wife slowly began to stand. The speaker then asked for anyone still seated to stand and to place their arms around those who had risen…. and to pray together. Suddenly, as I stood to embrace my wife, we both were embraced by others. Complete strangers who not only prayed but wept with us, almost like they felt our pain.

Suddenly, the words I’d heard all my life about God made more sense. These who stood with us were the faith-filled. Like those strangers who had formed a network of hearts in that small country church around this man seven years earlier… they were the Faith-full. The healing and hope provided through those strangers who I’m confident had survived storms of their own, stood ready, willing, and wanting to encourage us through ours.

“The Lord IS faithful” took on a whole new meaning for me today. I hope such faithfulness will mark my life going forward. We need others who are faithful to surround us, but more importantly (and likely more healing) we need to be the faith-full to others.

Prayer: Lord, thank You for being faithful and for those around us who are faith-full. You often show us hope through others who reflect Jesus to us in this world. May we acknowledge these people and serve as the faith-full to those who are just barely surviving their own storms.

“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you. For I am the Lord, your God.” – Isaac 43:2

“Look for me wherever you go. I’ll show up once in awhile, out of the blue.” – Braden

I thought the dreams were gone, only to return now with more frequency. Once again, our son is right next to me, indescribably real. So real, I now refer to them as “meetings”. Usually he’s still a teen, and other times again that beautiful little boy, his uniquely brilliant smile gleaming. During a few of our meetings he’s grown older. A handsome young man we never had the blessing to know. Each dream version of our son is different, yet each meeting the same. For a brief vanishing moment, I can touch him and tell him how I miss him. These dreams are a love/hate thing I equally desire yet dread. Something only another parent could fathom.

These particular dreams began happening seven years ago and eventually stopped. Lately, they’ve resumed and in our most recent meeting, I told him about our nightmare. How we thought he had died. About the impact of his absence on each one of us. How faith grew and changed his dad’s perspective on God, and how that God had turned dark into day. In this dream, Braden didn’t say a word, but his eyes were flooded with silent tears. I’m not sure if they were regret or gratitude. Maybe both. Then as suddenly as he had appeared, reality faded into view as my eyes opened and he wasn’t there. Robbed again by another cruel dream. I’m beginning to think these will be part of my remaining days. Like a soldier returning home safely from war, yet never again the same.

I know friends who have lost siblings, parents, and sadly too many who have lost a child. They are comforted to see loved ones in everyday places and various forms. Some are seen in a hummingbird in the backyard. Some are butterflies lighting on a hand and lingering longer than normal. Others feel their loved one in the lyrics of a favorite song. I can relate to each and believe they are real. Mine happen when I’m not looking for him and in the most random moments. This sounds weird but it’s true. He appears to me through other kids.

I recently saw him on a plane. He was playing a video game and frustrated each time he lost. During the four hour flight he said nothing and seemed lost in his world of technology. Later in a cafe, I caught a glimpse of him at a crowded table. His hairstyle was unkempt and he seemed just a little uncomfortable though the other kids at his table looked confident and sure. In such moments, the father in me would love to go talk with that kid and assure him life will be different someday and to just hang in there.

Away on vacations, we often meet other families. This week we met a young father swimming with his new baby girl. He introduced himself and our conversation moved to Caitlin and her plans for the future. As often happens, the inevitable question arose. “Do you have any sisters or brothers?” I always feel that sting of pain and silently listen for her response, knowing she hasn’t got an easy reply. Her answer has always been a yes, but for the first time I heard her say, “No”. I understood, but the response rang in my ears. This young dad was probably having the very best day of his life, certainly not deserving it to be dampened needlessly.

Later, I assured Caitlin that she had done the right thing, knowing that she certainly did have a brother. When I’m asked if we have other children, I have the same awkward hesitation. As I thought more about it, I believe our son is there in such uncomfortable moments. This time I hadn’t seen him in this child, but Braden was absolutely in words that fell out of my mouth. As the dad gently guided his tiny baby girl, I could see her future. She’d have trials and successes they never could expect in life. I’m confident she’ll eventually become a strong swimmer and certainly cherished by her parents. I looked this proud young father in the eyes and out of the blue, Braden spoke.

“Enjoy each and every moment. Trust me, you’ll never regret the time spent with your child”.

To parents: Time is precious. Invest it well.

“Our Heavenly Father, holy is Your name. Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven, but if it goes my way, I promise to do anything You ask.” – Braden’s dad

“When you feel no hope… no help, God is always with you. He gave you His Word.” – Braden

Have you ever experienced something so real yet indescribable that you were hesitant to talk about it? Concerned that skeptics might assume it to be the result of a vivid imagination, embellishment, or lucky coincidence, should such stories be left untold? My men’s group at church is in a series titled, “Stepping Out of the Boat”, based on Peter’s experience walking on water in faith. I agree with the importance of stepping out of our comfort zones. Today, I’m willing to at least try. The potential gain in sharing this story is worth any risk.

Our daughter, Caitlin graduated high school this past week. Eighteen years ago, around 3am on the morning before Christmas 2006, Cathy realized our unborn baby girl had completely stopped moving inside her. Cathy rushed to the hospital and once the sitter arrived, I trailed behind. Speeding down Grand Parkway well over 100mph while gripping the steering wheel, I pled aloud through fear and tears. “God, please, PLEASE just let our baby live. If You will, I promise to tell others about what You did… just please let her live!” Fortunately, the doctors detected a weak heartbeat. Within minutes, God delivered a tiny giant-sized miracle. Since that pre-dawn negotiation with God, I’ve kept my promise by sharing the story at every opportunity, including this one.

Now, eighteen years later, I’ve found myself offering similar proposals to God on three different occasions. Each was another offer of compromise on various freeways across Texas. Each fearful conversation came from a cotton-dry mouth, not knowing whether the destination would offer a miracle or tragedy.

The second drive occurred nearly 12 years later, following an intelligible call I received from my wife. She had arrived home and found our son’s note taped to his bedroom door warning her not to enter. The fear I felt on that freeway drive was palpable, yet my words were somehow familiar. Again I was praying aloud, this time for our son. “God, please, PLEASE just let our boy live. If You will, I promise to tell others about what You did… just please let him live!”. God didn’t deliver a miracle that October afternoon, but we’ve tried to encourage others about how God sustains through even the worst this life can offer. I’ll be brutally honest though: Lately, I’ve begun to feel slighted. Where is God and why hasn’t He come through… after all, that was the deal… wasn’t it?

For almost three years now, Caitlin has battled a chronic health condition with a long list of symptoms including random fainting, severe headaches/migraines, and extreme and chronic nausea. After weeks of rapid weight loss, we resorted to hospitalization and a feeding tube while continuing to explore ways to help her. On the Monday morning of her admittance to Dallas Childrens Memorial Hospital, I found myself once again on a freeway traveling at breakneck speed, pleading aloud with God. By now, the words were like lyrics to a bad song I’d heard too many times. These deja vu moments were becoming a repeated nightmare. WHY?

Once more I cried out the same phrase, almost verbatim. “God, if You will let our baby live, I will tell others about You”. This time though, it wasn’t a one-way conversation. I heard not only my weak-hearted promise, but a distinct inaudible response. It wasn’t an answer, but a question: “What if my plans are different than yours? What will you do with me then?” During my previous drives, I had to hold the steering wheel tightly to keep from swerving off the road. This time, hearing God’s response was like grabbing a live wire. Could it be that my faith was conditioned upon getting my way instead of life according to God’s plans? And how had “my way” worked out thus far? Not so good.

The next part of this story is where a skeptic might question its validity. After God’s question to me that morning, He continued speaking through the following experiences. I’ll try to tell them here, but I can’t explain them other than they were literally God’s words. I had stopped speaking and finally began to listen.

God’s Words

Before leaving our home earlier that morning, my daily Bible verse had been the following from the 23rd Psalm:

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows”.

These words had been timely, but I considered them a simple coincidence. Our family could certainly relate with the “death/valley” reference, but I never understood the strange reference to some kind of table in front of my enemies. I was hurrying and on the run to the hospital. That was just a daily feel-good scripture and there was no time to slowly take in what it was telling me.

I will admit to weakness in quoting the Bible and hope God understands this shortcoming. If He really needs to say something important, I’ve assumed He would let me know somehow. On my drive to the hospital that morning, nearing the halfway point, phrases from the Bible began coming visually into my mind. The following verse came into view as clear as a heads-up windshield display:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds.

Amazed at this perfectly timed yet unmemorized response from God’s Word, I yelled out loudly (and angrily), “Are You KIDDING ME? I’m supposed to be happy about this!!! That makes no sense whatsoever. I’ve trusted you and all we get is nothing in return. I’m just tired of this. How is joy even possible right now!!!!!??”

As those angry words left my mouth, the following text appeared in front of me, replacing the previous ones. However, these words were in bright red:

“Because I am with you THROUGH these valleys. Know that I have prepared a TABLE for you .“

Inexplicably, my terror became peace. My fury became gratefulness. How is such a thing even possible? As I neared the hospital, tears of joy, of all things began streaming down my face. When I met my family, I delivered to them the same hope and assurance God had just handed to me. They both looked at me like I might be crazy, but I also sensed relief and hope in their own eyes. When they asked about what had happened, my response was simple. “God spoke today and made it clear that we shouldn’t be afraid. We’re not going into these valleys, but THROUGH them. The Enemy is watching us the whole time, knowing God is more powerful than he is… and God is on our side. He also told me that He has already prepared us seats at His Table, so it doesn’t matter at all when we arrive. Our reservations are confirmed”.

Just two days later, I received yet another call. It came from a very special friend who had been visiting the girls while Caitlin was in recovery. The caller was the same friend who had delivered to me the tragic news about our son’s passing during my frantic freeway drive seven years earlier. She said the same words. “Mark…… I promised I wasn’t going to cry, but…”

Cathy’s ability to cope with everything had reached an end and her body had just shut down. Our friend informed me that my wife had been taken from Childrens Memorial to the ER at another hospital. Again, those same garbled words: “Get here as soon as possible”. Both of my remaining family members were now in crisis, but here’s the unbelievable part. On this drive, I remembered the words God had given me days earlier. Our conversation this time was different. It was two-way. As He counseled me with His Words, I was thanking Him for such trials as these. I know. Unbelievable. But true.

Thankfully, all came through that week safely, but I learned more in those few days than in all my years about how God can work in difficulty if we will shut up, slow down, and listen. We have a new sense of assurance and calm we never thought possible. That next morning, I rolled over and checked my daily scripture. This time, the words were again from the 23rd Psalm. Again, perfectly timed BUT these words were confirming peace after such trials:

“The Lord is my shepherd; I have all that I need. He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams.”

Instead of shrugging it off as coincidence, I looked up and said aloud, “Are You kidding me?” I wasn’t yelling, though. Instead, I was smiling through tears and I am confident God was smiling back. Because, that’s the kind of God He is.

Within days of this writing, our miracle baby girl walked across the stage, graduating along with her 2025 high school class. She remains determined and strong, but her fight continues and parental stress remains a very real thing. However, we are encouraged and praying the reader will be. We’ve recently learned of others around us who are facing their own unexpected valleys. Our family is praying for their physical healing, yet more importantly that they will trust in God’s plans which are perfect. The peace and assurance He promises never fails. After all, He gave us His Word.

Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for Your patience with our impatience, understanding in our confusion, and that You give us Your Word. Though difficult to face, thank You for trials. They serve to test and strengthen our faith. Mostly, thank You that even in the presence of our Enemy, You have reserved for us a seat at Your Table. Amen

“So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.”
‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭4‬:‭18

“I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more.”
‭‭John‬ ‭15‬:‭1‬-‭2‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Raised on a farm in west Texas, there weren’t a lot of trees. The sandy soil was used primarily to grow cotton, grass feed, corn, and other commodities to sell. The few trees I recall weren’t planted for aesthetics but for their fruit. Of all things strange, grape vineyards in Texas now compete in number with cotton farms. Fruit trees also thrive in sand. A few years ago, our parents’ peach trees yielded a crop so plentiful, they had to build wooden supports to prevent the limbs from snapping.

After leaving west Texas to start a family and in pursuit of career advancement my work required a series of moves. Each re-location meant buying or building another home in a neighborhood where we could connect with other younger families. These new neighborhoods were mostly barren of trees with the exception of a matching pair required by HOA deed restrictions. These weren’t huge oaks or pine trees but the “Rather Scraggly” variety. Every front yard had the identical pair of “trees”, not so much planted as installed. These were put in solely for appearance although decades later they would serve as shade for empty-nesters.

We’re now approaching our own empty-nest phase with no more company relocations in sight. The two Scraggly saplings first planted in our yard by the original owners have now become fully grown, and their shade is cool and peaceful. However, left untouched for years they now require more attention and work to maintain. Let’s just say I’ve gained a clearer understanding as to why they named one season “Fall”.

As I write this, our daughter is set to graduate high school within just a few days. She has also lived with a major chronic health condition which has worsened and being unable to “fix” things for her has been the second most difficult thing this parent has yet to experience. It’s ironic how a description of the suburban life cycle of trees mirrors the raising of two such beautiful souls . But that’s a story too difficult to write today. God’s will remains our prayer and we can’t thank you enough for yours. Blessings and prayers from ours.

Last spring, it was time to finally do some maintenance on our two shade trees. Although they looked just fine from the street, there were some large branches needing attention. I put off the work because the limbs had been overgrown for years and would require a ladder, ropes, sawing, breaking down, bundling, and hauling. I rarely pay a helper, but some jobs are just too big and breaking my neck wouldn’t help pay the bills. Still, I pridefully gave it my best shot. While doing this back breaking tree project, a well known chapter from the Bible just kept popping into my mind.

A book in the Bible called “John” is one I’ve always found relatable, probably because of a farming background. Jesus was a brilliant man and storyteller. In the fifteenth chapter, the writer shares Jesus’ story about branches, vines, pruning, and a gardener. He describes people as branches who rely upon him as the vine. He describes God as the gardener, choosing what to completely cut off and what to cut back for growth. He finally talks about branches either producing fruit or just existing.

For days, as I climbed around the upper reaches of those two shade trees, I considered my own life and whether I’m a branch deserving of removal or one in need of some pruning. The two operations look similar but have very different purposes. If the “gardener” chose to prune me instead of removing me entirely, which parts would be snipped to allow something useful in its place? Honestly, some of my diseased branches had been left far too long and become more trunk than twig. Things like fear, anger, pride, selfishness, control, and lately a new budding shoot called doubt.

Most of these aren’t fatal although a few can be. If some or all of them were pruned back, what might begin to grow in their place? Should this trimming job be mine or the gardener’s? Having tried unsuccessfully too many times to rely on my own ability, I’ve learned such a job is best left to the expert. Since He is its creator, He knows far better how it can be helped to thrive. Might I need to call in a helper and do this pruning job together?

To me, Jesus is saying if we will just ask for His help with the removal process, the re-growth won’t just be a replica of the original, but something brand new which can produce beneficial fruit like love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Like those west Texas peach tree branches requiring a 2X4 for support, such fruit would far outweigh empty branches.

A job of this size certainly won’t be easy and today it seems futile. Still, healthy and lasting growth requires time, diligence, nourishment, faith, and humility to accept necessary help from the Gardner’s hand. Wouldn’t such a tree be beautiful to see and its fruit beneficial to life!

Prayer: Heavenly Father, may Your will be done rather than ours. At times, the two seem to be vastly different. Honestly, it’s difficult to remain faithful when we aren’t seeing things Your way and there are days we just can’t keep going alone. This is one of those days. So we seek the help You have promised and been faithful to provide. We continue to trust. May the painful pruning You are doing in us as branches living in You serve as fruit someone else may need. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” – James 1: 2-3

“Remind people to treasure the little moments. They are most valuable.” – Braden

I just read where today is National Sons Day. Seems nowadays, we have a day for every little thing. It had me recalling days when we had our son here and how I tried hard to soak up a lot of that time. Still, it wasn’t enough. It also led me to a drafted post I jotted down this past summer but I hadn’t shared. Never knowing when or if to share such writings, maybe today is that time. To the reader who may need a gentle reminder from someone who has learned: Make time to be in the moments. They pass so quickly.

Imagine you’re in the middle of a very pleasant dream and suddenly realizing it isn’t real. Now, picture that second just before waking, trying desperately to remain in that fleeting moment…

As the 2024 summer break nears its end and our last child enters her final year of high school, we’ve tried to call a time-out, taking a road trip or other distraction before the reality of our final Fall school year begins. Many families do this (as Facebook and Instagram will attest). Social media is swamped in July with photos taken at beaches, mountains, or other memorable destinations. Our family is no different. We certainly hope to pack in some fun and memories, realizing too well how such moments in life are important yet rare.

As a parent, is there anything more treasured and valuable than such moments? Like your first love or any first pleasure. Experiencing it is one thing, but realizing you’re having it IN that moment is a high you can’t describe…. Still, you can’t hold onto it no matter how hard you try. Like a shooting star or a perfect sunset, it’s there when least expected, glorious while you observe it, yet gone before you can fully take it all in. Try taking a picture of a lightening bolt. It’s almost impossible.

I’ve had a few shooting star moments in my life and though impossible to freeze time, I’ve come to realize it’s far better to acknowledge them with those I love most in this life rather than to store them to recall later. You see, that day may very likely never arrive. I also have learned that we spend too much time focusing and waiting on that one shooting star in our lives that will never be seen while others even more stunning are just outside our periphery.

For any parent, think about that rare fraction of a second when your child was standing in front of you and they perceivably grew. If you’ve not experienced this rare moment, you won’t understand. If you have, you’ll want to turn back the clock and experience seeing your child be childlike again. But that dream is passed. I’ve learned through the years of being a dad to speak those moments aloud. I’ll say, “Hey Cait. I just witnessed you grow up before my very eyes”. She usually rolls her teenager eyes, but someday with a parent’s eyes, hopefully my “foolishness “ will become her wisdom. Time also has that effect. Maybe in those moments when a star she glimpses has just faded out of sight, recalling her dad’s words will draw us together somehow in spirit if I’m not there to help lighten her darkness.

The lyrics of a song by Paul Simon came to mind while writing down these thoughts. Most readers never even heard it. The song certainly isn’t new but the message stands the test of time of a dad singing his child to sleep, teaching him to capture the moments of life.

St. Judy’s Comet – Paul Simon

Hey, little sleepy boy, do you know what time it is?
The hour of your bedtime’s long been past.
Though I know you’re fightin’ it,
I can tell when you rub your eyes, you’re fadin’ fast.
Won’t you run come see St. Judy’s Comet
Roll across the skies and leave a spray of diamonds in its wake.
I long to see St. Judy’s Comet sparkle in your eyes when you awake
Oh, when you wake, awake

“You’re looking at a miracle”. – Braden’s dad

Our world is overloaded with skepticism and self-proclaimed “experts” who try to apply the scientific method to make sense of our human existence, God/ Jesus, faith, and the Bible. Recently, I watched a series of videos of a Christian apologist who visits college campuses. He welcomes questions from curious, skeptical, and some downright angry students. This guy always has a confident and credible response to even the most difficult questions. Though I wish I had this man’s intellect and communication skills, I do not. I wonder though, shouldn’t introducing God be easy for anyone who has met Him personally?

I believe Christians have a duty to tell people about something so important, but witnessing has never come naturally. “Witnessing”, in my mind was always a verb, like preaching, quoting scripture, selling, or worse: convincing. I perceived this skill to be something only good Christians could do since they just “Got it”. Much of my life, I believed I’d missed the training class on “Witnessing”.

Ironically though, when people TRIED to “witness” to me by quoting the Bible or using churchy catch phrases, it only pushed me away. I couldn’t relate to ancient scriptures or self-righteous preaching. Though a well crafted and polished presentation sometimes brought buy-in, it soon faded. With many who had offered “superior” Bible knowledge, any value was diminished after watching their behavior. That gnawing thing called hypocrisy doused what otherwise might have been a spark of real and lasting faith for me.

Much of my work involves civil disputes with outcomes determined in a courtroom by jurors who are asked to weigh evidence. In this setting, the term “witness” is never used as a verb. It would be ridiculous to hear an attorney say, “Your honor, today I’d like to introduce Mr. Smith who will be witnessing”. No, here the witness is just a person. Although expert witnesses are often paid to testify, most judges will agree an unbiased witness (just a regular person) is more effective than one who is paid or polished. Juries tend to listen intently to real people because they share common ground. This variety of witness is saying, “Believe it or not and for whatever it’s worth, this actually happened to me!”

A few years ago, I had a friend who was obviously lost and searching for answers. His identity and purpose were wrapped primarily in career and the prestige of his corporate leadership role. Sadly, he lost his job and with it went his purpose, motivation, family, and ultimately his life. In the darkest moments he’d call to talk with someone who would listen. I took his calls at all hours of the day and night, many times sensing that his life was slowly draining away. Thinking I had no skill or competency to talk about God, I never did. Being stoic as we always were, we kept with just surface conversation about injustices of the world and our guy code of never telling anyone else about our struggles. Ultimately, I travelled across Texas to see my buddy one final time. Regretfully, it was on the occasion of his funeral. My friend had died all alone without answers I might have helped provide if I had the courage to try.

Fast forward a few years. I was visiting another friend who could be the poster child for a hard heart. This person was in their last chapter of life, yet still faithless. One morning over coffee, our conversation turned to God and whether He is actually real or just imagined. Without hesitation, I began sharing my own story. Even the ugly hidden parts few if any had heard (some I’d even forgotten about until that moment). I shared about times and circumstances when I should not have survived. My friend was stunned at certain parts. Then, I asked him to close his eyes for a minute and to imagine the Bible story of Moses parting the Red Sea. “The Bible tells how God parted a real ocean in real time to save His children from certain destruction. If a miracle like that happened in front of your own eyes, would you believe in God?”

With eyes closed, my friend thought a few seconds. He finally sighed and conceded. “I guess so because it would be the only real miracle I’d ever seen”. I told my friend to open his eyes and to look at me and that he was looking at a real-life miracle. Through tears I’d never seen in my friend’s eyes, he responded. “I want to believe in your God. I just don’t know how”. Finally, understanding my job wasn’t to convince but to simply share my own eyewitness experience in all its ugliness, it was easy. My friend had begun listening and one month later he called to share with me his own story and these words which I’ll never forget. “Mark, I wanted to call to tell you today I finally surrendered and someday, we’re going to meet in heaven”.

When we allow our pride to deceive, distract, or dissuade us from our most important role as a witness, we can easily miss what may be the only chance someone has to hear such good news.

PRAYER: Father, please allow me to simply tell others about what you have done in my own life. The harder I try to convince others, the less likely they will be convinced. Please prevent me from trying to witness and instead allow me to just be one.

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you. And you will be my witnesses, telling people about me everywhere—in Jerusalem, throughout Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.””
‭‭Acts of the Apostles‬ ‭1‬:‭8‬ ‭

“Come and listen, all you who fear God, and I will tell you what he did for me.” Psalms 66:16

“Dad, I miss your stories and maybe someone else does too. Often, one broken heart speaks clearest to another. Happy Father’s Day. I love you!” – Braden

It’s been a long time between posts. We continue to navigate with the slow pace of healing, but grief is like an awkward dance with one step forward and ten back. All who are invited to such an unfortunate dance must determine their own steps. Writing has been a helpful part of the process but I’m confident the road to full recovery won’t end this side of the river. Still, we must keep on swimming. I’m reminded daily that God has already provided our only reliable life preserver, yet the choice is ours to reach towards it or to drown.

Each day since the morning we woke without our son almost five years ago, I have risen and sat alone praying, meditating, reading, often weeping and sometimes even screaming. Early on, I began writing down thoughts and experiences in the grief process as encouraged by my closest and wisest friends. Most of the times I’ve spilled my heart onto paper, they end with an honest prayer. Most of these writings remain in a journal, kept hidden.

Last week, I shared the following with my family to let them know where I am in my journey and to remind us all where the only real source of healing resides. Hesitant to post here, they encouraged me to share with those who have followed our story in hopes it may speak into someone else’s life. Helping shed even a glimmer of light in such a dark place was my commitment to God on that early morning in October 2018 when I finally and fully surrendered. It remains the only reason for opening a door of uncomfortable honest transparency when my nature is to close it and to keep it locked.

In Search of a True Father

All my life, I had perceived God to be my judge rather than a father. He certainly was not a friend but more of a gatekeeper. To me, “God” was a gray-bearded old man wearing a disappointed scowl and holding a judge’s gavel, just waiting and even expecting me to make mistakes. Although the Bible says God created me, most of my life I believed he could only accept me if I were somehow good enough. Getting it “right”. Making wiser choices, etc. Over the past few years, I’ve come to realize that perspective is a lie called religion. It’s the primary reason most people turn away from God to do life on their own. Though I did not turn away, I didn’t know this father and didn’t believe he knew or actually cared about me.

Through the worst experience this life has to offer, I’ve come to better understand the truth. My Heavenly Father made his children as unique as a fingerprint and he wouldn’t change a single thing in how we were made. However, in our making He also gave us autonomy. The complete freedom to make our own choices. He loved us too much to remove this all-important characteristic because authentic relationship was God’s entire purpose. A healthy and lasting relationship must be mutual with no need to measure up or to check off boxes. No one seeks true intimacy with another who holds a list of requirements. Those kinds of shallow temporary “relationships” are far too common to mankind.

I’ve come to realize this father was the Creator of all things. He made me because he simply loves me just as I was made to be from the beginning. My heavenly Father cares so much in fact that he wants me to experience the FULL gift of abundant life which in my human mind I can’t fathom, yet which he freely offers. The most valuable of these gifts is a true, unconditional, and eternal relationship with the Creator and lover of my soul. That kind of love draws me to naturally seek changes in myself in order to become more like my Maker.

I thank God for knowing me well enough to realize I could never have understood this concept of relationship VS. religion without him coming into this physical world as a real man and choosing to give everything by dying as the perfect sacrifice required to reconcile a true relationship with him… even in the midst of my selfishness and destructive choices. This God saved me and would have given Himself even if it was just to save me alone. Through this love, God opened the only door to light, purpose, and the hope of an eternal relationship. The most priceless gift is this. Let me never take lightly this free gift of grace.

Finding My True Father

Most of my life I pictured Heaven somewhere in the sky far outside human reach. I’ve come to now imagine this physical life as just one side of a gently flowing river. On the other side of the river is Heaven and the two sides are connected by a narrow beautifully constructed bridge covered with vines and flowers. However, this bridge is only wide enough for one person to cross at one time. On the other side of this bridge, I picture my son waiting with eager anticipation, longing to see his dad approaching. Next to my son is my Heavenly Father’s only son, Jesus. The difference is that ours was taken away against our will, but his was given intentionally for me.

They’re holding hands and looking across the bridge, smiling from ear to ear. I’ve come to imagine the day I leave this physical world. I walk halfway across the bridge, not looking back but gazing forward at a distance into the eager eyes of both our boys, finally taking their hands and moving ahead.

Father, thank you for offering hope even in the darkest chapters of this life. For unconditional love and for undeserved grace. I long to hold Your hand on that side of the river. By sharing our story together, may it serve someone who is still searching for that narrow bridge. Amen

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.””
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭11‬:‭28‬-‭30‬ ‭

“For great is your love, higher than the heavens; your faithfulness reaches to the skies.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭108‬:‭4‬ ‭

“Dad, the ways of this world can be difficult and dark but rest in knowing that God’s ways are right and indescribably good. He loves and wants the very best for His children. Keep your heart open and you’ll see!”– Braden

“This will be my song. That You are always good. I’ll sing it all day long and when the day is through I am left with You are always good.” – Braden’s dad

While waiting for my girls to wake today I was also watching the online Sunday service from Hope Fellowship led by pastor John Mckinzie as he spoke a prayer over the families of 9-1-1 and over our world. It moved me and its message struck a painfully familiar chord. God is always good about doing such when we open our hearts and listen. It led us to share the following story which will hopefully speak to someone needing hope today. That’s always our prayer.

It was a Friday night in late May 2018. I remember because May 9th had been our son, Braden’s birthday. I had prayed for weeks that our now 18 year-old stubborn son would accept his dad’s invitation to attend a weekend men’s conference at our church, Hope Fellowship in Frisco, Texas. He had not attended with us for about a year and the odds were very low that he’d accept this time. It wasn’t that Braden didn’t believe in God. It wasn’t that he lacked a relationship with God. In fact, he had accepted Jesus as his Savior just a few years earlier and had made it public in a small baptismal pool at Kingland Baptist in Katy, Texas. He did so after years of thought and reflection about what it really meant to take the step of accepting Christ as his savior.

Braden had an unusually deep sense of relationship with others and with God (especially for a male teenager). However, sometimes the closest and most valued relationships can involve hard feelings while still both parties maintain the deepest devotion. That was certainly the case with the very loyal heart of our son. Ironically, the same God he deeply loved and fully trusted just didn’t seem to be coming through with His part of the bargain. Our Sunday morning routine had slowly devolved from regular attendance to his showing up grudgingly but often leaving when youth group began. He’d sometimes sneak out and go home while his mom and I were still in the worship service at the church we were attending at that time. He just couldn’t understand why he wasn’t feeling a connection especially in “God’s House” of all places, and rather than faking it, he eventually dropped out completely.

A few weeks before the conference, I’d promised not to press him about going with me but just continued to pray for a miracle. Just days before, Braden finally agreed to go along but only if we could leave immediately without a hassle if he desired. That was against my control nature but it was important he return to church so I agreed.

During such events, church auditoriums are packed with Christian men, most of whom are highly motivated to be there. After all, these conferences usually begin on a Friday after work and resume on Saturday. Most of these guys come hungry for fellowship, learning, and worship (mostly singing). In our case, we were a less than motivated father who didn’t really get into such occassions but needed to be the good dad, and a very reluctant/ angry son. We were not quite the match made in Heaven as they say.

After the first speaker, the program agenda had some worship songs before an intermission and I knew it would feel unnatural. As a kid I was not a singer in church. Although I might mimmick the words they were rarely sung out loud. Heck, if someone raised their hands, we’d have thought they were a little crazy. It really wasn’t “manly” to express emotion and the words were usually written centuries earlier with lots of “thee’s, thou’s, and hallelujahs”. The first one that evening was more current though. It wasn’t a hymn at all. The song was titled, “Always Good” and was led by a praise band with guitars and drums. Miraculously, I was half-heartedly singing and tried not to look at him directly so as to keep things from feeling too awkward.

Halfway through the “Always Good” song, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Dad it’s time to go. I want to leave”. What?? I was at a complete loss. Why, in the very middle of a song talking about how good God is would my son suddenly feel uneasy and wish to leave? Still, I’d promised so we headed home only shortly into the first evening session. As an extension of my part of the agreement, I chose not to explore the reason behind his decision although I had my guesses. After all, this was his personal choice to make, not mine. Five short months later, Braden made another much more life-changing and permanent choice which we certainly would not have wanted him to make.

Fast forward to May 2019. Same church but this time it was a Sunday morning. Again, our son was not with us but sadly this time it was because he had gone, leaving us behind to try and deal with his final choice. Still, Cathy and I were putting in the effort to stay in church. In fact we sat just a few seats from where the father/ son “event” had been only a few months prior. As in most churches, a set of songs began the worship service before the pastor’s message. Trying to sing now was not only difficult for the previously mentioned reason, but now the words physically hurt to express aloud. They felt like fist blows to our chests, causing tears of pain and sadness rather than joy.

Then, without me immediately realizing, the same song I’d heard only months earlier which had moved Braden to turn and leave the church began to play: “Always Good“. This time instead of Braden leaving, Cathy did! The words hurt so much that before I could ask what was happening, she was gone. Moments later, a text from a leader on campus, Mike Martin (now campus pastor at Prosper Hope Fellowship) popped onto my cell phone requesting that I join him in the counseling offices with my wife. He’d seen her in the hallway and invited her in to talk. Upon meeting Mike, we quickly came to hear his own testimony about the loss of his entire family in a horrific car accident years earlier. I still recall wondering in amazement how this guy could still be breathing yet he was now sharing this tragic story and even holding a leadership position of a church? His story was probably the most tragic I’d ever heard and the details were beyond what I can fully develop here. Yet by his choice, this very story had become a miracle and a reflection to others of God’s goodness.

Over time, the mystery of these three separate events began to form into a clearer picture which we believe God wanted to reveal to our family. In the middle of a worship song about the goodness of God, Braden had refused to worship because of his difficulty understanding how God’s goodness could allow such pain and yet not seem to help him on his own timeline. In that very same place, his mom later had a similar response with her heart broken and conflicted about the worship in stark contrast with her personal experience and emotions. Then out of the sky (actually an empty hallway at Hope Fellowship), God would bring us a real-life eyewitness who, even coming from the absolute darkest of place this world has to offer could quickly convince us we are to acknowledge and worship God as ultimately good, always and in all ways.

The song’s words I’d heard before with my ears and even had mimmicked earlier with my mouth now began to sink into to my heart. By our own unwanted/ unexpected circumstances and after coming to learn of this pastor’s own story (and other families to later follow) we were learning that none of us are alone in facing unexpected and unspeakable pain and loss. Unfortunately, such things are too often a way of life in the fallen world in which we currently reside. The good news is, they are not the way of life in our permanant Home which is just around the corner. Thank God for such needed Good News because now I WANT to make a sound when I sing!

This morning I read several posts about the 9/11 tragedy. That terrible day is now 22 years in the past, yet we all recall exactly where we were when it happened. Families still have empty chairs at their dinnner tables and empty places on the opposite side of the bed. Literally thousands of people will never fully recover from the losses of those they held dear and precious. Friends and loved ones taken in a single breath. It sickens me to look at photos of the explosions and imploded buildings, still realizing we can’t deny it happened. Yet, I far prefer to see photos of the blinding white lights beaming heavenward from the ashes left behind. I guess it’s because I know now where hope lies and prefer to look there.

The words in the song I’ve mentioned here talk about how good God always is and I absolutely believe it. However, the hard reality is the world that God made and deemed to be “Good” was terminally damaged by our own choices. In many instances, His “good creation” became downright hellish in its current condition.

Our “planned” little journeys take each one of us on a uniquely designed path, each which vary and at times will become narrow or wide, bright or dark, steep or easy. Some journeys are long and others are sadly cut too short. Many times, our paths lead us off course by choices we make alone. Still others are caused by factors we don’t control at all. Rarely if ever does our ultimate path resemble the one we had in mind at the beginning.

What I can say with full confidence and hope is the words of this and other worship songs are eternally true: In ALL HIS WAYS God is good and He forever remains ready to lead us if we choose to follow Him. Our family prays every day for those who are in the middle of crisis and those who have lost cherished loved ones along their own path. We also pray that we will each choose THE Way which has been freely offered.

Prayer: Heavenly Father, we pray for those who have experienced unbearable tragedy and we trust that you are ready, willing, and able to give the gift of lasting comfort, unimaginable joy, and incomprehenable peace by our simply accepting it. Thank you for Jesus and for those in the world who reflect Him through choosing to serve as examples. Thank You for the promise of eternity with You and with those who have gone before us to a Home where all things will truly be “always” good. In Jesus name, Amen.

I will sing to the Lord as long as I live. I will praise my God to my last breath. Psalms 104; 33

“Dad, remind others that God knows and provides exactly what they need even though they may not realize or accept it. Most of all, remind people to share with others what He provides”. — Braden

“This was exactly what I needed today!” — High School Teen

“I’m new at this, but at least I’m teachable”. Braden’s Dad

I’ve taken a long writing break, not by decision nor lack of desire. Writing has greatly helped me process and heal. Hopefully another hurting soul can find some hope if they are navigating a similar path. God has thrown so many things our way this past few months it reminds me of the saying about water being served from a fire hose. Forming adequate words seems futile. Still, I believe it’s important to at least try to share at least a few drops.

Since October 2018, life has been much like a rollercoaster for our family. The obvious lows are the daily realization that our son, Braden is gone and won’t ever spend another holiday or help make new family memories. Those ongoing lows are becoming somewhat less traumatic since we’ve now experienced most of them at least once. Though we will never become comfortable with the breathtaking drops and twists of this rollercoaster, we’ve now had enough of them to know we will survive. Still, you never fully get used to this one.

As with every rollercoaster, the deepest lows are matched by higher highs. In this analogy, those “highs” have been the blessings God reveals to us each time we think our cart just may derail. God, thank you for assurance that this brief painful ride ends safely in Your arms.

One of the countless “highs” which God has blessed our family with continues to be through the hearts of others. I call it our “Daily Bread” and it’s certainly not the unhealthy kind, but rather the life sustaining variety. If there was some way to physically gather all the words of encouragement, prayers, offers of help and hope , our “Daily Bread” would feed us far more than we could ever consume.

This “bread” comes in various forms: A friend sends daily Bible devotionals each morning. He began serving this daily bread a few weeks after Braden’s memorial service and continues to this day. I know there’s a prayer behind each one. It comes in the form of cards sent on the anniversary of our loss with a handwritten note simply confirming: “We are Staying”. This daily bread has been served by men and women in small groups, mentors and by church ministers who continually remind us we are loved and prayed over. As I type even now my phone is buzzing with “daily bread” of hope and encouragement from several faithful brothers (Is that a blessing or what!)

This past weekend my daily bread came in the form of an invitation to join Grace Bridge Food Bank’s Giving Day. Grace Bridge is a north Texas faith-based community organization formed ten years ago and led by Carter Morris. They feed others who hunger not only for physical needs, but for hope and faith. Carter leads one of my men’s Bible studies at Prosper’s Fuse Workspace location where I currently work (Fuse is another unexpected blessing). Observing Carter and hearing his testimony, I wanted to learn more about what this organization does. I not only got a better understanding, but received more “bread” than I could carry!

Two brief stories stood out among too many to share here. The first occurred when I was helping grill the food. I heard some volunteers saying there were cars jammed in a long line along Preston Road feeding into the church parking lot. Each vehicle was occupied by a single person or more often, a family. “Encouragers” were located under a covered drive-through area and as each vehicle approached, these individuals connected with the drivers, explained the organization’s purpose, and extended a message of encouragement along with a prayer.

Carter asked if I wanted to watch for a while to see how it worked. I shadowed a gentleman named David who told me he’d done this for years and it was his greatest blessing to pray over the individuals and families in these cars. I’d never done anything like this, other than sticking pamphlets on windshields of parked cars or distributing door hangers at empty houses as a teen on mission trips. It always seemed a bit over the top to actually talk with people and I told David this.

After watching a dozen or so times, David was called away to another station so he asked if I would mind just speaking with one of the last drivers waiting in line. I suspected he’d planned this and reminded him that I hadn’t come to participate. He nodded, handed me his clipboard, grinned, and just walked away.

Slowly walking toward the blue minivan, I noticed the young mom had begun rolling down her window cautiously as if I might be packing a bomb. I apologized for my awkwardness, explaining this was my first time but that I just wanted to pray for her and her family. The mom had three kids under the age of eight all smashed together sitting perfectly still in the back seat. An older sibling was up front. The mom looked uneasy but I could tell her family was anxiously waiting for a hotdog or something to eat. When asked specifically if there was anything I could pray, she shyly replied, “Uh. I guess… finances?”. When asked if there was anything else at all, suddenly the flood gates opened. I prayed as best I knew how and opened my eyes. The mom was crying. Immediately it was clear her hunger was in her heart, not her stomach. Somehow, although my prayer was pretty darn weak, she and her family had been fed just a small piece of “bread”.

The next story was a high school teenager who appeared to be 16 or 17. I’d noticed him earlier when Carter first introduced me to David. I’d overheard this young man nearby mentioning that he just wanted to pray with someone. I had been listening to both conversations at once but tuning into this young man’s comment made a deep impression on me for some reason.

After the last few cars had finally passed through the line that day Grace Bridge had served over 450 hungry people. I went to shake the young man’s hand and to introduce myself. I told him I’d overheard his comment and then shared briefly that we’d lost our son three years earlier at just about his age. For some reason, I felt led to share a copy of our Braden’s Voice book since it might be of use in some way. I assured him that I had no idea why I felt compelled to share this with him. His reply is something I’ll never forget.

“Sir, I don’t know who sent you, but this was exactly what I needed today. Did someone tell you to do this?” I replied that I had no idea what he was talking about. He said, “I was in the very same place as your son not long ago. I had reached the end of my rope and didn’t want to live any longer. Someone offered me help and I’m glad I took it. By your speaking with me, I now understand why I was supposed to come here today”. We were now both speechless.

Although I was in shock, I was able to quickly give this kid a hug and tell him that something in his spirit had reminded me of our boy. I asked if maybe he could do me the favor of reading Braden’s story but before I could finish, he interrupted. “I have a friend who also needs this book. Can I share it with him?” I can’t help but believe the Holy Spirit was there in the parking lot that day with me and this young man. Standing right beside me I’d like to think Braden was there too. Grinning ear to ear.

As I left the church that afternoon, I spoke to God. I repeated aloud what this young stranger had asked me because I still couldn’t believe my own ears. “Did someone tell you to do this?” My first thought had been that he suspected his parents but they had not. I’d never met this family. My very next thought was to realize the reason I’d been offered my “Daily Bread” by Carter’s invitation. It had been so I might be fed and that I might feed a couple of people who were also hungry.

Reader: I have come to more clearly understand that every one of us has a personal story and an emptiness. Although each of us is completely unique we share this truth in common: We ALL hunger for true purpose and for lasting relationship. Without both, we’re only taking up space and missing the joy our Creator specifically designed for us to experience. I can honestly say I’ve never felt such a joy until too recently to admit. I guess I’m a bit slow. That’s ok though. It’s not a race, this faith ride. It has to come only when we are ready to get on the rollercoaster!

Prayer: Heavenly Father, please provide to us each day our Daily Bread and give us your eyes so we may see others the way you see your children. May we learn to share with those who hunger in every sense of the word. After all, we may well be that child’s only chance to be fed. We thank you beyond words, which I often find hard to convey. In the Life-giving name of Your son, Jesus. Amen.

If you or your family have physical or spiritual needs or if you feel led to volunteer to provide the kind of “bread” described, the following links are at least a few of thousands of ways you can serve or donate.

https://www.gracebridge.us; https://www.mastercares.org; https://hopefellowship.net/childsponsor; https://bradensvoice.org

“Dad, the two most effective weapons Satan has are Fear and Worry. He knows people are addicted to both and as long as they are distracted, he wins. Don’t let him win. God has His children securely in His Hand”. Love you, Braden

“Thanks for checking me on this. I look forward to experiencing Heaven. No worry. Fear long forgotten”. Braden’s Dad

Ever wake at a pre-dawn hour when the rest of the world is dead asleep? Your mind rolling over and over about something all-important? It’s always around 3AM for some reason for me and it feels like swimming in quicksand. Trying to solve or “fix” something through worrying. Often, it’s some minor thing no one else would give a single thought. I’ve come to learn by talking with others that many people do this. I guess there’s some comfort in knowing we are in good company as members of the 3AM Worry Club.

My twin brother and I got our first guns around age ten. In west Texas, there wasn’t a lot of talk about “Shooting your eye out”. Boys fully expected to get their first BB gun before age 11 and within the next year or so to promote to a .22 rifle, a 20-gauge shotgun, advancing to a 12-gauge, and ultimately to a deer rifle. The progression was almost certain, Every boy got their guns.

Upon receiving our first gun, the immediate question was, “What can we kill?” Killing in this sense wasn’t necessarily a literal term. It could just be a Coke bottle, a telephone wire insulator, or another inanimate target. Still, after killing so many boring inanimate objects, the next target became something that breathed.

With our brand new Daisy BB guns in hand on a freezing west Texas Christmas morning, we were off searching to shoot. Anything would do. I recall a lone frozen bare pecan tree about a hundred yards south of our house. Inside our home it was warm and colorfully decorated. Outside, the world was gray and freezing, but the warmth of anticipation insulated us from the frigid air. I put the butt of the rifle on the ground while pulling the air pump with everything I had and looked towards the barren frozen tree. A single scrawny little bird sat alone high in its branches. The thing was so small, it was hard to tell if it was a bird or a dead pecan. I aimed carefully and tried to account for the breeze. “I’ll miss, but what if I don’t? What then? Will it matter to me? Will its parents miss him? What about his brothers and sisters, or his kids?” (Keep in mind I was just seven years old and the hunter instinct would kick in later).

I closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger. It was just a plain every day little worthless sparrow. No one would ever miss it. The BB’s power weakened quickly in the wind and the lucky little thing flew away, possibly to return to its family of hungry babies or to be shot later by a more accurate marksman. It didn’t matter, after all it was just a worthless sparrow.

First Baptist Church of Brownfield, Texas. I can’t describe a more traditional place of worship. We had one Sunday morning service, unlike many churches these days. Each service began with a carefully measured twenty minutes of hymns. We usually sang only the first, second, and fourth verses. That third verse somehow got mysteriously lost and trust me, we kids were silently thankful.

There were a number of traditional hymnal songs which even today bring back instant visual images. “I Surrender All”, “Amazing Grace”, “Oh, How I Love Jesus” and many others. At a Brownfield Church of Christ funeral ceremony for my great aunt, the choir of 90+ year old singers nasally whined the a cappella version of “In the Garden”. To this day, I can’t smell a rose or go to a funeral home without this song ringing in my ears. There were other church songs I recall in a more hopeful way. One is titled “His Eye Is On the Sparrow”. The lyrics still return when I’m struggling with anxious thoughts, fears, and even sometimes nightmares.

Anxiety is a problem growing with lighting speed in this fast-paced, over-scheduled, social media driven world, affecting millions. Recently, a study indicated today’s teens face a level of high anxiety that during the first half of the Twentieth century would have three out of five of them placed under a doctor’s care . Psychology Today recognizes an emerging epidemic of anxiety in today’s children and teens and adults. In all of the “noise” of the world, in the carefully crafted images of social media, in unrealistic expectations, too often we see ourselves as a “sparrow”, without value. We can sometimes feel we are not enough or uncertain about our purpose. Isolated. Unnoticed. Empty. Even disposable.

Today is Easter Saturday. If you haven’t read Cathy Speed’s post on this day two years ago, I encourage you to do so. It still comforts and amazes me how her message stands the test of time. Last evening marked the day Christ was crucified and before that (perhaps around 3AM?) Jesus actually cried tears of blood while praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. That event and that image of my Creator praying for my peace and my assurance are comforting today. Imploring God to take the cup of what Jesus knew was ahead that day can’t be compared to the worries or fears any of us have in the day we face ahead. My belief is the Bible records this story just as Christ was leaving this world to return home so you and I can be reminded we are not ever alone, that life is temporary, and that we ALL have value and purpose. We’re often just too limited in our humanity to fully understand the bigger picture.

Reader: In Matthew 10:29-31, God’s Word tells us that He even watches over the sparrows in this world and how much more He cares for His children. I love that Jesus told the crowd of hungry people about sparrows. It’s not only a story about how small God’s children are, but more importantly about how powerful, loving, and caring is our Heavenly Father. We are invited to “be anxious for nothing”, but instead to bring our worries and our fears to Him, and to simply find rest.  My prayer is for whoever may be reading this today and feels worthless or lost, that He will be your source of lasting peace and purpose. Amen.

His Eye is On the Sparrow

“Why should I feel discouraged
Why should the shadows come
Why should my heart feel lonely
And long for heaven, home

When Jesus is my portion
A constant friend is He
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me

I sing because I’m happy
I sing because I’m free
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me”

“And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭12‬:‭7‬ ‭NLT‬‬

“People take relationships as a given part of life when they should count them as priceless blessings. Love you Dad. Hang in there.” – Braden

“Son, you were a rare treasure to us. We thought you were ours but all along God knew you belonged solely to Him. Missing you.“ – Mom, Dad, & Caitlin

The mind is an amazing creation and arguably one of God’s most miraculous. How could the least significant memories sometimes become locked there to reside for years or even a lifetime, only to be recalled at some critical moment. Maybe it’s God’s subtle way of lending us guidance or clarity in an otherwise completely lost and confusing world.

Especially in the past couple of years the most insignificant memories have helped to sustain me. These memories can arrive as a gentle drip and at other times as huge waves.

As kids, “Going to Grandmother’s House” was a big thing to a couple of farm boys living outside a small west Texas town. The phrase meant freedom to pursue adventures beyond those found on a section of dirt and cotton. Don’t get me wrong. Our place out west of town was home. There were endless possibilities to find there, but Going to Grandmother‘s was just different.

It was a change of scene and a chance to hang out with our buddies. Her house had more TV channels, paved streets for bike riding, and a miraculous thing called central air. Mornings meant rising out of bed with our feet meeting a warm carpet without freezing to the floor.

As a child in small town America, riding bikes was complete freedom with no limits. In those days we could set out early morning and not return until late evening.

I could write a book about the adventures we had together with our friends. In today’s tech world those stories would likely bore most readers. Still. There isn’t a video game on the planet that could even come close.

Having grown up during the Great Depression, Grandmother Dickson was a woman of habit and routine. Poverty doesn’t allow much room for risk. They too often end with very serious consequences. We’re largely affected later in life by the adults from our childhood. Through the years, I’ve grown to better understand that and why I took on some similar characteristics. Familiar is safe and her home was that to me.

She had “her” chair. Most grandparents do. A Lazy-Boy rocking recliner with hand-knitted warming blanket draped over its back. To the left of her chair on a wooden lamp table she kept notes and collected memories. Pictures of grandkids, and her Bible, decayed and worn from years of daily use.

Next to her Bible stood a tiny silver plated easel with an old adage in cursive writing.

“Make new friends but keep the old. The new are silver the other, Gold.”

That distant memory was recorded in my memory bank now too long ago to admit, but to me it was only yesterday. I still remember thinking, “Who are my friends and which would I consider Gold?” They’re similar in the fact that both are valuable yet the difference is, only a very few of them are most rare.

The Twenty-first century opened with a wake up call on 9/11/01. Braden was just 14 months old and we were shocked into the reality that our “secure” world was an illusion and not secure at all. In fact, it continues moving deeper towards chaos no matter how we wish it was “going to get better next year”. The year 2020 has been a double dose of reality and even life- changing for many. Some more than others.

In 2020, the world had the first pandemic of our lifetimes. Many laughed off the benefits of protective masks. The world’s economy was thrown off balance and many lost their livelihoods. Others lost their families. Still others lost their very lives not only from physical illness but perhaps worse, mental illness. Depression, isolation, and addiction.

A majority of individuals who contracted the novel virus called “Covid 19” returned to full health with little more than a cough or mild fever. Some of us even wear a badge of pride that it visited our home with no more than a mild fever and that we’re probably immune. Many others with weakened immune systems due to age or health conditions didn’t have it so easy.

This past year, many have been touched closely by the loss of love ones, not just from The Virus but from cancer, heart failure, mental illness, etc. Many of those reading now have personally experienced such indescribable loss. In the final months of 2020, our parents lost two of their friends.

The “Gold” kind. The rarest life long friends. Senselessly and Suddenly. Gone.

Mom wrote a four page letter to all of her children after Anita Hancock passed. It was her attempt to capture how much her friend had meant throughout their long lives together. She recalled memories of them raising their families both as farmer’s wives. Anita and her husband, Donald had two boys and one girl. Mom and dad had three boys and one girl. This common ground and their shared faith in God bonded them tightly through shared trials and successes.

Mom and Anita soaked up every second they shared together, never growing weary of each other’s company. They loved their reunions at our Texas Hill Country home and in many foreign places like the Holy Land where they floated on the Dead Sea, visited the Jordan River, and even rode camels. They shared memories of laughter and tears in a tightly knitted friendship worth more than all the gold contained in Fort Knox.

One of Dad’s “Gold Friends” was E.V. Murphy. He was a guy you really would have to meet to appreciate. He and his wife, Jeanne were like a brother and sister to our parents. In fact, “Murphy” accompanied mom and dad to Lovington, New Mexico as teenagers to witness their elopement and beginning of our family.

I remember E.V. as a work horse, providing for his family. He just never stopped. Always smiling, laughing, and joking.

What made their friendship unique, from my observation was no matter if they had a rare difference of opinion on something, they remained unconditionally loyal. Most times, dad would go visit “Murph” at home or on his job without so much as a call. He always welcomed dad in and they’d talk sometimes for hours. Pretty rare.

I’m not sure why it was important to write about this. Maybe it’s because almost everything I do and observe now is often framed in two questions:

1) How might have Braden and others today dealing with depression be helped by our own experience; and

2) How might I learn to live my own life differently to help avoid the loss of others.

I know Braden had at least two “Gold Friends” in his life outside his family. Sadly, although they remained close at heart, both lived hundreds of miles away and weren’t physically near at the time he was in his worst crisis.

Like gold, these kinds of friends don’t have to be physically present to hold their value. Just by knowing they were in our lives and how that made all the difference is most important. No matter if living 800 miles away or on the next street, no matter if friends here on Earth for 90 years or 18, they’ll always be part of us. That’s enough, for now.

I think a lot more these days about those who have lost loved ones, no matter the cause. Even more, I pray for those of us left behind after they leave us here, even though temporarily. We will never let go of them realizing they remain eternally treasured. We are assured of an awesome and eternal reunion.

Prayer: “Thank you, Lord for Gold Friends, even if just one. May I be that kind of friend, that kind of spouse, brother and son. Where there is one of your children today in search of such a Gold Friend, please help them be found. Most importantly, may they accept Your son’s invitation to be that eternal Gold Friend.”

“Dad, people are making decisions based on false information. They are being told lies by dark, invisible, yet very real forces “. – Braden Speed

“Two years now, son. Has your death meant anything to the world you left behind? God, please say it has.” -Braden’s Dad

October 30, 2020. God has proven loyal in coming nearest when we hurt the worst. The last two years have seemed like twenty. Time’s supposed to heal all wounds and to some extent that holds true. Still, maybe they should rethink that adage and make it time heals most wounds but others you just have to live with (doesn’t quite have the same ring though).

The Library of Congress lacks sufficient space to house the stories that will be written about this year in world history. Of course, there have been far worse years statistically. Some of biblical proportion. Still, every person living on a civilized slice of Earth has faced completely new realities in 2020. Circumstances and choices none of us have ever dreamt of and many which would, under normal circumstances be a nightmare shared in fading detail upon waking. “You won’t believe the nightmare I had last night”. But it’s real.

Decisions aren’t new, but this year we’ve each been presented unique ones, and many with high risk price tags attached about our future. Employment. Education. Safety and security for our families. Who will govern our country. Do we stay the course with that small business/ career or take an uncharted course never before considered. Does a young couple start the family they’ve dreamed about so long or wait until things “get better”. Does a young teenage girl choose to keep an unplanned pregnancy.

In thousands and perhaps millions of real life situations, right now such decisions are being formed. Studies estimate on average, we make between 30,000-35,000 choices per day. The small and large decisions: When or will I roll out of bed? Should I hit snooze again? Do I wear this or that? Breakfast or coffee on the way? How do I react to the guy who just shot past and cut me off? Where do I place my faith? Who are my friends and which of them are to be trusted as true friends? What is my future? Should I go to college or enter the work world? How will we navigate and how will I best serve as a spouse and parent in all this?

Simply said, life is an unending and innumerable series of choices.

Not to be morbid, but let’s get honest. Tragically, in this very moment many today are grappling with the most timely and important personal decision of all: Whether to stay for another day or to check out early. To drive this even closer to “real”, kids are thinking seriously about ending their lives at the expense of not only their hopeful future but that of those left behind.

Within that small secret and dark population, their decision isn’t only if, but when and even how to leave. Today or tomorrow, next week, or perhaps later this summer when it will be somehow less painful or obvious to school peers. Those were the choices Braden faced two years ago on the morning of October 30, 2018.

One literal hell of a choice.

What he chose to do in that moment of mental and emotional confusion will impact our family for the rest of our days. It’s also helped to focus on the most important things which we too often allow to get fuzzed by the noise of a very distracting world. Today, here’s the big question that begs an answer and it’s framed in first person intentionally:

Do I choose to proactively live my brief few years (life) or do I just get through the next day?

As long as I knew Braden in the relatively brief time we breathed the same air, I never fully grasped his view of this world. I really wish I could, because in large part he had it right. Braden often asked the uncomfortable questions: Why are we here and why can’t we just go to Heaven once we’re saved? I had ready “Dad” answers to most every question until those were posed over a dinner table when he was just a little boy.

It’s at least become a little clearer since that day. Maybe I’ll have a better answer next time someone asks.

1. Why are we here? Life is an infinite series of choices and struggles forcing us all to wonder why we’re here. We’d be idiots if we didn’t. The amazing thing is we were created with the innate and unique ability to choose how we think, feel, or respond to any of life’s challenges. If we mentally choose to be victims of circumstance, we will be. Alternatively, if we choose instead to be victors in the midst of even the worst life deals us, we are that as well. This way of living also plays out on a broader scale by positively impacting others around us. Trust me. We’ve had so many impact our family in life changing ways! Each one by a conscious choice made by someone to care, pray, and support.

2. Why wouldn’t we just go to Heaven when we are saved? See answer 1.

Life is exclusively about decisions we each make while we’re here. Our heavenly Father certainly desires his children to make wise choices yet I’ve made thousands of poor ones that fall miles from God’s plan. However, one decision I made which won’t be a regret is the choice to surrender to my Creator and He has infinite grace for mistakes made yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

If one good thing comes from this, we can testify with confidence that Christ has walked every second of every day with us through the worst this world has to offer. We have decided to share our testimony openly about this experience because failing to do so gives Satan a victory and we’ve decided not to allow that.

Parents: Our kids are hungry for real answers in a world that doesn’t make sense to them. Although it doesn’t sometimes make sense to us either, we are compelled as parents to learn, grow, and lead them in the way they should go. They are desperately needing guidance.

Teens: Look around you and learn from the mistakes of others. Don’t allow yourself to fall into traps Satan has set. They are invisible yet deadly. Watch for danger signs because they’re everywhere. Focus on making wise decisions. What some call, “The next right step”. Life will be a never ending series of choices and each one matters. YOU MATTER even when you think you don’t. If you’ve not done so, make your next decision one for your eternity and for true abundant life today.

Isaiah 55:8-9

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts”

Ephesians 6:13

“For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places”.

“Meant to tell you, I met someone. Let me introduce you.” – Braden

“Braden was always so kind. We talked mostly via Snapchat. I told him I hardly knew anyone in my lunch and he asked if I wanted to sit with him and another friend at their table”. – Student

“If you can see it, it won’t last. The things which truly last are those things you cannot see”. – Dennis Swanberg

It’s been a while. Certainly not for lack of subject matter. It’s National Suicide Prevention week and only God knows the names of each teen, who this very moment are seriously contemplating or even perhaps planning when and exactly how to take their own lives.

I’ll try not to be morbid nor overly zealous, but just ponder this: Suicide is the second leading cause of death for teenagers. That fact is hard to even take in. As a parent, if you’re thinking your teen hasn’t at least entertained the thought, you are deceived. It’s the topic of the day. The thing to consider. In fact, it’s become “just another choice on the menu” as several youth have told us. Since March 2020 (the beginning of COVID lockdowns) that number has increased to nearly 50% of teens and young adults 16-24.

Since the loss of our son, in hopes of helping others walking in our shoes, we remain committed to sharing about the nightmare many today are living, yet too few are willing to discuss. Writing and speaking about this is like talking to a counselor hoping to better understand what can never be fully understood. Two mirrors facing together with unending reflection.

Last year, I met yet another father who had lost his son to suicide. The young man had graduated high school and begun his college career. These parents have become friends, sharing similar ground in losing a child while working to keep things on track personally and in the role as parents.

Although I never met my friend’s son nor those of numerous other parents who have survived the loss of their children, when we share stories it’s like we’re all talking about the same kid. Loved but not feeling loved. Accepted, yet not feeling accepted. Caring, still feeling uncared for. All living with a pervasive struggle of depression and hopelessness.

That evening, my father friend asked how our non-profit, “Braden’s Voice” was developing. I admitted, ironically with the pandemic and all that’s going on right now, teen mental health and the epidemic of suicide has seemingly faded from the radar. I told him for now we’ve backed off and are waiting to see what God wants for this mission. Surrendering to and trusting in God has sustained us and His plans will be made clear soon enough. Still, inside I was thinking it seems futile.

When I got home I prepared to drop to sleep, but couldn’t relax, my mind kept occupied by my friend’s question: “What are you doing to help others who face the same struggles your family faced?” For two hours I stayed wide awake trying to answer that question in my mind. It certainly begs an answer. Finally, I gave up trying to sleep and decided to scan email.

The first was the standard junk mail from one of a thousand realtors trying to sell our house though we’ve never given serious thought about placing it on the market. Then a charge card bill, like I needed reminding at midnight that we have a Visa bill to rival the national budget.

The next email was from a total stranger. A student from Braden’s high school who had been a freshman when they had first met. The message was one I’ll never forget and one which renewed hope that God continues to quietly work even when we grow weary of trying.

The writer gave permission to share the following. Keep in mind, their identity will remain confidential until such time they wish to share their testimony directly. Still, this is a message that shouts to be shared.

The message began:

First off, I want to properly introduce myself. I’m 17 years old. I read your blog often and it is very touching. In 2017, I was a brand new student at Prosper High when I met Braden through a mutual friend. He was so kind and we talked (mostly on SnapChat). I confided knowing hardly anyone in my lunch hour and he asked if I wanted to sit with him at his table with his friend. I accepted his invitation and sat with him and a couple of other students.

Unfortunately, just weeks later, my schedule was changed so I didn’t have the same lunch time anymore. I never got to eat lunch with Braden again. It was about a year later when Braden passed.

When I found out about it, I was so upset. After all, I had known Braden. I’d sat with him at lunch. I had waved to him in the hallway and had talked to him. I attended the candle lighting at Frontier Park with my dad and had tears running down my face.

A couple of months later I saw a strange notification from Snapchat saying “Braden Speed is typing”! I was so confused! Then when I went to open the message, it was from you.

The day I found out about Braden I’d sent a message to him on SnapChat thanking him for being so nice to me when I was new to High School and for inviting/ welcoming me to his lunch table. Of course I realized he was gone and would never read the message, but I felt it was important to express my gratitude and grief.

You gave me your number and said you’d love to talk to me sometime about Braden. I was nervous, being young and carrying a ton of anxiety. I never could gather the courage to respond to you.

My next school year of high school I was going through stuff and felt so alone. I attended the first two days of school and after that I don’t know what came over me. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I felt like the whole world was against me.

It was at that point when I attempted suicide.

I was placed into inpatient treatment for a week and subsequently outpatient therapy for a week. When I was discharged from the hospital I went straight to your blog. It gave me hope. I’ve regretted not responding to you in 2018 when you’d shared your number.

Thankfully, I am in a much better place mentally than where I was at that time. I just wanted to thank you and Cathy and Caitlin.

Signed, A Prosper Student

There have been many “God moments” where I’ve felt Him sending a message of hope saying, “I have a plan to defeat Satan where he had plans to destroy”. Still, it’s difficult to recall when a specific message arrived so timely and one more encouraging.

I’d dug into Braden’s social media almost two years ago to find anything to help put together the pieces. Instead I found messages all saying, in essence they “wish they’d known” and they’d do something different. To me, it’s telling that only one out of all those kids decided to respond. That’s not an indictment on them. After all, they are kids. Still, it’s further evidence of the problem. Complacency and a lack of willingness to make a difference.

Hope Squad is now in every school in Prosper. These are kids identified by their peers as a safe person in whom to confide. The primary means to truly impact teen suicide is peer to peer. These are kids who can and will make a difference in saving lives by being consciously aware of red flags and subtle signs to indicate a friend who is in crisis.

One of several friends who share daily devotionals sent one recently which contained the following quote: “If you can see it, it won’t last. The things which truly last are those things you cannot see“. We will not see our son until we each take turns in returning to our eternal home in heaven. However, what Braden left us and those he touched in his brief life will truly last.

Among far too many to list, our family is grateful for the bold courage of this one young person and for the many who want to make the difference in finding and helping the lost.

Parents:
Our kids are getting lost. If not literally, they’re getting lost spiritually. We must teach them that we’re all lost and in search of our value, purpose, and connection. Remind them the only lasting source of acceptance and meaning is in a personal relationship with Jesus who readily invites them so they may be found.

Prayer:
Lord, as we begin a new school year and especially during this month recognizing those “lost”, grant our kids the hearts and the eyes of Christ in their comings and goings. Make them bold and courageous in reaching through uncomfortable invisible barriers and finding the lost.

May Your Name be glorified. Amen

“Dad, I’m proud to call you my earthly father. You are celebrated and loved by your family. Every day is a gift from your Heavenly Father. Remember to celebrate each one!” – Love, your son. Braden.

“The best gifts are those you can’t buy and which can not be taken away” Love, Daddy

Over the past few weeks I can’t put a finger on why, but I’ve felt an unusual sense of blessing and contentment. That’s foreign to me. Normally, I just go about life trudging through it like I’m on a long uphill hike with no time to stop and appreciate the simple beauty of the very mountain I’m climbing. Sadly lacking clarity on where I’m even trying to go.

Through most of the previous two years, I’ve been rope climbing a ragged cliff rather than walking up a steep mountain. Each day a part of me felt I could misstep at any moment and fall helplessly to the bottom. Many days I believed I was already there, flat on my back at the foot of Mount Everest.

At this point I won’t go too deeply into the details. That’s for another time. All I guess is needed today is to acknowledge the fact that God has stuck with me and our family on this path. He always has. Out of infinite grace and love, He reminds me once in awhile how amazing life can be while I’m so busy striving toward some unknown destination yet to materialize.

Certainly, among these blessings undeserved are my family and friends about whom I could write volumes. Suffice today to simply take stock in these particular blessings. Ones that continually help sustain in life’s “climb”.

Speaking of not taking time to smell the roses. Someone please explain to me what happens along the way when most guys no longer get excited about life events like birthdays and holidays? It may just be me, but a lot of my friends (if they get honest) admit the same. “Oh, we stopped giving each other Christmas and birthday gifts years ago. I mean, there’s nothing either of us can’t just buy when we want it.”

Not to stereotype, but typically this is a man’s perspective. There are exceptions, but more often than not, it’s the guy who considers such events just another day. I’ll confess. That’s me. Of course, wedding anniversaries and Cathy’s birthdays are different… (especially if she is reading this).

About a month ago, our 13 year old Caitlin said to me, “Daddy. Are you excited about Father’s Day?” Being the pragmatist, I figured I may as well come clean early in her life and admit it, “Not so much, honey. I just think of it as another day. That’s not to say y’all can’t be excited, but dad just doesn’t really get excited about much these days”. Her face deflated. I’m sure she was confused as to why a day designated to celebrate someone for a specific reason wouldn’t be cause for complete elation.

Of course, I felt like a heel. What’s new. I mean, let’s get honest. These days, what does a man need or want that he can’t just buy? (I’m guessing you’re ahead of me here).

Last night, watching TV late. Again, Caitlin said excitedly, “Daddy, this weekend is Father’s Day! Are you excited yet? I am!” Suddenly, I thought to myself, shouldn’t I be thankful if nothing more, that I have a child and moreover, one who is eager to celebrate and recognize her father?

This morning, after an all-night rain it was cool and breezy outside. I sat and read as I do most every morning to start the day. After praying, I looked around. I’m sitting in a beautiful back yard. I have an amazing and loving wife who has stuck with me in sickness and in health. Currently, I’m healthy. I have a paying job. One I’ve learned to enjoy even though it isn’t the leadership career track I was on before choosing to change paths. My life is full of friends. The best kind. The ones who daily send blessings and are there every step of the “climb”.

Although we lost one of our most precious gifts in Braden, we still have each other and the confidence that we’ll be reunited. The list of blessing is too long and certainly not one for bragging purposes. Yet, it is a list worth acknowledging and one in which to take stock.

We are taught in church that God is most pleased when His children acknowledge and celebrate Him. I’ve been in church all my life but embarrassed to admit I’ve not really grown much in my relationship with my heavenly Father until the past 20 or so months. When we sing worship songs or hymns, I used to think it was just to fill the half hour before we got the sermon. Kind of like a lead in or opening act. A routine.

I’ve come to realize the songs and praise we give to our Father are of mutual benefit rather than us trying to convince Him of some emotion or feeling. Rather, it’s an acknowledgement of a relationship between a perfect loving Father who brought us into this world and His children.

We give Him acknowledgment, praise, worship, and honor. He gives us assurance and perfect peace. Confidence. Counsel. Healing and eternally far more than we could ever give Him.

Being a dad whose eyes were opened a little wider through the loss of our son, I find the comparison interesting to consider between our perfect heavenly Father and us earthly imperfect ones. The differences are as broad as the Grand Canyon. Although we strive, we always fall short. I have in the past often and most certainly will every day of my life.

The most amazing thing to me is this. While I am a father, I’m also a child. As a child who is still learning I make mistakes and always will. Yet, my heavenly Father forgives me each time, always there to guide when I seek Him. That’s reason to celebrate EVERY DAY!

I guess I need to preach to myself today. Maybe other fathers might need it too. Who knows. Tomorrow I plan to be thankful that my child is excited about Father’s Day and will commit to praying for a child’s eyes, thanking my dad and my heavenly Father for all they both mean to their child.

Prayer for parents/ dads:

“Lord, sometimes I’m blown away by the clarity You instill in me, reminding me of Your love, grace, and awesome blessings I take for granted too often. I pray over every parent today who is too busy striving toward an unseen goal or invisible destination. Open our eyes as your children as moms and dads, to be thankful for what we have in the present.

Happy Heavenly Father’s Day! In Jesus’ name, Amen”

“Stop. Observe what God has created for you. Although it doesn’t come even close to Heaven, it’s the next best thing.” – Braden

“I wish we could have just one more summer vacation to see something beautiful. Together.” – Braden’s Dad

Before we moved from Houston to Dallas in 2014, north Texas had been bone dry. They’d had a drought the likes not seen in decades. Cotton fields were burning up and a lot of farmers were giving up. I’d been raised with the west Texas weather patterns. There was limited predictability, but the forecast there was almost always, “Dry, with little to no chance of rain”.

When I met Cathy in 1997, I’d met a true native Houstonian. Still, I swore to never live or work in Houston. I perceived it was hotter than blazes, humid, and full of hateful people. Like New York in Texas. Then, due to circumstances at my company, we were forced to move there.

The Gulf of Mexico constantly feeds warm moist air into southeastern Texas. That, along with rich dark soil makes things grow where they never would anywhere else. The Gulf also brings an indescribable amount of humidity.

Against every prejudice I had about Houston, I grew to love it. The people there were real. Many come from farmlands across the country, working in the petroleum industry. We found it to be home for us.

Just as we began our Houston home, we were again abruptly “relocated” to Dallas. This was move number five and we were completely spent, giving up yet one more established place of community. How would Braden and Caitlin deal with this move?

I remember hoping Dallas wouldn’t be a dry, brown, and desolate place. That would just add to the depressive feelings we already had about the move.

I prayed that it would just please rain.

It did. And it rained… and it rained. When we settled into our new community in Prosper, we began frequently hearing weather forecasts about heavy thunderstorms, winds, hail, and possible tornadoes. Tragically, Garland had a devastating tornado the second year after we arrived.

What had happened to the long historic draught? We joke still that we brought Houston rain to north Texas.

Recently, we had yet another north Texas storm. Here, storms arrive in the deep of the night. In west Texas you knew when a storm was coming. They typically arrived before the sun went down. You could see clouds building typically to the west and moving to the northeast.

In north Texas, Mother Nature tends to act randomly. Here, a tornado might drop out of any low hanging cloud at any time and too often in the middle of night when you can’t see what’s coming. Out of nowhere there might come a cloudburst not even the most avid weatherman could have predicted. All to say, you’re pretty much on your own in Tornado Alley.

Recently, such a rain storm emerged. Out of nowhere, rain came in a sudden barrage along with a strong north howling wind. It was near midnight. The winds blew so hard that rain entered through the downstairs windows. We still don’t know why, but when the conditions are just so, water drips from the second story through the windows in the living room.

We had to move the furniture. Shoving the couch away from the wall and placing pitchers, bowls, and every Tupperware container in the sills to catch the leaks. The winds continued, the draining water continued, and the thunder kept rolling. Then. The rain finally subsided. The night became quiet. Peaceful. Like the storm had never even visited.

The next morning, the sun was out. The curtains remained splayed forward over the couch which had been pulled away from the wall. Pitchers, bowls, and every Tupperware in the cupboard stood their post along the window sill, half filled with rain water.

I picked up the containers, combining each into one and spilling it into the kitchen sink and righting the curtains. I pulled the couch out just an inch beyond where it had been to be sure nothing had been damaged underneath.

I hesitated, knowing Braden had hidden away things under the couch over the years. Remnants of memories I feared but knew I would happen upon. Such moments bring about unexpected emotion, like suddenly seeing him and instantly losing him again.

Braden hid things: Discarded candy wrappers. Hershey kisses, Fruit by the Foot. Even handwritten notes.

I pushed the couch further away by a couple of inches, finding a coffee table book. A large one. On its cover, I read the title. “Beautiful World”. Immediately, I knew I’d stumbled upon another remnant of our son. As it always does, came a mix of elation and depression in the same instance.

The following morning, I woke for my morning quiet time. Something I’ve done as a ritual every day since he left. Honestly, I’ve exchanged that brief time for sleep. Escaping by closing my eyes to make the feelings go away. At least for a few minutes.

That morning I opened the book and enjoyed absorbing each page. Traveling mentally with Braden to each new amazing place.

Braden had the rare gift of seeing the world from a completely unique perspective. He saw things as they actually are as opposed to what they should be. He was capable of experiencing every moment in real time. To me that’s taking a huge risk. One not many of us are willing or capable of taking. I wish I could. It just might make me who I want to be and who God created me to be.

Thanks, Braden for leaving behind remnants of who you were and allowing us to find them at just the perfect moments.

“Our Mother had the most amazing ability to love with an abundant heart. I held that heart tightly in dark moments when I wanted to give up. She was always there. Ours was an amazing and unique bond. Happy Mother’s Day to one most deserving to be honored”. – Braden

I’ll never forget the very first moment Cathy and I met. Through friends, we were introduced. A blind date. Both having experience with blind dates, neither wanting anything to do with them.

We called several times. I was impressed by her willingness to listen deeply and her unselfishness. She was a great conversationalist and I was blown away by the sincere joy in her voice. Of course, I played the game. Not calling back for days. Waiting for her to show her cards first.

C’mon. When was she going to call? Well, she never called. That was new to me. This girl didn’t play the traditional dating games I’d become good at playing. As the guy, it was my place to make the call and she wasn’t about to let me get away with anything less.

While we dated, I soon came to learn some interesting things about my future wife. She loved to talk. She REALLY loved to talk. Also, I learned she loved to listen. She had the largest heart of anyone I’d ever known. She was the toughest and most courageous person who never gave thought to herself. That was brand new to me.

Every time I made the drive from College Station to Humble for a date, Cathy would come running from her apartment with her arms held high waiting for a hug. That one experience alone helped me decide she would become my wife. It had been far too long since I’d felt that kind of love.

Fast forward to College Station when we made our home together and began a family. We still laugh about how it began.

One night we watched a documentary about Mother’s Day. It was a touching story about parents who had conjoined twins. I was moved by the story and out of the blue, I said, “Do you think we could make one of those?” She looked at me like I was crazy for a minute. Then, realizing I meant I wanted to start our own family, she fell into my lap crying.

Braden came along as if scheduled nine months to the day when we decided to have him. He was an easy pregnancy and delivery. Traditional. No problems. He was healthy, beautiful, and strong. Yet he needed a sibling.

Soon, we became pregnant again. Three times. Tragically losing all three.

After six years trying, Caitlin finally came along. I could write an entire book about that six year period of time. But this is an abbreviated version of the story.

When I met Cathy, I fell in love almost instantly. When I entered her home the first time, I felt at home.

I was amazed by her heart. Of course it didn’t hurt that she was as beautiful outside as inside. But not until years later did I come to realize that her beauty came from deeper places. I came to learn that she had lost her mother who had been her dearest friend. I became close friends with her father who died tragically two years after Braden came along.

With such losses and the fact that she remained one of the most joyous people I’d ever met, I realized I’d not only married a beautiful and loving woman, but one who had more strength and endurance than any person alive.

Cathy welcomed me into her family of friends. Relationship and community the likes I’d never experienced. These people had walked through life together with every variety of triumph and tragedy. Over 20 years, they have become part of my family and I a part of theirs.

Until Braden died, I had never experienced personal loss. I’d seen it but I had never personally felt it. Cathy and I had talked a lot about this. Realizing it was only a matter of time, like a cloud on the horizon. Little did I know my first experience with such loss would be our son.

This day, I simply wish to briefly acknowledge the blessing of Cathy Speed. Without the strength, courage, faith, and sheer perseverance of this amazing woman, our family would have imploded long ago.

Lord, thank you for sharing with us your very special daughter.

“Happy birthday son. You were an amazing and beautiful gift to this world.” – Braden’s Family

“For my birthday gift, release your guilt. Smile and laugh about a memory we had. Shed tears, but make them joyful ones for once. For my birthday celebration, simply blow out a candle and make these three wishes come true. Beyond words, I’m so sorry for leaving so early. I am hugging you all forever. I hope you feel them.” – All my love, Braden

“You were my very first Mother’s Day gift on my first Mother’s Day. I can’t express how I feel and how much I miss you. I’ll try to make your three wishes come true today”. Love, Mom

In December 2018 we began a very bizarre journey.

This was not a topic I ever dreamed would be on my tongue. However, the alternative would be acting like it hadn’t happened. That would make me an accessory to the problem and very likely I would fall to pieces realizing our son died for absolutely nothing.

Talking with a friend recently about what has transpired over the past two years since that October, I heard myself say, “To save my life, I can’t imagine how these things have happened.” My friend responded thoughtfully, “Well, maybe it’s been exactly that. These things may have happened to save your life”.

I’ll never shake the visual image of our son the night before he left. In fact, I recall every second of his life, too often in slow motion. It’s like what I call a “treadmill dream”. One where you’re working and working and working, incessantly to achieve a goal. If you can just work harder, you perceive it possible. But it’s futile.

That goal for us has been to at least help prevent others from our experience. To help that one teen on a cliff from taking the step. I may never truly understand why, but we decided to aim our sights on that goal. Knowing all along it will never be fully achieved. Still, I believe it be a worthy goal and one Braden would be proud to be part of.

Helping build something better from nothing.

Braden absolutely loved to build. Like every inventor, some attempts turned into dismal failures, but more often he created something beautiful and astounding.

Minecraft is a computer simulation game where a virtual world is built by the imagination of the user. It’s a whiteboard where the imagineer has full reign to create anything from nothing. When he was very young, this was a place Braden could make into his own world. While some kids chased “creepers”, for Braden it was a place where he could build.

For weeks, I’d watch him lie on the couch with his laptop, seemingly wasting time. “Son, why don’t you get up and do something?” “Dad, I’m building something. You’ll see”.

Later, I came to learn he’d built fantastic resorts with waterparks and landscaping. Once he built an entire cruise ship in virtual reality to include staterooms, each fully furnished. We gazed at it in complete amazement. He’d created virtual dining, dancing, and theaters, all just from his memories of our family travels.

Around age five or so, Braden became a lover of Legos. He was addicted to putting the pieces together and watching something come from nothing. To create. It made him feel like he’d made the world better in some small way. He’d sit and actually hum in his playroom putting the pieces together.

By age 12, he was building sets designed for adults. Among just a few, he built a functioning carousel, an elaborate Star Wars battleship and a community building (of course before social distancing). Braden had a keen eye for a world well beyond what most of us can perceive and I’m so blessed and glad I was there for him. I sometimes feel guilt for not having appreciated his gifts.

I realized there would be a day we would face the task of saying goodbye to some of his prized possessions. Although we’ll keep most of his things, there simply is not room to keep all of it. Particularly difficult would be letting go of some of his Legos pieces, which we still had although he had long since outgrown them. We will forever keep the large projects still intact, although after moving too many times, several of his projects were now just jumbled pieces.

Last week we met a young father, who was a homeschooler and engineer. He loved legos as a kid and enjoys using them to teach principles of homeschooling to his 12 year old son. It was something they enjoy doing together. We sent them home with several boxes of legos in pieces, and were ecstatic to get home and begin putting those pieces together.

Over the past two years, we’ve tried to put together the pieces of our family. It’s certainly a work in progress. With every memory we find that we’d packed away like a child’s toy or stuffed animals. His car. His high school diploma. Of all those little pieces to which we’ve had to say goodbye, we will never let go of the bigger ones.

His huge heart. His gorgeous smile. His contagious laughter. His love for his family and his deep friendships. With each small “thing” we let go, we receive an equal share of peace knowing that things are only temporary, but we will have eternity together.

Cathy and I sat down after the father left. We’d released some of what we’d held onto for so long. Realizing another sweet little boy would soon be building and creating alongside his dad with the very pieces Braden loved so much. It brought us at least some measure of peace.

Happy 20th Birthday, Braden. We have some peace and hope in what is being built out of the jumbled pieces you left behind.

Prayer for families who‘ve lost a loved one or who face darkness

“Lord, only You could know our hearts. You experienced pain and heartbreak like we will never even fathom. You sent Your only son to this dark and lost world with the specific intent for Him to die. For us.

Thank You for the free gift we don’t deserve and thank You for assurance that we are held in your everlasting arms. All we need do is trust in You. Grant us peace as we face another tomorrow.

Amen“

“Mom and Dad. I would have turned 20 this May, and it will soon be another Mother’s Day. I know you’re hurting. Please trust that I’m ok. I want you to all find peace like I have found. Seek and trust Him in these times. He will hear your hearts. All my love. – Braden

Some months ago, I wrote a short story about a small and fast-growing tree in our backyard titled, “Stained and Scarred”. Years earlier, Braden had chosen to aim his first arrow at this tree with his brand new high tension crossbow. The kind that sinks its arrow deeply into the target. So deep, it could never be retrieved, leaving a scar. I later learned a deeper meaning in that experience and forevermore it became Braden’s tree.

While I’d worked to finish the staining project in the blazing summer sun, I was certain the effort would ultimately be worth it. And it was. I still recall waking from a nap that afternoon and how God distinctly spoke into me. I recognized the connection between that tree and my own life.

Fast forward. The other night, Caitlin wanted to watch movies by the pool to celebrate completion of seventh grade. We have a TV outside and like to watch shows by the light of tiki torches. While we watched, I drifted away mentally. I was missing our son. He’d loved watching movies with our family sitting outside at hotels or on cruise ships. We roasted S’mores and drank cocoa. Traditions meant a lot to him. They were like oxygen.

In particularly rough moments, I often park on the couch outside to pray. To observe and listen to what God has to say. I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. Simply sitting still, allowing the peaceful breeze to flow over me is amazing mental and spiritual therapy. And it’s free!

That night while we watched TV, I began tuning out the movie and tuning into that familiar sound coming from the eastern corner of the backyard. In west Texas, the wind usually subsides at night. However in north Texas it blows almost all the time. Frankly, that isn’t my favorite thing about living in the Dallas area, but you learn to adapt and to tie down your lawn furniture.

The sound of the leaves that evening was distinctly different. As the cooling breezes wafted in and out, I realized none of the other trees made a single sound. They weren’t moving at all. How was that even possible? The only thing that was capturing the north Texas winds in our yard that night was Braden’s tree.

It sounded to me like a peaceful ocean. Serene and casting calm on anyone who would listen. The sounds had been there all along, but I hadn’t heard it until I chose to tune into it. I realize this sounds odd, but I needed connection and reassurance that our son was ok and that our family would be too. God brought both answers instantly.

It’s no longer small, but it certainly remains fast-growing. Thriving. Yet, still scarred. Only could my Creator have been so intuitive in that moment to provide a sense of peace through a simple thing like a tree.

Philippians 4:7 

⁷ And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Prayer for Readers

Lord, How can we express our gratitude.

I pray over those who, in this very moment want to cut their story short. I pray against the lies infiltrating their mind. Especially during this season of isolation, we pray against Satan’s lies and spirits in those dark places. I pray peace and wisdom for the “Braden’s” who are battling hard in this very moment to stay the course. We pray over their families who are struggling more than anyone can fathom.

We pray Your peace beyond our understanding. In Jesus’s name. Amen

“Dad. Don’t take anything for granted. This is all temporary and fleeting. Be assured that God’s greatest gift is not temporary but eternal life” Braden

“We miss you, son”. Braden’s family

Not to be negative, but I really dislike online meetings.

They’re distant, cold, and uncomfortable. And while I’m complaining, I’ve grown weary of every conversation being solely about this epidemic. Social and public media run rampant with every variety of opinion and spin. Let’s face it. As human beings, we all work to fill-in-the blanks to appease our minds and to grapple with foreign emotions. That’s what we do best when left open to “Not Knowing”.

For ours and several earlier generations, strife and uncertainty are completely new concepts. This certainly applies to me. I’ve never had to wonder if my job and income or investments would still be there on Monday or if the grocery store would have eggs or bread (or even more important, toilet paper). Uncertainty is now a new reality.

Our family has been house-bound several weeks now, but we count ourselves blessed to at least have some space and breathing room. I feel for those in metropolitan areas locked in their small apartments or worse. We at least have a front and back yard with plenty of space in the house to “distance” when things get too close for comfort.

Talk about “work/life” balance. I sequester my job upstairs on two desktop screens, “clocking in” at 8am every morning and clocking out at 4:30pm. At the end of each day, I come downstairs and try to make things humorous, to lighten things and to build in some traditions that make life seem somewhat normal. Still, we all know life is not “normal” right now.

Our family views online church services, “Hope” devotionals, and daily live feeds from various sources trying to stay connected spiritually. This Sunday morning we even woke to find Caitlin watching Hope Fellowship on her phone. She, like all of us hungers for things to return to routine.

Cait does her virtual dance regimen three or four days each week which has kept her somewhat on track and occupied. Still, nothing online can equate with real social contact. Touching. Hugging. Shaking hands. Eye contact. Human Connection.

Today, our extended family gathered around computer screens across the country and held a “Zoom” family reunion. This is a virtual app I’d never used before. The screen resembles the opening theme of the Brady Bunch where multiple users can see one another. I actually liked it for once.

We were able to all get just a glimpse inside one another’s’ living spaces and to share our unique yet similar experiences. We saw the newest addition to our family in Georgia and cousins from Tennessee. We all shared laughs about the current rush on toilet paper and how we all need to be “aware of the square”. TMI!

As we connected just over a half hour today I began feeling differently about virtual connection. I could see faces of the people I love most in this world. We were each able to tell our own stories and to share our struggles, at least to some extent.

Then… suddenly without warning, the app timed out. Our screens all went blank.

If you don’t know, “Zoom” is limited to 40 minutes and none of us had been aware. Just as we’d become comfortable and feeling connected, our time together had come to a sudden and unexpected end.

Isn’t that the way life goes when we think it’s all going our way? We think things will always just remain the same. It’s always been that way. However, in the past month uncertainty has become more real and evident to every one of us. What we’ve relied upon as a constant can be gone in an instant.

Many have lost loved ones. Businesses. Jobs. Health. Security. Comfort. Normalcy. All, gone without warning.

After the family call today, Cathy and I sat down at the kitchen table over a puzzle we’ve been working on together. It’s a way to take our minds off of the worries of the world and relax. As she and I found missing pieces together and bragged about who was finding the most, I heard myself blurt out what was on my heart.

“I’m really missing Braden”. Honestly, I was shocked to hear it come out, but she immediately confirmed that she felt the same. In our family frame during the online family call, our son was not with us. He had gone so quickly and without warning.

Readers

During and following this temporary crisis, we encourage families to take the time God has appointed to love and care for one another. Re-connect by whatever means possible during this relatively brief moment in time.

Children and family are blessings we too often take as a given. Instead, take advantage of these times rather than considering them without benefit. Parents, let’s grow in our own faith during trials and model a faithful life for our children to rest in God’s everlasting peace.

We never know how long we will have the opportunity to do so.

“Expect the unexpected. Remember this is a spiritual war and although battles will rage, be assured it has already been won.” – Braden

“Lord, through our experience we’ve come to trust that You remain with us even during the very darkest moments of our lives. We trust that You are in control and that Your plan is far greater than any we could imagine.” – Braden’s Dad

Shocked. Sad. Angry. Empty. Alone. Fearful.

These are just a few emotions our family feels this week. Likely, you could add to the list. One Prosper family lost their 2-year old baby boy last week and I’m confident they feel these very same emotions, yet for a different reason. Loss is loss. Grief is grief. Our prayers go out to this hurting family in the middle of multiple crises.

Following a recent job change, a shift at home in schooling, and with numerous other demands, life has become suddenly overwhelming. It’s been a strain at every level just to keep the wheels on the bus. Add this global virus, which hasn’t happened in more than 100 years to add fuel to the flame.

This week reminds me of an evening some time ago when Cathy asked if I could fill up her car with gas. She was running low and had to get the kids to school the next morning. This was a cold winter evening about 10PM and to be honest, I was not in a gracious spirit. Why hadn’t she let me know earlier in the day?

I dragged myself off the couch, shaking my head asking, “How low are you?” She replied, “I think it’s near empty”. Great, I grumbled under my breath. Grabbing her keys, I slammed the car door and jammed the key into the ignition. A warning light instantly illuminated along with an annoying chime for low fuel level. As I started the engine, the same warnings were blinking, but with a banner:

Miles to Empty: 0

Really? Are you kidding me? How can that be? You can’t run a car on a completely empty tank!

Making my way to the filling station, I had to avoid the compelling desire to drive at a normal or faster speed just to get there. It was late. It was cold. I had to be at work the next morning and I certainly didn’t need to be stranded relying on a neighbor to help me find a way to get some gas.

I remained in control. Creeping slowly forward, turning off the heater, dimming the headlights, turning off the stereo, and moving like a snail. Holding my breath and even leaning forward which obviously helped.

Finally, I was sitting at the gas pump fuelling up the Explorer and wondering how in the world I’d made it. The gas gauge had been far south of empty and although the car’s computer had calculated it was completely out of fuel, there must have been something left in the tank.

Right now, many of us are running on tanks well below “E”. Our family certainly is. Only three weeks ago, we all heard the news about this foreign flu virus that originated from the other side of the globe and today it’s arrived here with a full dose of disruption, uncertainty, and fear.

Confession. Lately, when I go to the grocery store I try to act casual like everything is normal. Passing through the meat, dairy, and bread aisles I begin to get a queasy feeling. “My God, there’s literally no food. What will happen if things don’t return to normal soon?” I might be wrong, but I suspect most of us feel the same: Out of energy and out of control.

Parents, although we like to think we’re in control, the harsh reality is we aren’t. Just take a glance at the world around us right now. Due to factors outside our reach, our families are being negatively affected. It’s particularly hard to see it on the faces of our kids.

Carona is called a “novel virus”, but it’s not novel. It’s just another version of the same thing that has existed since the world was created. We’re all humans and this is a fallen world in need of saving.

We’re all inclined to burnout at some point. We can become deeply discouraged, exhausted, fearful, and sometimes we feel we can’t take one more step. I feel that way lately, and I still fight my human nature to naively think I’ve got a handle on everything around me.

When I get honest with myself and when I fall prone to the weight of this world, acknowledging that I’m completely out of control helps me find peace. My Heavenly Father has this. He always has and always will. This “novel virus” is just another variation on the same old story.

Our Creator knows His children and remains in full control. I’m going to trust Him and try to just rest easy.

Prayer for Readers

Heavenly Father, we pray over our communities, families, and individuals who are in the midst of crisis and uncertainty at this very moment. Grant us wisdom, peace, and healing both physical and spiritual. Be with those across the world who are experiencing every variety of emotion. They are experiencing loss, sickness, separation, and desperation.

Remind us to look to You alone when we feel empty and out of control.

“Lately, I’ve felt no emotion. Like a barren dry desert. Then, tears begin to fall out of nowhere…” Braden’s dad

“Daddy, you think you have it all together. You don’t. You think it will end. But it won’t. You can keep the tears at bay for awhile, but don’t be surprised when they spill over the dam of your own strength. You have a flood of emotion still yet to be felt. Only God can get you through.” – Braden

It’s finally done. The book is published and behind us. The final chapter and epilogue to the story have been written, edited, vetted through at least ten proofs, and placed onto paper for all to read. A year of blogs I never thought I’d write are now pressed permanently between the covers of a book and placed onto a shelf to begin collecting dust. Thank God, it’s over.

Then again, it’s never really “done”.

This “old dog” is learning a lot of new things lately with now recently two different career transitions. Having stepped out of a leadership role just prior to Braden’s death, I have been selected to do yet another completely different job within my company. It keeps me on my toes to develop new skills and to remain my most effective.

I’m also learning some other personal lessons. Mainly, about this strange thing called grief. It’s completely new to me and it has an aspect I never considered possible. Specifically, grieving can be ever-present and never ending.

Of course, it evolves. Our grief today isn’t as intense as it was in the very beginning but still, it is not gone and may likely never be. They say time heals. It’s been fourteen months and time has helped some by presenting distractions of work and life. But time hasn’t done its job well. It hasn’t healed.

Recently, we met with a local school board candidate. Cathy and I wanted to get to know about her background and philosophies regarding education and the need for culture change in our schools. I was listening to her share thoughts about school counseling, teaching, administration, and some initiatives we might be able to consider. However, as the conversation shifted into what BradensVoice’s mission was, I became inwardly emotional.

Our ultimate mission and vision for the non-profit organization we’ve formed is to have a peer-driven suicide awareness/ prevention program in every Texas school within our lifetime. As I shared this vision with our new friend, I became consciously aware that suddenly tears were coming to my eyes for the first time in months. I had to just shut down and collect myself. She never knew, but I did and it felt strange. “What was that about,” I thought.

Later that week, someone asked for a book to be signed and as I scribbled a personal message on the title page, my eyes filled with tears for absolutely no reason. As we watched a movie later that evening no one knew but I had tears rolling down my face out of nowhere. And it was a comedy, no less.

Even as I write this short story this early morning, a flood of tears blur my vision as they fall from my eyes. These are the first tears I’ve experienced in well over two months. This grief thing is a complete mystery to me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been around it and have had losses in our family and extended family. Cathy lost both her parents and I was there when her dad died. I’ve mostly watched as others experienced grief, but my wife warned me it would happen some day and I wouldn’t be ready for a devastating loss like this. I have come to know several who have lost a child either through natural causes or by suicide.

One friend, Mike Martin, lost his entire family in a horrific car accident some years ago. I could never imagine the loss of our son and can’t fathom how my friend continued breathing after his entire family was taken in an instant. He and his wife, Penny are an awesome inspiration to us and to many, having not only overcome the tragedy but then moving forward with Christian ministry. How does that even make sense?

As cliche as it sounds, I suppose it has to do with God allowing bad things to happen which offers us each an opportunity to wither or to grow in our faith. That’s what my friend would tell me. And he should know more than anyone. Even after having a new start and a beautiful second family, I’m confident Mike still weeps from his grief, and he always will.

As mentioned, I’m learning new things at work and in life through our experiences and those of friends who have lost loved ones. What I’m learning is no matter how certain our future seems, God’s plan can look entirely different and His new map could arrive at any moment in any of our mailboxes.

I’ve learned that faith, family, and friends are the three most important things in this life. God never wants His children to hurt, but He loves us enough to allow it and to hold us up and dry our tears when we weep. He only wants us to be confirmed that we can’t stand on our own strength and must rely solely upon Him.

I’ve learned that no matter how long or brief our lifespan might be, we have a short time here on this earth and that grief comes with the territory. I’ve learned that tears will come when I least expect them but that God will dry those tears in His everlasting love.

Prayer for Readers

Lord, thank you for being there to dry our tears when we hurt. Thank you for blessings we too often take for granted. Remind us daily of those blessings and allow us to come to you for assurance that this is temporary and You are eternal. We pray for those who need that assurance right this minute as they are in dark places and need your light. We pray in Your Son’s name, Jesus. Amen

Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 

For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;  a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;  a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.