Mark Speed

Out of Darkness

September 28, 2019October 3, 2019 Mark Speed8 Comments

“The real battles are with forces no one has seen. Shine the light in every dark place you can find and you’ll be amazed at what is revealed” – Braden

“Thought of y’all when I heard this song” – Braden’s Aunt Karla

“I think your son’s story would resonate with many and was wondering if either you and/or your wife would be interested in telling his story to our students”. – 7th Grade School Teacher

Have you ever moved to a new home?

Some people never leave their first home and others never would consider moving from their hometown. Others, like myself have to move constantly, like a pesky fly at the Dairy Queen. They can’t seem to just light in one place and stay. I grew up in a small town where “moving” meant loading a livestock trailer with all your worldly possessions and hauling them across town or a few blocks to a newer house.

Later, after having graduated and entered a career in the corporate world, moving became “relocation”. Sometimes it’s voluntary, but too often it must be done due to a company need. In any case, particularly the latter, relocation really stinks.

Moving away from friends, family, and familiar. Moving into uncertainty is miserable, not only for yourself but exponentially for those you love. Trust me. I’m now an expert, having relocated seven times with my company.

When I hear a successful executive give his/her work history and cite that many moves, there is a part of me that always wonders, if they’re such a high performer why couldn’t they hold down a steady job? But success often means moving talent around. No matter the reason, moving just stinks.

On the brighter side, re-lo comes with its perks. Typically, there is a moving bonus, all expenses are often paid including a guaranteed buy-out if your house doesn’t sell. You also have an opportunity to continually find a place to better suit your needs, including things like a pool if you’re so inclined.

When we moved from Cinco Ranch in Katy and bought our home in Prosper, we all knew the place just felt right. It looked a lot like the home we’d left. It also already had a pool which was a deal breaker to get the kids to willingly make the move. Previously, our pool was about five feet above the ground, full of grass clippings, and had the brand, “Intex” painted across its side. We went through at least four of them.

Moving with my family, the transfer to the DFW area was our fifth in 20 years. Prior moves were done as a single. In 2014, I finally convinced the family to move one final time, since my career was on the line. The kids eventually came around. At least they got to pick their new room and decorate it like they wanted.

Our new home had been owned by a couple who also had a boy and a girl. The larger room had been occupied by the daughter and the small one by the younger brother. Of course, Braden got the bigger room, which meant the chandelier in hers and the urban skateboard graffitied wallpaper in his had to be swapped and walls painted.

One thing I never liked was Braden’s bedroom location. Tucked into a corner behind the game room, it felt isolated by location. One good thing is the large east facing window which allows bright light to flood the room when the blinds are left open. If Braden left them closed, it felt too dark.

It was dark the day he left it. I could go into a long discussion about the dark and what the Bible has to say about it. Although I’m no Bible scholar, I can say there are more negative references about the dark and positive references about the light. God’s word tells us the dark is where sin hides its face. Where dark forces reside. And where fear thrives.

For months prior to Braden’s death, we felt a sense of dark forces somehow working within those four walls although there were no tangible signs. Obviously, we couldn’t see nor hear anything. We could however see visible signs we were losing our son, slowly but certainly. On the day before Halloween, we did. We lost a battle in a very spiritual war.

Halloween never had been a holiday we enjoyed. We’d be fine to skip it altogether. Maybe this year, we will.

Coincidentally, on the morning of Braden’s memorial service, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention had planned a national event called, Out of the Darkness Walk. The local chapter held the walk just five minutes from First Baptist Church and I decided to go.

I know this sounds crazy, but I did it to confirm Satan wasn’t going to keep me on my back but rather our family was going to stand and walk forward. I was joined by a couple of family members from out of town and some friends from the community.

It was a gorgeous sunny weekend with mild temperatures and a slight breeze. Perfect for a walk. Before leaving that morning, I was up before dawn. The previous evening, Cathy and I spent long hours into the night selecting photos for the memorial. I’d hauled down six or seven albums and was returning them to the media room just off Braden’s room.

We had closed his bedroom door expecting it to be months or years before we unlocked it. It was a dark place we knew would remain closed for some time. As I balanced the over-stuffed photo albums up the stairs, I got a text notice. The message from my sister Karla read, “Thought of y’all when I heard this song”. She does that every once in awhile and they’re usually pretty darn good tunes.

I clicked the text link and slipped the phone into my PJ pocket to continue putting away the photograph albums. As the song played, I immediately was moved. Rarely does that happen on the first listen to any song. Now, as I walked into the game room and leaned on the pool table, I pulled out the phone to see the artist and to just stare at the phone. As tears began falling, my eyes moved to Braden’s bedroom door.

The sun had risen enough to see light under the bottom space of the door, but it was oddly bright. The door wasn’t closed! It was standing about two feet open and sunlight flooded the area into the small hallway. The song titled, “Tremble” was about the power of the name of Jesus and how He makes the darkness tremble. How He overcomes fear. To this day, I still get chills when I recall that image of the light shining through that open door.

That morning, I stepped into a brightly sunlit park to walk alongside friends and family. Since that day, our family has walked into places we never dreamed we’d go. Caitlin has walked into her school and has danced on many a stage. Just recently, Cathy and I walked together onto the floor of a gymnasium full of middle school students to speak about how they could play their part in saving lives and in changing their culture. We’ve all walked paths we never dreamed.

Only a month ago, I finally opened Braden’s bedroom door all the way. I went to the blinds and opened them fully and sat down to allow the flood of tears to wash away some pain. I prayed against the forces of darkness that once filled that space. And I thanked God for revealing His truth, that we do face unseen forces but not alone.

Who knows where God will lead from here. All we can do is surrender to Him and remain determined to walk out of the darkness.

Prayer: Although we lost one battle, Lord thank you for assurance that you already won the war. Protect us in our battles. In the all powerful name of Jesus. Amen.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” John 10:10

Tremble

– By Mosaic

Peace… Bring it all to peace
The storm surrounding me,
Let it break at Your name

Still.. call the sea to still
The rage in me to still
Every wave at Your name

Jesus, Jesus, You make the darkness tremble
Jesus, Jesus, You silence fear

Breathe… call these bones to live
Call these lungs to sing
Once again, I will praise

Jesus, Jesus, You make the darkness tremble
Jesus, Jesus, You silence fear

Your name is a light the shadows can’t deny
Your name cannot be overcome

Jesus, Jesus, You make the darkness tremble
Jesus, Jesus, You silence fear. Your name is alive forever lifted high

YOUR NAME CAN NOT BE OVERCOME!

Holding On

September 24, 2019October 28, 2019 Mark Speed5 Comments

“I loved family movie nights and doing things together. I could always use a good long hug. That made me feel secure, like everything was ok”. – Braden

“A hug lasting seven or more seconds produces oxytocin. This natural chemical restores damaged brain cells, allowing them to live again and to give a sense of well being. Everything will be ok. A sense of hope.” – Sarah Feuerbacher, family counselor

“Could we have held you longer and might you have held on just a little longer… enough to find your way?” Braden’s mom and dad

Sculpture: “Emptiness”
Depicts my last memory of our son the night before he stopped holding on.

Lately, I’ve been overcome by the need to write. It’s been like a flood building against a dam of time constraints, distractions, and the difficulty in conveying so many thoughts and emotions pouring over my mind.

We’re approaching one year now since last Fall. Writing somehow allows a tiny stream of emotional relief through that dam. It can flow out as humor, reflection, or too often just tremendous sadness. Fall 2019 begins this week and although no rain is forecast, we can expect to have a flood or two.

Pizza Nights and Groundhog Days

I began writing this late one Friday afternoon. Many parents know what Friday evening means. The pizza chains certainly do. Families want fun and memorable experiences together without having to cook. They need an easy way to feed their kids and a little self indulgence at the end of a hectic work week.

A few weeks before Braden left, I was heading home on a Friday evening after a full work week . The Friday night routine call home… “So how’s it going? My ETA is around 6:15. What’s the plan?”

“The kids want pizza”. Mark concedes, “Ok. What’s their order?” Cathy: “‘Braden wants pepperoni and she wants cheese only”. No surprise. They never agreed on the same toppings and neither choices were my preference.

“Ok, get what they want and a meat lover’s for me. Also some of those crunchy thingies sprinkled with cinnamon sugar”. This is the Friday night equivalent to the movie, “Groundhog Day”. You know. The one where the lead character wakes each morning and goes through the exact same day hundreds of times over and over again.

Of course this is a slight exaggeration, but whether it’s movie night, game night, or inviting friends over, somehow Friday nights always seem to involve a similar experience. Pizza, zero pressure, acceptance, warmth of the familiar, and a good chance everyone is wrapped in their own TV blanket.

I must finally admit it’s not all bad, this Groundhog Day thing!

…And a Different Kind of Fort Nite

Sometimes family night included video games together. Before we lost Braden, he went through a phase of playing a virtual game called, Fort Nite. This is another one of the “kill or be killed” variety and once your character is killed, you lose. We tried to play with him, but always lost. Braden had his wins but when he lost, you’d hear him yelling from three houses away.

A few months before we lost him, Braden helped his sister build a “blanket fort”. She loved those. Later, Caitlin planned all summer to build an “Epic, Ultimate Fort”, before 7th grade began.

One night, she begged me to bring in the Little Giant ladder from the garage and split it in half. “Can you build the two ladders?” “Sweetie… I’m completely exhausted… but, Ok”.

Later I arrived home to see that my girls had built that “ultimate fort”. Trust me, I know how to build a fort. My brothers and I built hundreds of them in the dirt fields and in living rooms of childhood friends, but nothing like this.

That night all three of us were in the ultimate fort watching TV together. Like her brother, she loved it because it felt close. Safe. Cozy, and this sort of activity together built memories.

I lay on the floor and Caitlin moved from her comfortable chair, laid next to me pulling up our “love blanket” (the quilt I’d bought Cathy one Christmas) and laid her head on my stomach. As we watched our movie, I gently patted her back and snuggled her in close.

Suddenly she was not a twelve year old fort builder about to become a young lady. She was just my baby girl. The tiny little bird I’d held before they put her into the warmer on Christmas Eve morning 2006. She was still so innocent, and I knew she would be gone too soon. You see, you can’t hold on too long or little birds won’t fly.

Without warning I had to try and deny the tears silently beginning to fill my eyes. I couldn’t even sniff or else she would realize her daddy was crying. I was so much missing Braden in this special moment, realizing we’d never have another one like this together, at least this side of Heaven. Still, I could hug his sister tight. And I did.

As the father to a teenage boy I consciously chose to show physical affection to him daily. Did I do it out of my heart or from my head? It doesn’t matter, I did it because it was important. But did I do it enough? What’s enough? What’s too much? Who really knows? I would say however, yes, I did it from my heart and that more is better than less.

Science of the Mind and Heart

A few months ago, out of our own experience and with the Holy Spirit’s direction, we formed with other parents struggling during the adolescent and teen years. We come together on a monthly basis to learn about shared challenges. Those things we’ve historically faced alone.

Last week during our second PTP (Parents-R-Partners) session, family counselors Sarah Feuerbacher and Ardis Lo presented on the topic of social media. Within their slide presentation, they depicted the physiology of the brain.

They presented the scientifically proven fact that when a person is physically touched or hugged for as long as seven seconds, the mind has an interesting and amazing reaction. It stops thinking negatively about stressors and instead fires a chemical called oxytocin. This natural body chemical tells the brain everything is ok simply because it is being loved. Not judged. Not too short. Not too tall. Not ugly or unaccepted. Just. LOVED.

Furthermore, this chemical has healing properties for the mind. Neurotransmitters long damaged or killed by cortizol and adrenalin, are mended and recovered. As a result of the injection of this natural “Love Potion”, the brain instantly feels “ok” and it recovers in proportion to the amount of time and frequency of the “injection”.

I don’t know about you, but this simple science lesson will help me as a father to know that unconditional love and physical touch (again, specifically hugging / holding longer than before) can impact the brain and emotional well being of those I love.

Shared Experiences

Since losing Braden, we’ve heard so many stories about other children or even adults dealing with depression. Many are so similar in detail it reminds us of a movie with the exact same storyline but different actors. Fortunately, in more cases than not, their stories have had a better ending than ours. Still, too many end in the same way ours did.

Recently, a woman confided to having failed at five attempts to end her own life and thanking God she was spared. She said, “One time the doctors pronounced me dead and actually informed my family, but they demanded that the doctors keep trying to resuscitate me. It was a terrible time, but it got better”. She continued, “I’m glad God saved me, and that my family held on for me when I couldn’t hold on for myself.”

Readers: If you are contemplating harming yourself , taking your own life, or if you or someone you know has a plan, we plead and pray that you’ll take it seriously and get help immediately. You see, the world needs you here. Perhaps to make a difference in someone else’s life.

We would give anything to have had that be Braden’s story, had he just held on.

Holding On to the Everlasting

We all want and need to hold our children. Subconciously we hope they won’t grow up, while in the very same moment we pray they will. Our Heavenly Father wants His children to accept His promises and assurances. He wants us all to lean into His EVERLASTING arms. IF we model this and if we do so ourselves, we stand a very good chance as do our children of finding that perfect peace for which we all hunger.

Our Father wants us to just hold on and watch for His perfect plan.

Prayer over readers and families

Heavenly Father, You know our hearts and our minds. Thank you for creating us in your wonderous image. Of all your creations, you made your children uniquely capable of recovering from damage done by this world if we will simply take time to love you and love one another. Your word confirms these two things to be the greatest of all commandments. We love you so much and pray for every person and every family reading. May you direct us to share your message with others who may need encouragement and hope. In your son Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

Matthew 22: 36-38

“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “ ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Responders

September 14, 2019September 6, 2021 Mark Speed12 Comments

“911. What is your emergency?” – Prosper dispatcher

“”Family, we have a choice here. We can either react by going down because of this or we can respond by rising above it. We will choose the latter.

Do you know who that was? It was Jesus” – Braden’s Dad

“Mom and Dad. I’m proud y’all have responded by running towards Jesus rather than reacting and running away. Christ wants you to respond to His call, acknowledging Him as God’s only Son, worthy of your worship even in the firestorm of tragedy. I love you all so much”. – Braden

Prosper First Response team who arrived on Camden Way on 911 call: Left to Right: Armando Fernandez (Driver/ Engineer); Jason Graham, Captain; Stuart Blasingame, Fire Chief; David Weimer and Lee Marshall, Firefighter Paramedics, and Shaw Eft, Assistant Fire Chief. Not pictured: Tim Easterling and Chase Lowery, Fire fighter paramedics

In Memoriam

One year ago, I thought of the local fire department as those Gung-Ho guys who drove through town at all hours of day or night, running traffic lights while blaring extremely loud sirens and honking their horns (Not unlike the typical high school teen when you think about it).

I didn’t realize they lived almost half their working years away from their families on 24 hour shifts three times each week while training every day to become more effective at their jobs. I didn’t stop to think much at all about the impact their job must have on them emotionally and mentally. Especially, calls like ours to 911 that day. I think about it all the time now.

After October 30, I came to better know them as husbands and fathers just like me. Sharing a “trench” of tragedy together, I’m now honored to count several of these men as friends and extended family. We honor these noble men and women and those who have even sacrificed their lives in the line of duty.

This week I watched a Facebook-live feed being broadcast from downtown Dallas on an iPhone held by Prosper Fire Chief, Stuart Blasingame. He recorded almost an hour to honor lost brethren: fallen first responders in the doomed World Trade Center towers on lower Manhattan Island on the anniversary of our country being attacked by terrorists on 9-11-2001. Watching his crew and hundreds of north Texas first responders moved me deeply.

I found the timing appropriate to write our interwoven stories about our son and these heroes who serve to protect as they respond at all hours of the night and day, running red lights and honking horns.

In Prosper on every police and emergency vehicle you will find boldly emblazoned the phrase, “In God We Trust”. We share the very same faith and therefore, we trust in our community servants as well.

God bless and protect all first responders, police officers, and firefighters around the globe. Prayers today over the fallen heroes and their families. NEVER FORGOTTEN.

Preface

The following is how this past year’s journey began for our family. We’ve tried to recount as best possible but to be honest it’s hard to do justice in written form to all the “God Moments”. I pray perhaps even a small ray of hope will shine through darkness to readers in need right this very moment.

October 30, 2018

2:34PM. I know the time since it’s etched into my smartphone history. I was in a training class to re-learn a job I’d chosen to step into just 30 days prior.

Cathy knew not to call during the training sessions since I couldn’t leave the room. Texting was our only mode of communication. So why was she calling?

Knowing the call must be time-sensitive, I ran to exit the training room into the hallway with my heart rising into my throat. “Cathy, what is…” The voice on the other end of the line interrupted and was garbled. It didn’t even sound human. “Cathy what is it, what’s going on?” Honestly, I intuitively knew without her being able to verbalize it. Finally, one relatively clear phrase came out as a scream:

“COME HOME NOW!” The phone went dead…

My office campus is in Richardson, Texas. A commute to Prosper is thirty minutes at best and an hour at worst. With pre-rush hour traffic, the drive home at 100mph was less than twenty-five minutes. Yet it was the longest drive of my life. I couldn’t fathom what lie ahead. Cathy wasn’t answering the phone so I called our neighbor, Karla Tinebra who finally answered.

“Karla. Are you with Cathy?” “Yes. Mark, please just get home”.

“Is it what I think?”

Long silence… then, “Yes”.

The question I didn’t want to ask nor did I wish to have answered.

“Karla… is he… gone?”

Long silence… “Mark… Oh Mark.” Hesitatingly and tearfully, the subdued response was, “Yes. Mark, I’m so sorry”.

My mouth was instantly bone dry. My grip on the wheel could have snapped a tree in half. I just kept whispering a quiet scream aloud, “God please let there be a miracle. Make this a terrible nightmare”. But it wasn’t a dream/nightmare like I would have later. It was horrifically palpable and real. How could our 18 year old baby boy be, “Gone”?

I had to mentally prepare for the scene when I turned onto our street. I had to put on a brave and strong mask. To be strong for Cathy and Caitlin. I couldn’t cry. That would only confirm that this nightmare was real. I wasn’t ready for that just yet.

First Response

Like the scene at the Brownfield Regional Hospital when I was only ten, watching my brother’s 15 year old girlfriend dying in front of us, there are scenes the memory can’t purge. That’s true of my arrival at our home. Fire and rescue vehicles, and police squad cars with silent flashing lights were lined up for a half block and partially around the next.

I always park next to the garage, but vehicles blocked the drive so I parked in front, as a guest would, and walked up the steps to the front door. No one said a word, but I sensed each first responder was silently praying and thinking, “What would I feel like had I gotten this father’s call?” Yet they are the only people I recall being there. Several of these men stood in respectful silence. Yellow police tape strewn across the front yard and the front porch. This was my baby and they’ve put out police tape. Unthinkable.

Strikingly, as I recall this surreal experience, not one neighbor was there to gawk at our tragic spectacle. Not even one. You see, they were in their homes, discreet and careful to respect our privacy and to not speculate. Primarily to simply pray.

The neighbors present on that dark scene weren’t there to stare at a distance but rather to hold us close and to pray. To bring us into their hearts and weep with us. Each one to this day knows of whom I’m thinking.

Prosper fire Assistant Chief, Shaw Eft nodded a somber greeting at the door as he lifted the tape to allow access. At the top of the stairs with sunlight pouring through the back game room window stood the dark silhouette of a guard posted there to prevent anyone from passing into Braden’s room.

Shaw and his wife have two young daughters.

In the living room sat Cathy, crying in complete shock with three first responders surrounding her. One was the local fire chief, Stuart Blasingame. Stu is the size of a large bear, not only in stature, but I soon came to realize his heart far exceeds the size of his uniform. Chief Blasingame had been first to enter the home and open the door to our son’s bedroom to find him gone.

Stu and his wife have two teenage boys of their own.

The second responder was a chaplain John Herring, who had been on call that day. He was kneeling beside Cathy, holding her hand and consoling both her and the large-hearted fire chief who was red-faced with tears pouring from his own eyes.

John and his wife, Roni have three kids from age 12 to 19. Two girls around Caitlin’s age and one boy, Caiden (18). Braden’s age.

The third presence in that grieving group was the Holy Spirit in human form, manifest through this crew of first responders.

After we prayed together, we were escorted to our next door neighbor’s home. Karla and Joe Tinebra have been our dear friends since we moved from Katy about five years ago. The chaplain confirmed what we knew. We had to get Caitlin off the bus before she arrived at a scene that would certainly generate a lifetime of nightmares.

Chaplain Herring counseled me very specifically on how to proceed. We needed a trusted mom to collect Caitlin before she got on the school bus. With social media probably informing her of an incident on Camden Way, we needed to rush her to a peaceful place where she’d never go again. And the hard part. Tell her straight out. John and I even role played and practiced the message.

We had less than ten minutes to prepare to share this unthinkable news with an innocent eleven year old child: that her only sibling had died while she was at school.

Taking several cars, we quickly headed to rendezvous with mom and friend, Heather Dlabik, who met us at a small community pocket park across from the Mayhard Egg Farm on First Street.

Delivering the news to Caitlin is another memory a father can never forget, yet having prepared with John I soon realized his counsel was wise. Chaplain John then asked if we had a church to hold the memorial service.

Being members at a very large church, Prestonwood Baptist, it would typically make sense to go there. However, we didn’t expect to fill a venue quite that large. We preferred something smaller, though John didn’t know that.

“I don’t know if you have a church home, but I go to a church right around the corner and you’d be welcome there”.

Second Response

We struggled with the decision of where to hold the memorial service but didn’t want a very large, partially empty space, so elected to go with John’s offer. He went to church there and was such an amazing guide in this emergency, his church seemed a perfect choice. Little did we know he not only went to First Baptist Prosper, but was the senior pastor at that time.

We worked together to plan a memorial for our Braden. The day of the service we had friends and family from all parts of the country. These second responders (the FBC Prosper church family) served us as they would their own family. We were treated to a feast a king would consider worthy. To this day I still see the faces of those in the serving line. They looked at us with love and empathy like I’d never experienced from strangers.

The memorial service was filled to overflow with many standing along the walls. Afterwards, neighbors catered a reception in our home. Never had our home been filled with such love and support from community members, friends, and family. To this day, we don’t know for sure all who contributed but we are so thankful!

Third Response

After a full day, with the suicide “Walk Out of Darkness” that morning, the memorial for Braden and the evening reception, we were beyond exhausted in every way. Then about 9:15 a man called to ask if he might come over and just talk. Chaplain John Herring was still there after all this. When he arrived, I had assumed he must need payment or some kind of forms signed. After all that he and his church had done for complete strangers, non-members, they would need reimbursement.

Yet as our last guest departed, John remained with us. I asked if he needed anything. His response was, “No. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything else for now”. With that, he and I talked and shared some stories. Mostly, he was helping me gear down and it worked. As Cathy hugged our last guest and said good night, John remained. He was last to leave our home late that evening.

We hugged and I thanked him. As I locked the door behind him and he drove away, I returned to the living room couch where Cathy and Caitlin were waiting. Suddenly, it became clear. “Girls. Do you know who just left here? This man came into a totally dark and uncomfortable place. He counseled us and guided us. He invited us into his church, loving us. And he was the last to leave. Do you know who that was? It was Jesus”. And then we just cried.

I’m certainly no expert but when asked, “What do we need to learn from your experience?” Life is about relationship with Christ and with others. These connections make life worth living and without them people ultimately come up dry with no meaning. In hopelessness, more and more are opting to leave this life early.

The pieces of this story may seem fragmented as my writing skills are lacking. However, to this writer the message is clear as crystal. What Braden needed, what we all need, is meaningful and lasting relationship. A sense that we have value.

Life without a true and lasting relationship with Christ has no value. We find temporary satisfaction at best, but it fades. People are conditional. Christ is eternal. Life without Him is not life but rather existence.

Readers: How to have an impact

If you’ve followed this blog you know through our experiences over the past year we’ve tried to piece together some practical helps which others can put to use in their own lives and in parenting our children.

This may seem a little corny, but acronyms are easy to remember if they tie with a concept. The following acronym can work if it’s tried and modeled by moms and dads. After all, aren’t we all first responders? Shouldn’t we continually train to be better at what we do?

U.C.I.S.: “You’ll See, I’ll Stay”

Uncomfortable places. Step INTO them rather than avoiding;
Connect with the hurting. You may be next;
Invite the hurting into our lives, homes, and churches; and
Stay, even when it isn’t easy.

This story of first response aligns with our Lord, Jesus Christ and the way He lived each day. He was born in a dirty stall and throughout his life, walked boldly into the darkest places on earth to find relationship with many who were “uncomfortable” (think leprosy colonies, a demon possessed mad man, the temple/ den of thieves). Christ ministered, counseled, taught, and healed people in those dark places. He invited those lost into relationship with Him. Most importantly, He STAYED. And He remains with us eternally.

Prayer: Lord, I ask that you open my mind to the fact I’m a reactor. Knowing that truth, I pray I will break old habits and learn new healthy ones. Train me to be a responder. I love how you speak truths into my life. In my darkness you shine your light. You are THE one true and awesome God.

I pray over every reader and their families right now, whether they are on a mountain top or in a dark lonely valley. We pray they will be encouraged in finding relationship with their unconditional and perfect loving Father. Grant us peace beyond understanding. It is in Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

Proverbs 3:5-6

⁵Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
⁶in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight.

Run Ways

September 5, 2019June 8, 2025 Mark Speed16 Comments

“I didn’t want to die. I just wanted the pain to go away. I’m sorry for leaving you all to deal with the consequences of my decision”. – Braden

“I still cry like a baby when I think about losing Pam. I wish it didn’t hurt, but after all these years, I admit that it always will. I know that’s not comforting , but it becomes more bearable. Moving on with purpose makes it better. Maybe my testimony might help another young person in a similar place”. -Braden’s Uncle Randy

Preface

Readers: This is a painful story particularly for it’s main character, but he has courageously allowed his story to be shared to possibly speak into the life of someone in need. By publicly journaling, our intent remains to be transparent about teen depression and suicide. We are beyond grateful for many understanding friends walking alongside us who care enough to stay. Even when it’s uncomfortable.

Wikipedia Version

“TWA Flight 427 was a regularly scheduled TWA passenger flight departing Lambert-St. Louis International Airport in Bridgeton, Missouri on November 22, 1994, operated using a McDonnell Douglas MD-82. On the takeoff roll it struck a Cessna 441 Conquest II, killing both of its occupants. It was the second of two flights numbered 427 that would be involved in an incident that year, the other being USAir Flight 427, which crashed in September near Pittsburgh, PA killing all 132 on board.

Eyewitness Version

Thanksgiving week, 1994. TWA’s most junior pilot was appointed to take the routine Denver leg on a late night flight. However, this would not be a routine flight. As the passenger carrier accelerated to full throttle, the crew spotted an unlit private plane sitting on the commercial liner’s designated runway.

The pilot on the jumpseat yelled “That’s an airplane!” The junior pilot veered hard left, throttling back, applying reverse engines and brakes. He remained mindful from his training that an over-reaction could mean turning the aircraft onto its side. However, bearing straight ahead would certainly cost the lives of anyone aboard the private Cessna. The young pilot’s gut instincts and hundreds of simulation training hours kicked in: “Just keep your bearings… remain calm… Steer THROUGH it all the way to the end”.

The MD-82’s right wing sheared the top of the stray private plane and the aircraft skidded to rest 300 yards beyond the initial impact. The crew could hear the screams of horrified passengers. Still, they’d been trained to act quickly, calmly, and professionally under duress.

“Tower, this is 427. Repeat, Four-Two-Seven. Are we on fire?… Tower…. Tower…. Repeat: Are we on fire?”

With no response, the captain made the difficult decision to evacuate the aircraft so as to ensure the safety of his passengers. After numerous distress calls and without confirmation from the tower that they were not on fire, he did the unthinkable. The captain left the ship to rule out any flames. A single spark would be catastrophic.

The captain turned the lever on the left cabin door, triggering the escape slide. He jumped onto it, and dropped directly into a river of jet fuel. He then turned to the junior pilot with instructions that whatever he did, don’t let them use this exit. First Officer, Speed had all passengers exit through the tiny forward right side galley door. There was no safer way out.

142 passengers and flight crew safely escaped onto the tarmac, moving to a safe distance. Not one person was injured on the TWA aircraft, but tragically the two occupants aboard the private aircraft which had wandered onto the wrong runway were killed instantly.

Miraculously, with all that metal and friction there was no spark. No explosion. After checking the cabin and confirming no one remained on board, the TWA junior pilot was the last to exit the aircraft. All passengers were out of danger.

The TWA flight crew later received the Award of Excellence from the airline and the Superior Airmanship Award from the Airline Pilots Association for their handling of the accident. The junior pilot soon became one of TWA’s youngest captains in their fleet. His name wasn’t on the front page. It hardly made the back page when the investigation was complete weeks later.

Through Hollywood sensationalism, the world will forever know Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger safely landed on the Hudson River, but relatively few know the name of the pilot that night who helped save a similarly sized aircraft fully loaded with passengers. Randy “Rand” Speed. My brother. Still today when asked about the incident, he responds, “I just did my job”.

Early the following morning, mom called me in San Antonio, leaving a voicemail. “Mark. Randy has crashed his plane… but he’s ok”. WHAT?? Mom, might you have reversed that statement! I don’t know a lot of people who crash a jetliner and come out ok. But what a Thanksgiving we had that year.

I love telling this, and other “Rand stories”. This particular event could have easily ended more tragically had the wrong choice been made while moving down that runway at full speed. Had he veered too hard to avoid the private plane, rather than steering “through”, it could have cost the lives of almost 150 people.

We each have our own very personal story. That single defining experience, shaping who we are. Our testimony.

Recently, Rand was in town for his final flight medical exam required for his return to the cockpit again flying, now for American which had taken over TWA. Randy had been out of the cockpit over two years.

His visit was unexpected. First, I had no plan to see my Tennessee brother on such short notice. Secondly, only two years prior he was diagnosed with advanced stage esophageal cancer. His oncologists, and even Houston’s MD Anderson Cancer Center gave him a bleak prognosis. He should go home and prepare to die within the next eight months if he took chemotherapy. Left untreated, he had only half of that.

Today, he is completely cancer free. Not a trace. What a miracle! That’s one reason I asked if we could share his story. Hopefully, the rest of the story will help this all make more sense.

Pre-Flight

Often, our older siblings carry an unrealistic and lofty position in our eyes. Personally, my “Big Brother” has always been my hero.

We were “dry land farmers”. That means you only irrigate when it’s desperately dry. A family of six. Farming cotton in the west Texas red dirt. Three boys, Randy the oldest. Karla, the only girl (bless her heart), and twin boys, Mike and Mark, the youngest.

Growing up with a fairly large age gap, we felt like this grown-up, Randy, was a stranger under our roof. Too busy being older and responsible to spend any real quality time with us. He had his own room, which we thought was so cool and private. A place us kids weren’t allowed to enter. To touch his Ford LTD was a death wish and don’t even think about coming within ten feet of his motorcycle.

One Sunday afternoon, Mom came outside abruptly. “Boys… hurry! Randy and Pam have crashed his motorcycle. They’re at the hospital right now”. What? This can’t be serious. I mean, after all we’d never had anything serious happen before so it couldn’t be that big a deal.

Arriving at the Brownfield Regional Hospital ER, it became a big deal. I’ll never forget seeing Randy’s ashen face. Emotionless. Destitute. Like every ounce of blood and oxygen had been robbed from him. It was all moving in slow motion. He was just 15 years old and he was afraid of losing his first love, Pam Brown, who was screaming like I’d never heard a person scream while doctors and nurses surrounded her.

I stood on my tip toes and looked into the room through the glass window to see my big brother’s girlfriend writhing in fear and pain. She couldn’t be dying… could she? My very first experience with tragedy. Personal loss. Loss I saw in my family’s eyes. I’ll never forget it. Randy was uninjured, but was forever changed.

Mom and Dad acted as most parents would. To protect the kids, they wanted to minimize the possibility the worst could happen. For the sake of the of the innocent young ones, make sure they don’t know how bad it is. For Randy, how do we even comprehend what to do? Make him feel like it’ll be ok. That was difficult with the Brownfield News plastering horrific front page photos of the two teenagers at the scene while they placed Pam in the ambulance.

Sadly, Pam passed within a few days of the accident. Randy was affected far more deeply than we knew. Only recently has he confided in me and allowed me to share. He was not assured life would be ok again. He worked hard to deal with his unspeakable loss. One that few unfortunate souls will experience, and he was only a young boy.

To complete this story, Randy agreed to allow me to share the following. When he turned 16, he was sitting on his bed, fully prepared to run… permanently. To end his own life. Without too many details, it was a matter of a split second decision. He chose instead to run in a different direction: to live.

Randy decided to become a pilot. I never understood what led him to that vocational choice but I do now. You see, our brother still wanted to end the pain, but if it was intentional that would devastate his family. Instead, he thought as a pilot he’d have a better than average chance to lose his life “accidentally”. Now, it makes more sense. Yet what Satan intended for evil, God turned around for good.

I’ll never forget one Sunday evening after church, Rand took Mike and me above the town in a single prop Cessna purposefully flying straight up, stalling the engine… then free falling into a nose dive! He liked to place objects on the instrument panel and dip the plane to catch the object in his hand. He also loved to surprise the family on a weekend afternoon by “buzzing” the house. (picture Maverick in Top Gun buzzing the tower).

To this day, he has a passion for flight. Ironically, the very thing Randy wanted to use to end his life became the very thing that made him want to live it.

Certified a cancer-free Airbus Captain 10/25/19

The parallels between Randy and our son, Braden’s stories as teens in crisis, are too clear to ignore; and the contrasts as well. We all have moments we feel like running from the pain life brings. HOW and WHERE we run makes all the difference. Some choose to “run” by avoidance or by leaving the world to escape, feeling no other way to leave. Some “run” to the wrong group of friends or to addiction, drugs, etc. Still others choose to “run” towards Jesus.

Thank God, our big brother chose to continue his run. Later in life he has run to his Creator. Today, his testimony inspires many who have watched him run his race. How many lives could have possibly been lost on that St. Louis runway, and how many lives would have gone uninspired by his healing from certain death to cancer had Rand run another way?

If you can’t tell. I consider my brother to be one in a billion. We pray readers may find hope through his story; perhaps someone who in this very moment feels they have no option but to run away permanently will instead choose life.

Godspeed, Rand. Keep flying high.

Isaiah 40:30-31

Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

Prayer for readers: Lord, when we run life’s race we are too often blinded to think we run alone. Please remind us that you are right by our side and you go before us. Thank you for opening doors we could never pry open alone, allowing us to run to you. Thank you for answered prayers we call miracles and keeping Randy here to share his inspiring story. May someone in need of hope find it today. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

GPS: God Provides Serenity

August 15, 2019September 7, 2019 Mark Speed10 Comments

“This doesn’t look like what I’d planned. I’m completely lost.” – Braden’s Dad

“Dad. Just remember to surrender. He’ll provide the way” – Braden

School’s in session again. Another summer in the memory books. The summer of 2019 was at least a somewhat brighter than the 2018 Fall and Winter. The warm months have been a time for healing and connection with friends and families.

In early September 2018. I’d simply had enough. Seventy hour workweeks and little to no quality time with family. I’ll leave out the details, but after a very successful career in leadership at a company I married straight out of college, the price of success was becoming too expensive.

Just one month prior to losing our son, we decided to make a major change. I elected to self demote and re-tool for the remaining years until retirement. Scary and some might say foolish. Ironically, most describe the decision as courageous. I really don’t care what anyone thinks. Not one time have we looked back with an ounce of regret.

Unplanned, this change afforded us time to deal with the loss of our son, rebuilding health in our family, working on a mission to help others facing a similar nightmare, and culture change in our schools. Certainly, we had a significant reduction in income, security, and the sense of accomplishment in my life’s work. Still the exchange has been worth it and long over due. This summer was one filled with time together without distractions of working from home and a ridiculous level of stress.

What’s ahead on our path? TBD. We’re just taking one day at a time and trusting God. It will be interesting.

Before the 2019 summer break, our family was graciously invited to a Christian family camp in southern Colorado by Sky Ranch. This is a not-for-profit organization founded in the latter 1950’s with camp sites in Texas, Oklahoma ,and Colorado. This particular location is on the Horn Creek in the Sangre de Cristo mountain range of the Colorado Rockies. It was amazing and needed. (Thank you Sky Ranch!)

Funny story. The nearest town with a grocery store is Westcliffe, CO. A town of approximately 500 residents and a very laid back feel. Mid-week, I dropped the girls at camp and headed to town for supplies, the three basic camping food groups: Chips, Cookies, and Cokes.

Unlike the Super Walmart in larger towns, Westcliffe Supermarket is the only option within at least 50 square miles. That day there were only maybe ten people shopping. As I entered the checkout line I asked the clerk and her customer how long they’d lived in Westcliffe. Both proudly responded. “Where ya from?”

“Dallas”. “Oh… Bless your heart”.

Bless my heart?? Really? As a Texan and moreover a Dallas Texan, I suddenly felt somehow disadvantaged. Guess everything is a matter of perspective. Big cities have everything you could want within five minutes. Small towns have simplicity and serenity.

A Very Non-Griswold Vacation

Family Camp is a foreign vacationing concept for us. I grew up with the traditional version of vacations to include the imitation wood-grained panel station wagon, landmark roadside stopovers, and fussy family drama. In my adult years, vacation has meant Disney, cruises, or similar.

In my mind, “summer camp” always reminded me of the song, “Camp Granada”, or something for a funny movie plot. I mean, people don’t actually send their kids to formal summer camp much less go as a family, do they?

Still. What an amazing blessing! I felt God must have something planned in this. I told Cathy we’d need unscheduled time alone without rigid plans or worries of being someplace at some specific time. I selfishly needed rest and total withdrawal. She agreed.

All week, the Weather Channel projected evenings would bring heavy rain showers and/or the threat of hail or tornados. I thought we were leaving those in Texas! We did have a few rough nights. One where the whole camp hunkered in the laundry room and took cover from a tornado, covering the windows with sheets. Yet, each morning was amazing. Crystal and deep blue skies, cool temperatures and gentle breezes.

Tuesday morning was ideal. After breakfast and Bible study, it was a perfect chance to sneak away and spend time. Just me and God.

I struck out southwest on a trail about a quarter mile just beyond the group of cabins. A simple route, just seeking a shade tree where no humans were within sight or earshot. Maybe I’d even take a nap.

Finding the perfect spot, I sat on a pallet of leaves and pine needles, along with some overly friendly ants, biting my legs. Trying to focus on prayer and reading, while itching and swatting. After an hour of uncomfortable peaceful bliss, I stood to return to camp. It should be a quick ten minute walk to the cabins for lunch. Heading: northeastward.

After about a hundred yards, I came across a barbed wire fence? This wasn’t here before. Must have just not remembered it. Then another fence just a few yards beyond. No problem. Yet, there hadn’t been any fences on my original trail to my perfect place.

About a half mile into the return hike, things continued to look increasingly unfamiliar. Where was the creek bed I had walked and those railroad ties leading into camp? Where was the dadgum (look it up) sign warning, “Beyond this point, hike at own risk”? Now the worry sets in. “What if I’m lost? Well, I still have my trusty iPhone. I’ll just ask Siri”.

“Hey, Siri. Where am I right now?” [No internet connection]. Are you kidding me? No signal? Really? I’ve heard of this before. Guy goes for a short walk and is later found dead of dehydration. Alright, I’ll admit to letting my imagination run a bit loose, but stay with me.

Cell data is non-existent in such a remote location in the mountains. Trying to avoid over-think, in my mind I said a prayer for connection. Then, maybe fifty yards forward one tiny bar displayed. The signal lasted just long enough to find where I was which was: fifty yards from a blacktop road and about two miles past the cabins.

This was a familiar experience. Just weeks earlier, the Fellowship of San Antonio planted a tree in their prayer garden in Braden’s memory. The garden has a mile-long walking trail which I decided to hike while spending a few days in town. The garden also has a cautionary warning at the trailhead to walk at your own risk . The area is a bit over grown and it’s difficult in places to clearly discern where the trail is cut.

About half way through the hike, my natural worry mode set in: What if the worst happened and no one knows I’m out here alone. What would my family do? Right then, out loud I said,”God, please give me direction here, about where to go and which path to follow”.

At that very moment, I looked up and saw a tower with a cross at the very top. I began walking through the woods and across cut trails towards that cross and I was able to find my way. Here’s the interesting thing: It had been there the entire time, yet I’d been focused on finding the right trail on my own.

In my walk in Colorado and on the hike in San Antonio, out of no where I received signals and signs. No cell lines were within miles of my mountain location. Still, I got a signal. On the garden trail, there was no map. I simply looked up to find my way.

Today, I had lunch with a good friend who came into our lives the day we lost Braden. He’s a Prosper fire chief who’s crew answered the 911 call. He was the first to enter Braden’s room and he’s also a father of two teenage boys. His crew has a lot of dads with teens. I’ve long wondered how a father could witness such a horrific scene and continue doing that job. I could not. I can’t begin to describe how we are amazed and respect these heroic men and women.

Today, Stuart and I had a long talk about fatherhood. I finally asked the question. “How in the world can you witness such things as a dad and keep doing what you do?” He pulled out his phone and read aloud the “Serenity Prayer”.

That was my answer. It was also his advice to me personally as a father. Only God knows the dark path we’ve been walking. But I’m so grateful God placed this friend there, in that moment to help guide the way. So many have been that to us. They know who they are.

When I left a comfortable career path. After we lost our son. When we began writing about it. I had no clue if, when, or where to move ahead. The trail is unmarked and subject to wrong turns. Still, I’m convinced every step of the way will be directed by the Holy Spirit as long as we surrender to Him. Only by accepting the serenity available through surrendering our own plans can we find true and lasting peace. We count on His plan. Evidence here is that sometimes not at all pretty, His plan is far better and purposeful than our own.

Prayer

Lord, we are lost. Thank you for providing signs to help guide us. Thank you for the blessing of a community of Christian brothers and sisters who help serve as your guiding hand on our path. You alone are our Shepherd. (Psalms 23).

Serenity Prayer

God, give me grace to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
Courage to change the things
which should be changed,
and the Wisdom to distinguish
one from the other.

Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,
Taking, as Jesus did,
This sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right,
If I surrender to Your will,
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with You forever in the next.

Amen.

Moving Fourth

July 7, 2019July 15, 2019 Mark Speed3 Comments

“Dad, you need to move on.” – Braden

“Son, we missed you this Fourth. We won’t ever move on, but we will move forth.” – Braden’s Dad

I didn’t hate school but I most certainly didn’t like it.

What I did love about school were those amazing brief warm months of summer. My twin brother, Mike, and I could never understand how three months in school felt like a year, yet 90 summer days came and went at the speed of light.

Of all required school subjects, Algebra was among the most daunting. Not bragging, but I passed with a JGB grade: (“Just Got By”). Can’t honestly say I’ve ever used Algebra in real life but learned that equations are tested formulas and held to be consistent. Here’s an equation I find to meet that definition… Particularly this year:

Summer = Lazy + Sun + Family + Friends + Fun + Laughter = Memories

July Fourth = Memories

Last week was personal. I hesitate to write about it because it is really too much so. Close to home. But, then again I signed on for this.

Prosper, Texas is a small but rapidly growing suburb north of Dallas. It’s yet one more farm town being consumed by the expansive DFW population explosion. I’m confident Greater Dallas will cross the Red River into Oklahoma within my lifetime.

Our little town is currently growing by about 2,500 new residents per year. If you commute on Hwy 380 every day, it feels more like twice that. Prosper residents are a diverse mix. Many of us are native Texans, but more and a growing number are “Texan Imports”.

A popular bumper sticker comes to mind. “I wasn’t born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could”. Funny. The Texan “Imports” frequently become some of the most staunchly minded wanna-be natives. I’ve always loved our contagious pride, not only for our state, but more importantly for the country where we are so overly blessed to live. That pride is sadly fading these days, but that’s a topic for another blog.

Prosper hosts an annual Independence Day celebration to commemorate America’s birth. The town hosts a festival and fireworks display at Frontier Park, a multi-use field for baseball and community events. This year’s firework display was larger than I’ve ever experienced, short of Disney. I mean, just how many rockets can be launched in 10-15 minutes? The national anthem and Lee Greenwood’s song, Proud to be an American with fireworks always move me emotionally.

This Fourth was particularly emotional. You see, Frontier Park is also where the community held a starlit candlelight memorial for Braden in early November 2018. In contrast with the amazing fireworks and festival last week, the November vigil was a somber and sobering event I did not want to attend. To be very honest, I almost didn’t go because of my anger and pride. Not the good kind. However we were blessed and glad that we decided to attend.

We were devastated. Just trying to take one single step at a time. “Don’t fall apart. Don’t say anything you will regret. Don’t fall on your face”.

As the crowd made our way to a grass field next to a peaceful pond, I ran into a complete stranger. He was also a father. He’d just returned from a business trip and made his way to join the vigil. He and I are now friends with common ground. I moved my family six times. He’s relocating his family to Florida this summer. He made a tough decision for the long term benefit of his family.

That evening I also met with students who were deeply saddened by the loss of yet another peer. That evening it became clear. There needs to be more transparency in the conversation about teen depression and suicide which is now the second leading cause of death for teens. During that starlit candle light vigil, we were inspired to do something positive rather than simply shrink into the darkness of blame and shame.

Last week, along with two other moms, Cathy met with U.S. Congressman, Van Taylor and gained his insight on a strategy to move forward with a grassroots effort towards bringing legislation at the state and hopefully the national level for funding public school suicide prevention training programs.

Pray-ers

To those who attended that November starlit candle light memorial in Frontier Park. To those who joined our family at First Baptist Church of Prosper and those wanting to be there that day. To our church families who welcomed in strangers and loved on our family and friends with your hearts, prayers, and encouragement. To the Prosper Fire First Response and Police Departments. To every neighbor and every pray-er over our family in this season. To each parent who is in our unfortunate but growing “club”:

Thank you from the depths of our hearts. We love you and want to confirm that your prayers are heard and felt. You have changed us and we pray each and every day for you as well.

YOU have helped us move forth.

Prayer for readers

Heavenly Father, thank you for blessings and miracles beyond measure as we experience loss beyond what we could ever be imagined or described. You have taught us that by simply surrendering to your will, through tragedy can come triumph. We are in awe. Please hear the plea of each and every child and adult who is in a desperate place as they read this. Bring peace beyond understanding and please, please Lord. Let them move forth.

It is in your precious Son’s name, Jesus, that we pray. Amen

My Daddy’s Hand

June 16, 2019February 18, 2021 Mark Speed11 Comments

“Is heaven everything you had hoped? Are the gates really made of pearl? Are the streets laid with gold? Is heaven real? Can we see each other again?” – Braden’s dad

“Happy Fathers Day! Pearls and gold are only earthly creations. I really can’t describe Heaven, but you’ll understand when you get here. I’m joyful just knowing I’ll be here to welcome you home, Dad. And I’m ok. See ya soon!” – Braden

I’m not a runner.

I do exercise some but I hate running. There isn’t a person on the planet who honestly likes to run… Of course, that’s just one opinion. I could be wrong.

Although I personally despise running, there’s been a lot of it going on lately. Ever since October 30, 2018 it’s been a full out sprint. Running from reality and towards purpose by helping prevent other families from a similar loss.

Today is my first Father’s Day without our son. And I’ve become weary. Completely exhausted. Every emotional and physical nerve. Spent.

To share all the experiences we’ve had in the span of eight months would be impossible here. But we write to pull out some threads of insight and encouragement. This has not been a race we signed up to run. But we believe it’s an important one.

I’m off work all week and hoping to get some rest and re-charge, to continue the race.

Speaking of rest, I have a phone app for relaxation to help wind down and relax at night. One feature on the app has different narrators who read “sleep stories” designed to get the listener’s mind off their own thoughts and to relax. It sounds weird but it really works and it’s certainly better than sleeping pills.

One of the stories is narrated by international space station Commander, Terry Virts. He led numerous earth orbit missions and published a book loaded with photos titled, “View From Above”. He has a passion for photography and the indescribableness (new word) of the universe.

Virts is a brilliant man and a gifted photographer. On each of his missions, he captured hundreds of thousands of images. The photos of earth are amazing. Yet still, although he tried on every one of his voyages to capture the expansive view of the opposite side of the space station, he just couldn’t do it.

He personally saw galaxies, nebulae, and star clusters, yet he couldn’t clearly capture and share what he had witnessed. Can you imagine going through something so indescribable that it changed the very way you looked at your own existence… yet, you couldn’t give an accurate account to others?

I found Vert’s experience to be very interesting and personal. Although commanding space stations isn’t my thing, I’ve had experiences that are impossible to sufficiently describe.

Once, I recall a fishing trip to the Texas hill country in the spring of 2007 with a group of dads from a church in Austin. We all went to a fishing camp west of Lampasas, Texas. It was the darkest and clearest night sky any of us had ever observed. We couldn’t even see our hands in front of our own faces much less one another as we walked along a dirt trail from the dock to our cabin.

We all looked up and tried to verbally describe the view. The sheer number of stars was beyond anything any of us had witnessed. Although we’d been taught and read about the universe, we hadn’t actually seen it in such a way until that night. Such a clear view into the “Heavens”. Well, I can’t really describe it. Guess you had to be there.

Braden was a curious person. He loved to watch videos about the unfathomable size of the cosmos in comparison with Earth. One he watched over and over was by Louis Giglio how Earth’s size compared to the moon, then Venus, the sun, unimaginably huge Kanis Majoris (his favorite) and that our planet is located in just one of billions of galaxies. Far beyond what the mind can fathom.

He was mesmerized watching that video and that’s the way he perceived his world: a lone grain of sand on an expansive sandy beach. He was so exceptional in his ability to think deeply it was scary. I still remember him, at a very young age asking, “Why are we here?” I responded, “Because we’re playing cards, son.” He repeated, “No, why are we here?” I clarified, “Oh. Because daddy’s work moved us to Austin”. He became frustrated. “No, dad. WHY ARE WE HERE?” Then he said something that still gives me a chill. “Why doesn’t God just take us to heaven when we trust in Him? I wish I could be in heaven with Him now.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about Heaven these past few months. Losing a child forces the question. Is Heaven real? We certainly hope our loved ones who pass from this life go to a place where they are at perfect peace. That’s always been a given source of peace to those left behind. It definitely applies in our circumstance.

There are two things that confirm our faith in truth. They’re both as evident as any that could be produced to a jury or judge:

First, following such an unspeakable loss, we remain standing. Even walking forward. None of us know how, but we have. God has answered too many specific prayers to even list here. Some would say (or think) these events have just happened by chance. The odds of this many random events “just happening” would be like saying an orchestra of instruments “just happened” to play a symphony in perfect harmony. These are miracles through events and a community of people that would not, could not occur without our Father’s guiding hand.

Secondly, we have been confirmed in our faith through shared experiences of fellow witnesses who have experienced similar miracles. Have you ever talked with someone who believes something from having actually seen it with their own eyes? Their testimony is far more credible than that of a bystander who heard someone else tell of the experience. We have talked with so many eyewitnesses to this truth that we are fully convinced Heaven is real and not fictional.

I’ve been reading a lot lately. Recently, I finished Don Piper’s second book about his near death experience over 25 years ago and the people he met at the gates of heaven. Don and I had a chance to meet a few months ago and he has crystal clear recall of many details of his 90 minutes in heaven. He told me about the gates and the sound of a thousand songs being sung simultaneously but understanding each one distinctly. He remembers the music still but can’t fully describe it.

Of all we talked about, Don said one thing I’ll never forget. He told me he was deeply sorry for our temporary separation from our son. It’s not what he said as much as how he said it. Like someone who had witnessed the indescribable and wanted simply to confirm the facts.

Also, have been reading the Bible on the topic of losing loved ones. One Old Testament story tells of the great King David and how he responded when his seven year old boy passed away. Instead of going into a hole, David worshipped and became even closer in his faith in God. David was fully confident he would see his son again when he went home.

When we are exhausted from running life’s short but trying race. When we have nothing left to give, we need to surrender and look up to reach for our Heavenly Father’s hand.

Prayer for Readers

“Lord, thank you for every trial. Thank you for every tragedy. Thank you for every subtle message you share in our daily lives. Forgive us for thinking we can run life’s race on our own. Humble us to know we can rest in You and have confidence You have prepared a home for us. Happy heavenly Father’s Day.

It’s in your Son’s name, Jesus which we pray these things, Amen.”

Scarred and Stained

May 8, 2019May 9, 2019 Mark Speed10 Comments

“Happy birthday, son. We miss you and we’re all hurting.” – Braden’s Family

“I love you all so much! Please look and listen closely for what God has to say, and He will help heal your pain”. – Braden

May 8, 2019. 1:30PM. The day before Braden’s birthday.

Lately, we’ve written more than usual. Cathy told me I’d have to write because when things get to be too much, that helps. This week has been just that. Too much.

Woke to rain this morning. It hasn’t slowed once. The last time I remember it raining like this was Oct 31st. That day it began at sunrise and stopped late that evening. This is a familiar rain. Slow, steady, yet gentle with rolling thunder. No house-shaking booms though and no visible lightening strikes.

The weather guy said it was supposed to clear by noon but he was wrong. I’ve heard it said that, other than a weather reporter, what other occupation allows a person to keep their job when they’re inaccurate 90 percent of the time!

Yesterday I finally finished a huge backyard project staining our fence. All 17 gallons worth. That came after another two days of preparing the wood. The goal has been to be done for Caitlin’s half year birthday party. It’s been far over-due. It gave me a lot of time to think. Hard work helps me do that. A couple of things I observed while staining hit me pretty hard.

I took some before-and-after photos and thought, why would we need to stain a natural thing that God created from a tree? Wouldn’t it be beautiful just as it was made and without changing it? All I know is the “after” version certainly looks better than the “before” one.

Also, I was working in the corner where we have a large and quick- growing tree. I’d never noticed something before, but suddenly a memory of our son flooded my mind. On the trunk of this tree was a single scar. You see, Braden loved to shoot. BB guns, air rifles, pistols, shotguns, a home made potato gun. You name it. He would never shoot an animal, but loved shooting targets. When younger, he really took little time to consider the collateral damage potential.

Of course he shot clays and fixed targets, cans, and bottles. But as a kid, he also shot lawn chairs, windows, glass doors, and the occasional wall. Once he had a BB gun and failed to consider the ricochet. Kind of expensive for dad! He wasn’t wanting to destroy them of course. He just thought, “Hey, I wonder what would happen if…”. What happened was often I’d get mad and want to kick him down the block! But that was our boy. Very much a boy.

In 2017 Braden got a crossbow with allowance dollars he’d saved. He went online and got a nice one along with a supply of arrows. The expensive kind of course. Now, a crossbow and a regular bow are two entirely different things. A regular bow is loaded by the strength of the archer’s arm. The arrow’s range and accuracy are limited to human strength and skill.

The crossbow is engineered to exceed human strength by far and often has a scope, allowing the accuracy of a sharpshooter. It can pass completely through the target (be it prey or a bale of hay). What it will not go through, no matter how much pressure is placed on the bow… is a large and quick- growing tree like the one in our backyard.

I was there when Braden loaded his first arrow along the back fence behind our pool . I saw his intended target. I spoke up. “Bud. What do you think will happen if you hit that tree?” His response was expected. “Well, let’s see”. And with a squeeze of the trigger, he’d shot this poor, innocent, helpless, large and fast-growing tree.

At once he knew what I had already known. His expensive arrow had found its final target and would never be removed to fly free again. We had to break it off and move on to find another target. One that would allow him to retrieve his arrows so they could be re-used for lawn chairs, etc.

At the time, I gave little to no thought of that tree. I was more concerned that my son had experienced another disappointing moment at the height of his excitement, in his very first shot with a new crossbow.

The scar on that tree is there today and will remain for its entire life. Although injured, the arrow didn’t phase it in the slightest. The leaves produced every season will give visual beauty and audible comfort to those around it by the sound of breezes and rainfall. In fact, I have enjoyed sitting outside many mornings just looking and listening in times I need that tree.

Now, I mention these simple observations because God does speak when I listen. Why would we stain something that is already beautifully made by God? I would submit we who have accepted Christ are stained improvements as God’s children. We are stained by the blood of His son, Jesus who volunteered to die in our place so we can have more abundant and ultimately, eternal life. And we are so much better after than before. I certainly was a project over-due and remain very much a work in progress.

The Bible talks about how Jesus died on a tree and when his disciples and others saw him, they didn’t realize who he was after his resurrection. That is, until they saw the scars from being pierced and nailed to that tree in their place.

I don’t know exactly why Jesus chose to give us perfect grace, but I can testify personally that when I’m injured by life’s arrows, they don’t kill me. They do hurt. Sometimes beyond my pain tolerance. However, in tried and confirmed faith, I am strengthened ever more. You can see some of my scars. Some you can’t. Still, they’re certainly not attractive. We can only pray our scars might help others who need to know Jesus SAVES lives.

We take a great deal of comfort in knowing beyond a doubt, Braden loved Jesus. He accepted the free gift of salvation a few years before he took his eternal reward. It was far too early for our timing and it leaves scars each of us will bear the rest of our lives. His great “Aunt Jo” went to be with Jesus just a few days ago. She held a special place in all our hearts and Braden held a very special place in hers.

I thank God every single day for each moment we got to share on Braden’s 18 year journey here on earth and for Aunt Jo’s living testimony for almost 87 years. Mostly, I thank God that we all are assured of the Holy Spirit’s presence here and a full blown family reunion that we can only imagine.

Thursday, we mark the day our firstborn came into the world. On Friday we say goodbye to Aunt Jo. Sunday, we celebrate all mothers for their love and sacrifice in bringing our children into this world.

Tomorrow, we’ll see another sunrise. One I will be anticipating and watching through the beauty of a scarred tree.

Family Prayer: Father. How often we look right past the little things You wish to say while we are working through life on our own. Thank you for helping open our eyes and hearts to the beauty of your creation. Thank you for taking on each one of us as your special projects and for sending your Son, Jesus so we might be stained by His cleansing blood. We pray for every one of your children and for every family facing the scars this world produces. May they look to You for healing and strength. In Jesus’ name, we pray these things, Amen.

Senior Year

May 2, 2019May 3, 2019 Mark Speed11 Comments

“Son, you worked so hard and deserved to see graduation day, but you never got that experience. You’ll never have your own family. A fulfilling career. A long life. A hope for tomorrow and a future.” – Braden’s mom & dad

“I do have a future, but one you can only imagine in your most perfect dreams. Please don’t grieve our temporary separation too long. It’s just a flash in time. Know I’m waiting for you and it isn’t sad here. I’m excited and anticipating our reunion! Try to stop focusing on what tomorrow could have been, and remember to have joy in what today already is.” – Braden Thomas Speed

May 2, 2019. Graduation is in the air. The Class of 2019 is roaring to get out and move into the next phase. Many parents are mixed about that. Most are relieved they’ve gotten their kid to a huge milestone in life, but with it comes the uncertainty. Are they ready? Are we ready? What if they don’t come back? A mixed bag of emotions.

Remembering my senior year in small town Brownfield, Texas. Every student looked forward to the summer break ahead. Freedom at last! Swimming, riding bikes, family camping vacations. For younger ones it was Vacation Bible School and playing at the grandparent’s house. For older kids, summer jobs, and lazy days recouping from the pressures of the school year. Recharging for the next.

Teen readers: I’m sorry to inform you. Summer break used to be a full three months. Over time, somehow that’s become more like two. Most of the last weeks now are in preparation for the approaching Fall season. Band, cheer, track, football, or whatever other expectation schools and parents place on kids for tomorrow’s performance.

The year we graduated, BHS seniors (including myself and my twin brother) were looking toward a very different summer break than we had in previous years. CLEP testing, pre-college prep and plans, finding a roommate, financial preparations, student loans, scholarships, and car payments. Should we keep our current relationships or make a fresh start? Where would we live? Would we find a girlfriend? Would she be “The One”?

Could we do this thing called “Life” on our own… WITHOUT our parents?

The last year of primary education is likely one of the most pivotal in a young person’s life. Granted, preparing for Fall band, football two-a-days, golf team try-outs, and the like are stressful. However, senior year means preparing to leave home, without the safety and protection provided from the outside world. It brings on a vastly heightened level of uncertainty, anxiety, and let’s just admit it: Fear of uncharted territory ahead.

Nineteen years ago. May 9, 2000. 3AM. College Station, Texas. Cathy woke me calmly yelling, “It’s time”! Braden Thomas Speed was ready to come into the world. A short four hours later, he arrived.

Our hospital room had an east facing wall of a huge window, the curtains fully opened wide to the world. I still recall the doctor saying, “You’re blessed. Your son will get to have his very first sunrise this morning”. I was the first person to see the top of his head as he entered into this world and just as the sun rose over the horizon. It was an absolutely gorgeous and perfect beginning. I heard his very first breath on this planet. Like we all do. With our very first breath of air, we cry.

I knew right then I’d forever remember the blessing God gave me as a new father. To be there. Very present in that special moment. I was first to hold him and believe me, the tears rolled when the nurse said, “Ok, Daddy. Come with me, we’re taking your son to the nursery.”

In a flash. Our lives can change. Ours certainly did.

Cathy’s first Mother’s Day fell within just a few days of her first child’s birth. What an immeasurable blessing and one she well deserved. This month will be tough for us all. Expect we’ll have our traditions to hold dear. Still, it just won’t be the same. It’s what everyone tells us will be our “New Normal”. It certainly does not feel normal.

I have to be honest at the slight risk of offending friends. This year, I have to scan quickly past pictures at prom or groups of students preparing for college. I trust our friends get it. Watching as parents experience the sheer joy, pride, accomplishment, and angst of seeing their babies growing successfully into adulthood churns too many memories. Thoughts of missed tomorrows.

Braden’s high school graciously offered a senior page in his honor. The gesture touched us beyond words. The school wants to remember him and to acknowledge his life will serve a purpose. He thought others would quickly forget him if he was gone, but he didn’t realize his tomorrow would be in heaven while other teens might find some hope. That’s certainly our daily prayer.

I’m nearing the end of my professional career in just a few years. My goal? Retirement, of course. That’s my “Tomorrow”. Pretty shallow, admittedly. All our lives, we each focus ahead to “That Day”. That event. That promotion. Whatever the driving change that makes us want to get out of today and move on to tomorrow. We think tomorrow will certainly come and somehow it will be better.

I have too many good friends who have worked all their lives to achieve seniority and ultimately, to move onto that sweet and perfect place we call retirement. Several have made it. Yet, sadly we have lost so many to early death or loss of health long before achieving their dream.

On October 30, 2018 I stopped looking at tomorrows as I had before. We had a wake up call. We’d looked past today with preparation and expectation about a tomorrow which would not quite look like we thought it would.

Recently I had the privilege to meet Don Piper. He wrote a book called “90 Minutes in Heaven” which tells of his near death experience and visit to heaven. When my friend introduced me to Don, I’ll never forget his response. “I’m so very sorry to hear of your temporary separation from your son”. Then, Don said something else. “Braden is not sad. There is no sadness in heaven. Just know he’s fully aware you’re coming and he’s greatly anticipating that day”. I must confess, that’s a tomorrow I long to see.

Looking back, I’ll never forget the beauty of that very first sunrise with our baby boy and the radiance in his young eyes that outshined the sun. Braden’s life was amazing. It just didn’t become the tomorrow we had envisioned. God has His Way and plans which are not always pretty, yet still, certainly perfect. Along the way, He gives us signs if we will just slow down and see them in that moment.

Storms and rainbows. Laughter and tears. Sunrises and sunsets. He constantly wants us to know we have tomorrows right in front of our eyes every day.

Now, we look for hope and beauty in a simple sunset. Ultimately, tomorrow’s hope is knowing a peace beyond this temporal world and one where we will reunite with our son and live eternally with our Creator.

“Looking east I saw a rainbow. Looking west, I saw this.”

Prayer for parents, students, and our graduating Class of 2019

Heavenly Father. we pray over each and every person reading this right now. Please help us remember to take each day for exactly what it is. A gift from your hand to us. Help us not to look past the moments given to us towards what we falsely perceive is yet to come. I pray for every graduating senior and ask they surrender their futures into Your capable hands. Grant parents and their families peace beyond any understanding as they enter into uncharted territory. For You are the Author and Navigator of our lives if we will simply stop and listen. We praise You for all You are and may our lives be lived to please You and only You for it is in Your Son, Jesus’ name we pray. Amen

A Father’s Eyes

March 13, 2019August 31, 2019 Mark Speed18 Comments

“I miss you, son. Sadly, I too often missed ‘you’. Why couldn’t I have had eyes like your Heavenly Father.” – Braden’s dad

“Don’t be ashamed to cry, dad. God wants you to know everything will be okay. Life can be cloudy. Rainbows will come after the rain.” – Braden

“Tears mirror how God used the flood to cleanse the earth and Jesus baptized to wash away sin. Welcome the tears. They will paint your life with color again.” – Sarah Feuerbacher

I’ve had some things weighing very heavily on my heart for several weeks and known I needed to just write about them. That’s been cathartic these past months, but this time I just couldn’t seem to get the words to come together. I hate procrastination, especially when I sense urgency in a message, but have been guilty of putting this off. I promised honesty. This message is very important for parents and particularly, fathers. Here goes.

Spring Break 2019. Our family’s first without Braden. We arrived at Broken Bow, Oklahoma late last Friday night. The cabin unit was the last one available online at a property many encouraged us to visit. The cabin’s named “Seclusion”. Perfect to get away from the world. It’s the only structure within twenty acres of the others in a densely forested expanse of pines and hardwoods.

I’m not sure why, but our first night there was really rough for me, emotionally. Probably for several reasons.

First, I was thinking of how much Braden would have loved being there. Maybe we would have gone to a cafe for breakfast or gone fly fishing together. In reality, more likely he would have slept until noon and then been on social media. It was always my dream to go fishing with my boy but it didn’t happen. Maybe we’ll get to do that together when we meet again.

Second, Friday night we received a note from a local family counselor, Sarah. She has been asked to participate in a follow-up Town Hall meeting about teen suicide prevention in our community. Cathy and I may also get a chance to participate. No clue what we would say but feel certain God will let us know, if so. We’ve also had the mother of yet another young man reach out. She lost her 16 year old boy just two months ago.

Last, the school district is bringing a suicide prevention initiative to our local schools. Very encouraging. Guess that’s why it was such an emotional time. Although our son isn’t here, the Holy Spirit is moving and other teens and families might not have to go through what our family has experienced. THANK GOD!

But it’s not just Friday night. It’s been over a month now. I just can’t understand why I’m crying daily now. My wife has been crying every day as well. God, Why can’t this get better?

Isn’t crying a strange thing?

Have you ever wondered why only humans cry? I really never gave it much thought until recently when it started happening to me daily. Often without so much as a conscious thought. Tears just begin streaming from my eyes while driving to work or when I turn to enter a room, or when I smell my daughter’s hair while we hug. It can even happen when I see another kid who looks lonely or appears to be left out. Or “different”.

Why in the world would that even make sense? Crying. Isn’t that just for the weak?

Honestly, I’ve never liked it when my wife or children begin to cry during a conflict. I’ve selfishly concluded it was somehow by choice. A way to gain emotional leverage. But I don’t think that anymore. I now realize crying is a completely involuntary response to life. To hurt. Pain beyond words.

Why did God, in His infinite wisdom add crying to his human creation? I don’t have the answer but maybe part of the reason was He knew us too well. He knew we’d face pain at times more than we could handle. Pain beyond words or explanation. That certainly describes what we feel now. And I see more clearly, it was how Braden felt before he left. Pain indescribable. Even tears couldn’t heal his hurt, though.

In the Bible we are told God produced a rainbow so we would have a physical reminder of His unconditional love and assurance. It means we can know He’s here and He’s never going to hurt his children. Maybe tears are like rain. A way to make rainbows. I just don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask that when I see Him.

Our five senses are all we really have physically. Sight, Smell, Hearing, Taste, and Touch. But blind, deaf, or impaired people may not have one or more of these senses. What all people do have though are emotions. They may not be visible or apparent to others as they can be hidden by choice. I’ll admit having hidden my emotions, sometimes unhealthfully, and not expressing them openly.

Of all the organs God created, I think the eyes are perhaps the most unique and sensitive. Not only physically, but emotionally. Seeing something can instantly send messages to the brain and I submit, to the heart. Similarly, our eyes can weep. They can absorb images our brain records and can’t be forgotten. Eyes also serve to judge others, too often unjustly.

I will confess, my eyes too often led me to judge my son harshly. I saw him hurting and I couldn’t do anything to help him. I watched as the light in his own eyes went dim over the years, after being rejected and misunderstood much of his life. I didn’t understand him and could’t accept him unconditionally, which is a father’s job. Although it’s easy to place blame on the world, I was a large part of his world. And I didn’t do my job well.

The eyes of God are forgiving and non-judging. He loves his children beyond any words we can even comprehend. He even loves fathers who fail at times to be unconditional in their own love. He loves us enough to give us the unique ability to cry. He loved us enough to send His ONLY son as a self sacrifice. I think God wept when He watched His boy die on a cross. He wept from a mixture of sadness and from joy, at knowing we would be able to have hope after such a loss.

One of the best memories we have of Braden is his eyes. Although that light faded in the days and years before he left this world, I find solace knowing without doubt, his eyes are beaming right now and I long to look into those eyes again some day.

Who knows. Maybe we’ll finally go fly fishing.

Parents

I urge you to pray as I have begun doing, that we may look at our kids as God looks at each of us. Rather than pick on small things to criticize, think of them as imperfect creations our Heavenly Father has entrusted us with. Take pride in them and quash the urge to over-correct. Pray for God’s eyes and God’s arms to guide lovingly.

Dads: We have the most important job in our families. Take it more seriously than the one at the office. Don’t be ashamed to cry. Your kids need to know that its going to be okay. Although it may scare them a little, they will learn that life brings pain but rainbows always come after the rain.

I love the words to a song by Brandon Heath.

Give Me Your Eyes

Step out on the busy street.
See a girl and our eyes meet.
Does her best to smile at me.
To hide what’s underneath.
There’s a man just to her right
Black suit and a bright red tie.
Too ashamed to tell his wife he’s out of work, he’s buyin time.
All those people going somewhere, why have I never cared.

Give me your eyes for just one second. Give me your eyes so I can see, everything that I keep missing. Give your love for humanity. Give me your arms for the broken-hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach. Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten.
Give me Your eyes so I can see.

Prayer for Readers and those forgotten

Lord, thank you for revealing some things through tragedy which have long been hidden in me. Please open the eyes of parents, teachers, and others to look beyond the surface and into the hearts of the hurting. Make us bold in lifting up the lonely and bringing hope. Help us all to lean on You and your promise. Thanks for that hope in giving us your Son.

Thank you for praying friends and our brothers and sisters in Christ. And thanks for rainbows. We give you our love and praise in Jesus Name. Amen.