“Choose your worship wisely for there is only One worthy.” – Paul (paraphrase)
This has proven to be the most difficult writing since we lost our son, now seven years ago. Still, remaining true to the purpose of this undertaking, truth and transparency are vitally important to others still hurting and searching for answers. Through our loss, we remain convinced the only true God, discussed here can provide lasting fulfillment and healing.
I began the following post early last Sunday and later that morning, the preacher spoke on a similar topic. When the apostle, Paul first entered Athens to share his testimony, he noticed the streets were lined with sculptures of gods and idols. Ironically, those statues had been built by the people he was there to tell about his God. The one who had radically changed his own life.
Just two days after I had begun writing this post, our church shared devastating news involving the pastor, whom we love and call our friend. This message had suddenly become less coincidence than providence. Although the news at church was shocking, extremely painful, and damaging, it has become much too familiar. Specific details, however are not what is needed today. The story is far less important than its moral.
Grief is a palette of emotions. Ours is currently a blend of sadness and anger. Tomorrow, I’m sure will be mixed with something else. Hopefully, a little more compassion. In the days ahead, our family’s prayer is that today’s sadness will eventually be shaded by forgiveness.
Let’s face it, although many people deny the existence of God, we’re all worshippers.
The Bible tells the ancient story of a community of foolish Israelites who were lost for 40 years wondering in the wilderness. We’ve read about their repeated habit of creating man-made idols whenever they yearned for something to fulfill their needs. As their respected leader, many of those people probably idolized Moses. They became anxious when he left them even briefly. With neither Moses nor God visible, their faith also vanished.
Desperately needing something to fill their emptiness, they destroyed their blessings and formed them into what I call “little ‘g’ gods”. They chose to believe those man-made objects could somehow provide what they were missing. Ironically, such idols are as empty as the people who built them. Being impatient, selfish, and short-sighted, those Israelites were unwilling to simply trust, listen, and wait for God’s timing. Wow, that sounds too familiar.
Most readers of this famous story consider those Israelites idiots because God was clearly showing them signs of His presence and power throughout their journey. I can imagine God saying, “Hey, I just parted the ocean, isn’t that enough proof? How about this pillar of clouds to lead you, or the food delivered daily, dropped straight from the sky?” I once pridefully thought I would have been different but the sad truth is, without seeing God face-to-face, I would have been an idol-builder just like them. Heck, I probably would have been a sculptor.
What amazes me though, is even knowing how weak and selfish we are, God always remains ready and willing to forgive. That’s the “amazing grace” we sing about. He simply seeks an unconditional trust relationship without small print exclusions or exceptions. This intimate relationship is the only “worship” He seeks and which simultaneously fills our human longing. Those Israelites could never put such a God on a pedestal or inside a box. He’s too big. This God is The Creator, The Counselor, and The Savior, clearly evident yet only seen when we stop building or buying worthless idols.
When Paul had a personal experience with this God, it turned his life downside – up. He had been killing believers, yet in an instant, he became willing to die to save them. I’m certainly no apostle, but we do share some common ground. Each day of this life will be used to build up the “big ‘G’ God” I met seven years ago. He’s the One who doesn’t lead me to destroy my blessings but rather to count them… among those are my family. More lasting however is grace, hope, wisdom, love, peace, assurance, forgiveness, and eternal life.
In retrospect, when Paul noticed all those idols on the streets of Athens, might he have blindly looked past the one reflected in the storefront windows of himself? Yes, his legacy was world-changing, but he was just a man, passionately telling others about what God had done in his life. Over my years of company relocations and church shopping, I’ve come to learn we should never choose any human as our idol. More likely than not, most are good hearted and well intentioned. However, they all have one thing in common. They aren’t God.
Reader: You may have been distracted or even damaged by some idols you’ve chosen. If you feel empty and in need of a god worthy of worship, I can personally recommend the One who saved my life.
Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for patience in our foolish ways. We worship the wrong gods which are all around us and yet You wait patiently for each one of us. We and thousands of others are praying for those harmed by recent events. Instead of reflecting ourselves, may we show others the image of God that Jesus showed to us. It’s in His name we pray. Amen
“You must not have any other god but me.” Exodus 20:3
“Pop, I’m so glad you finally accepted the invitation… Welcome HOME!” – Braden
“I’m going to be in heaven with you!” – Braden’s Pop
Reader: There have been occasions when I’ve wanted to share about our dad’s life, but I respected his wishes for privacy. Now that he’s gone, perhaps the time is right. I’ve tried to condense these words while not diminishing their value. I’ve done my best and that’s all my father ever asked.
Before our childhood home vanished from time and decay, it stood in a cotton field on the South Plains of Texas. Our family recently gathered near that home last week to say goodbye to our dad, Merlin Speed. On August 27, 2025, their wedding anniversary reunion became a celebration of 70 years of marriage, a sad goodbye, and a tribute to our father’s life.
We will all likely occupy multiple houses over a lifetime, but to most people, “home” is considered that of our childhood. Those formative years serve as a lens on our worldview and can serve as a helpful source to later draw upon if our home was healthy. However, too often the lens is distorted by trauma, dysfunction, or abandonment. That was the case with my dad.
Dad began life in a converted chicken pen with no electric power and no plumbing. Their family moved within a few years, but the address changed more frequently than the calendar. He certainly wasn’t blessed with the kind of childhood home he would dedicate his life to providing. Although our home wasn’t fancy, I felt blessed. In dad’s passing, we aren’t as mournful as we are thankful.
The past few days have been full of remembrances. Memory Lane is so congested with stories, it’s difficult to enumerate them much less do justice in their telling. One sticks in my mind that now seems timely to share.
Farm kids learn best by watching and doing. We did a lot of both. After every rain storm, the routine was to jump in dad’s truck to go “check the farms”. It was less a matter of looking at the rain soaked fields than feeling a sense of hope for a successful harvest. On these crop tours, dad often considered it necessary to leave the pavement and venture down ungraded county roads or directly into the muddy cotton fields. Both options met with impassable paths only suitable for tractors or road-maintainers. Such roads were certainly not made for a Ford F150 pickup truck.
I watched in fear as his steering wheel would begin turning from a reasonably navigable road into a treacherous mud field. We all were thinking but never saying, “Why?” With few exceptions, we would become stuck to the bumpers with the tires spinning futilely in the red mud. Then, we’d watch in awe as dad gunned the engine forward and reverse, holding his mouth just right, occasionally using some choice words, and finally gaining traction. First it would move inches, then a few feet, and finally we’d be unstuck, able to continue the tour.
His truck never once became so buried that dad couldn’t clear it with sheer determination, effort, and inventiveness. He never recruited nor accepted help. Watching him do this enough times, I learned the unstuck skill and even recall my own son’s amazed admiration when I freed us from a mud slick while shooting guns on the outskirts of Prosper. A street sign now marks that spot at the intersection of Braden Lane and Legacy Boulevard.
I always respected dad for his abilities to “fix” broken things and his resilience in overcoming his childhood experiences. However, success in overcoming extreme hardship can have a devastating side effect called self-reliance. Much of his life, he leaned entirely on his own strength, abilities, and knowledge. At least he thought so. Fortunately, many friends, neighbors, and family saw hope and potential in our dad. Along with our faith-filled mother, an unknown number of others refused to leave him stuck. While he was spinning, they were praying.
For years, my own prayer was that God would speak to dad in words only he could understand. We’d all encouraged his acceptance of Jesus’ invitations, but pride is a thief and it stole a lot of his life. On October 22, 2023,, I received an unexpected but overdue call. I can’t recall the exact time but will never forget dad’s words. “Son, I woke up this morning and heard a message I can’t even explain. The words weren’t new, but their meaning was clearer than ever. It was like someone speaking directly to me”. Through his tears my dad rarely revealed, I heard him say, “Son, I’m going to be in heaven with you!”
The conviction in his testimony was certain and I’m fully convinced my father had finally been freed. He spoke of only one regret in having remained “stuck” so long in his pride. It had taken our father all his life to finally become unstuck, but he didn’t do it by effort. He had surrendered. Many had extended a hand to pull or push him through, but ironically, it was in giving up that finally moved him forward.
Our father’s view had finally become cleared from the distorted lens he’d worn so long and he was finally able to see Jesus. I’d give anything to have been there to witness their meeting, but I’m joyful in knowing our son watched it. In awe, I can imagine him reunited with his Pop who had finally become unstuck.
Pop and Braden
Reader: If this story rings familiar, we pray Jesus’ standing invitation is one you’ll consider accepting. Our dad’s story is testament to the fact that it’s never too late. A relationship is all He seeks and it’s completely free. Praying for those stuck today.
“Dad, I know it’s hard to keep the hope, but you’ll find more of your own if you give just a little to someone else”. – Braden
“In order to realize the worth of the anchor, we need to feel the stress of the storm.” – Corrie Ten Boom
“Cathy, why did you give me a necklace?” – Braden’s dad
“God Winks”. That’s what some people call them. Maybe it’s because such moments are too perfectly timed. Like a quick glimpse of our Creator, it’s like He’s grinning, “See? I told you”. These subtle winks are often delivered when least expected, but they’re always confirming to our faith. They seem to happen more frequently lately and we hang onto each one, knowing they’ll be needed as an anchor of certainty when the storms of doubt arise. Several weeks ago was just another example of such a “wink” as a brewing storm approached for our family. Another perfectly timed reminder that God doesn’t forget about our storms and will always remain steady if we will just choose to trust and take hold of Him.
It was early October as we neared yet one more annual date of remembrance. The dreaded day before Halloween which is an anniversary we’d prefer to forget. On such occasions, our family doesn’t talk much about it, but we all quietly plan ahead by taking time out of our routine just to be together and to recall the good memories. The lighter side of what Braden brought into our world. Still, we know the day will arrive with pain, quiet tears, and the ever-present “What if’s” that come when we lose someone who left by their own choice. By now, one might expect such dates would finally have dissolved into just another day, but that may likely never happen. I suppose it should not.
“BradensVoice” hadn’t been invited to speak in a few months and although support for our homegrown non-profit remained strong, the voice had been silent. Then, just days before the approaching anniversary, I received two separate messages out of thin air from complete strangers. The first was from a youth leader of a local church. One of its members had attended a BradensVoice talk we’d held for their kids a few years earlier. A new crop of teens needed to hear some truths from someone with experience on a subject about which we have come to know too well. When I asked what date their Youth Night was held, you might guess… it was on Wednesday night, October 30th. The youth minister hadn’t known this and preferred to move our visit to another week. After talking it over though, we all agreed there could be no better way to honor our boy. When better could we talk openly to young people about the value of their lives, the terrible long-term impact of such an impetuous decision, and most importantly the certain anchor upon which they could always rely.
Cathy and I went together and I’m proud of her for taking this step. To say the least, neither of us will forget that night. After our talk, over 50-75 kids, parents, and teachers poured onto the stage to pray over us. It was the most amazing experience to feel each of their hearts reaching into ours. Words really can’t convey our emotions and gratefulness for this invitation particularly on that day. Each hand placed on our shoulders on that cold and dark October night were confirming this had been the perfect timing. I think Braden must have personally asked God to send his family something we didn’t know was needed. Help and hope. Only a loving and understanding God could know best how and when to deliver such an invitation.
The second contact was from a woman who had tragically lost her own brother. She was the 2024 chairperson for a local event held annually by a national foundation for awareness. The fundraiser walk also brings together hundreds of people each year who support and encourage each other. Within days following our loss, this same event had been my first opportunity to meet others who shared common ground. Ironically, that first walk was held on the morning of Braden’s memorial service. This year, we weren’t sure if we would be going, but this stranger had invited BradensVoice to speak. My answer was as always, “No way…Absolutely”.
This second audience wasn’t at all like the first. Instead of a group of hungering curious church kids, this would be a diverse mix of ages, cultures, backgrounds, faith, and many people who never heard about Jesus or might be angered by the mention of his name. For this reason, I was asked to keep the presentation as secular as possible. My first response to this restriction wasn’t good. After all, faith has been our ONLY reliable source of peace, purpose, and healing. A personal relationship with God was the only real answer this crowd needed, so how could I have an opportunity to share yet keep it to myself? After the initial reaction, I cooled off and decided to pray about whether to go or not. I pictured Braden standing next to Jesus when I sensed the answer: “If you refuse to reflect me, then who will?” Without thinking further, I said aloud, “Ok, guys”.
As I went over the notes early the following morning, I just kept hearing those words, “Reflect Me”. Getting dressed to leave for the event, I noticed something next to the sink in our dressing room. Cathy had bought each of us a silver necklace with an anchor attached to the chain. Not being a person who wears jewelry, I’d kept mine on the counter for years. Suddenly, I knew the purpose of this gift. “Why don’t you just wear this so it can be seen?”
The “speech” that morning was themed around the Titanic tragedy and why a sunken ship is still remembered more than 100 years later. It was about a beautiful creation, branded as “Unsinkable”. Even though people made every effort and spared no expense to ensure it wouldn’t sink, it did. I recalled stories of passengers who had been fortunate to grab a seat on a lifeboat but desperately rowed away to avoid being pulled down by the vacuum caused by the sunken ship. I talked about the few courageous survivors who chose instead to stay even though it involved risk, to help others still drowning.
Although, I felt the message was hopeful to a crowd of survivors, I’m confident it was quickly forgotten by most. Still, I didn’t get to share what I had wanted to say and what I believe someone desperately needed to hear. Sadly, I had to keep those words to myself. However, one thing I hadn’t kept hidden that morning was there for all to see, it was hanging right near my heart. The story I really wanted to tell and the reflection I hope others observed that day wasn’t as much about sunken ships as it was about our anchor.
Our daughter is not yet ready to attend such talks although I sense that she may someday have a story to tell all her own. When I got home that afternoon, she asked if I told people about Jesus. My answer was that I just showed up but He did all the talking. If you were there that Saturday and wondered about my brief mention of our family’s anchor, it was not the one I wore around my neck. I invited you to reach out so we could share more and our prayer today is that you will do so. We too are survivors but we aren’t paddling away. Although we can’t save anyone, we can certainly tell you Who saved us.
Prayer:Heavenly Father, You are the only true and certain anchor in the storms. Thank you for always being there when our world fails, which it certainly will. Thank you for coming into this world in human form so we humans could stand a better chance of understanding and knowing You. Our prayer is that someone who is drowning today will just take hold of Your hand. Amen
My friend wasn’t a millionaire but I always perceived him to be wealthy. He was fortunate to find a frugal help mate and blessed that she accepted his marriage proposal. Throughout their life together, Sherry worked to keep his spending in check, but he considered money as a tool primarily to be used for enjoyment of life and to help others in need. I could take a lesson from my friend. Ultimately, he gave others everything. Maybe that’s why I considered him to be rich.
I first met Lee in 1996. His friendship was just one part of a package deal. Before I met Cathy, she had a group of very close friends in the Kingwood, Texas area. They had been more like family to her and after we married, they would become the same to me. I found this group to be refreshingly strange. Something I’d never experienced. They were deeply connected (even the husbands) and equally committed to being there for one another, no matter the circumstances nor distance. They were fully transparent about life’s struggles yet unconditional, respectful, and supportive of each other. Very rare. I found it novel that when they gathered for a party or other occasion, instead of drinking, they prayed together. I came to soon realize how I far preferred their variety of parties to those I’d experienced in the past.
The most unusual thing I experienced with them was a shared sense of real faith and clear purpose… to reflect Jesus to others. They have certainly been a reflection on my own life. All to say, Cathy’s “family” was a package deal and an unexpected gift. That’s how I met my friend, Lee.
Over the years of career moves, we often lived on opposite sides of the state. Lee and I were both too busy providing for our families to connect as much as we later came to regret. Still, I knew Lee treasured his family more than anything in life. He kept his priorities of faith, family, and friends so tightly bound together, they were impossible to separate. Recently, he and Sherry had moved into a newly built home and they were blessed to spend time together with their whole family on a trip to Europe (compliments of Sherry’s brilliant way of managing things). That trip was only weeks before he left on a different trip. We recently saw Lee for the last time at his church where we joined with others to say our temporary goodbyes.
Before leaving us, Lee gave everything he had. Ultimately, he even gave his life while on a mission to help the Georgia hurricane victims. Following a planning meeting with several community and church leaders, he had been eager to finally catch a plane home. He excitedly called Sherry to update her about what God was doing and the plans he saw unfolding to build temporary housing for those left homeless. He told her that he would never say no when God needed him to do anything. He was determined to hear the words, “you have done well” by his Heavenly Father.
Before he reached the airport, a service truck also providing help for the hurricane relief, suddenly crashed into his rental car. Lee never reached the airport that afternoon and sadly, he wasn’t able to return to their beautiful new home. My friend had taken an unexpected detour to a far more beautiful Home.
In service to others, my friend had left behind a wife and two beautiful children, Ashley and Stephanie. As we hugged them, I noticed a familiar strength and determination in their eyes. I’d seen this in the eyes of my wife and daughter just six years earlier when we lost our boy. Knowing it ourselves, we encouraged Lee’s family to hold fast to their faith. We’re confident they will rebuild their lives stronger and will continue the legacy of serving others with even more determination. Lee spent his life on a mission for a higher purpose and those closest to him can hold confidently to the knowledge that they’re only apart for a short time. They are certain of a joyful reunion.
I’ve struggled to understand when I first heard of the loss of my friend why I didn’t feel sad. I was certainly shocked, but strangely I wasn’t sorrowful. This isn’t something I’ve wanted to admit, but it’s important and I’ve really struggled to understand. All my life, I’ve heard it said at funerals, “They’re in a better place” but to be honest, I’ve harbored questions about it, considering it to be a nice thing to say in an awkward moment.
It’s been six years now since we had such a loss and each day in my mind, I’ve considered the question, especially losing a child: “When we die, do I really believe we go to Heaven?” Through these years of hurting and healing, our family has only survived one day at a time by drawing closer to faith, not as a crutch to lean on but rather as a foundation to stand. I can’t effectively convey to anyone how confident and strong God has confirmed that foundation and His answer to my question. Heaven is indeed more real even than this world.
In fact, my confidence in the reality of Heaven has become so strong that my first thought about my friend wasn’t sadness, but joy (and to be honest, a little envy). Lee had lived a life starving to give everything he had for the Kingdom which I now know to be a real place. When those two vehicles met on a rural Georgia highway, I visualize Lee barging into Heaven with his face radiating with more joy than he’d ever humanly imagined. The first words I bet he said? “I’m home! How can I help?” But the reply, I believe was something he’d wanted to hear and nourishment to his hungering heart: “Welcome Home, child. Your work is done my good and faithful servant”.
Trey, Ashley, grandbaby Jackson, Sherry, Stephanie, and Lee
I thank God for giving me the unexpected and undeserved gift of friends like the Sims family and the package deal of many like them in our world. We’re blessed by those who choose to serve as a reflection of Jesus to others who need to meet Him face to face. They help assure those of us who have been lost that when we leave here, there’s a far better Home awaiting.
Readers– We can make a difference in our world by giving all we have to someone in desperate need. The opportunities are endless and the return on such an investment can never be matched.
Prayer– God, thank You for the Lee’s in this world. Please take care of those who are left behind while temporarily separated by death and renew our hope of an unimaginable reunion. In Jesus’ name, amen.
“A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.” Proverbs 11:25
“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” James 4:14
““His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’” Matthew 25:21
Although born with a natural sense of navigation, until about five years ago I was very lost. Too prideful, self-reliant, or lazy to read the map, I was searching for the right answers in all the wrong places. Sadly, it finally took losing everything to find it.
I’d make a lousy teacher, but on a Halloween night in 2018, in the shadows cast by the lighted window of our son’s empty bedroom, I had come to the end of myself. After a long war, a defeated fighter had become a willing learner. Over the years following that experience, I’ve been absorbing life like a dry sponge, re-learning how to stand again, now on a different and firm foundation. What began as a crawl became a walk away from one of the darkest places this world has to offer.
Seeing life through new eyes, not only do I more clearly see the results of many of my own foolish and destructive choices, I’m better able to recognize others whose paths seem all too familiar. They remain lost yet desperately looking for their way. For this reason I have felt led to serve if even for one of my fellow “searchers” through this blog.
A Change for the Better
We began journaling in December 2018 to benefit mutual healing for our family and others experiencing grief through messages of encouragement, hope, or help. I’m thankful for several friends who wisely encouraged our writing as it has also served tremendously in the healing process. Amazingly, to date over 90,000 readers around the globe have taken time to read and/or follow BradensVoice.blog. Thousands reside in distant places we never knew existed. Still, our target was just one person or family if it helped at all. Their name probably wasn’t Braden or Speed, but it could be.
Though our purposes for this blog and our nonprofit “BradensVoice.org” remain unchanged, readers may have noticed the content subtly shifting more towards renewed faith in God which has become our family’s sustenance. I’ve noticed this shift myself yet it hasn’t been done intentionally. More likely, it has happened by God’s design. After all, healing has been His desire and our prayer from the beginning.
I’m sure some readers have opted out by now as the messages may have become less palatable to them. Sadly in today’s world, Faith has become the only “F” bomb people seem hesitant to use. Still, I’ve come to believe faith to be the only real solution to every single problem we all face. Posts will be very honest and rooted in experiences of recovery. A map to The Way if that makes sense. Also, the hope is to become more of a two- way forum to share thoughts and experiences between writer(s) and reader(s).
After a lot of prayer and consideration, we believe this is the direction Gods wants to take. We are absolutely certain Braden would welcome this change for the better by using his voice to reflect healing instead of hurt. Our prayer going forward in this blog is that even one person who is lost and searching may be helped to leave their way and to find “THE Way”.
May God bless His searchers… there are so many.
“He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.” 2 Corinthians 1:4
“Jesus told him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me.” John 14:6
ReaderParticipation
This is a new direction but we want it to serve actively. Your suggestions, comments, questions, or feedback are encouraged and privacy will be maintained. You may also prefer to submit anonymously. Please use the options available on this site or through email.
“Remain hopeful when your world seems darkest. When God created this dark world, He first provided light”. – Braden
My wife wrote the following story several years ago, and I often re-share it on Easter weekends. Only a mother could possibly fathom how Mary, who had heard her baby take his very first breath, must have felt while helplessly watching him take his last. Cathy posted this only months after such an experience when her life was in chaos and complete darkness. She saw no rationale for the loss of her son and hope was just a dim and fading light. Still, she remained hopeful. How is that even possible?
Reading her story each Easter is helpful to me. We now have benefit of time, healing, and hindsight. Over the last few years, we’ve begun seeing small hints of purpose in the wake of tragedy. I’m always amazed and inspired with her ability to remain faithful. She has been able serve others in similar circumstances and as an encouragement to our family through her steadfast faith and joy. Perhaps even today, such an example of faith may help someone else in need.
On Easter Saturday, Jesus was counted out. Defeated by this world. All alone in a cold and dark place, yet tomorrow He would arise. Hang on… HOPE IS ON THE WAY!
Easter weekend 2019 – Cathy Speed
Anyone who has ever met me knows this has been the hardest year of my life. And I’ve had some rough ones. Today I’ve been thinking a lot about Easter SATURDAY… The day nothing happened.
Before the big event that truly changed everything, there’s Saturday, when we prepare for Easter. We mow grass for egg hunts, easter outfits ready… dye the eggs… We celebrate Good Friday, the day Jesus was crucified and Easter Sunday, the death defying, grave defeating, hope and joy inspiring day of His resurrection. But Saturday is silent. And I will never again see Easter Saturday the same.
Never has Easter SATURDAY spoken to me like it does this year. It was the day when hope seemed lost. It was all over, and there was no reason to think anything would ever change. The disciples were alone. Everything they had believed in seemed lost and their souls were crushed. No answer seemed possible. The crowds had gone home.
The Saturday after Good Friday is the only day in over 2000 years that not one single person on earth believed that Jesus was alive. No one could understand God’s plan. This year, that day speaks loudly to me. While we wait to see what on earth God’s plan could possibly be. I’ve been an extremely unwilling participant in His plan this time. My plan seemed so much better. I’ve had quite a few arguments with Him. Loud ones.
Right now it’s still Saturday. Heaven feels so quiet. Why did there have to be a Saturday in between the day every hope and dream seemed crushed, and the joy and answers God had planned? It’s hard to figure out what to even do on Saturday, hard to hold onto the belief that God has to have a plan. But if Jesus could be found in a grave on Saturday, If He could literally be found in hell itself, is there anywhere that I can’t find Him?
So I CHOOSE today to trust God’s promise that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning”. Even though I don’t like this plan I’ve had to live, I will choose to believe our “Sunday” is on the way. And know that His work on the cross was finished, but His plan for me is not.
“…weeping may last through the night, but joy comes in the morning.” – Psalms 30:5
“Sometimes the smallest choices can make the biggest impact”. – Braden
“Buddy, I could write a book on that one. I still miss our special times together and will never forget. Love you, son”. Dad
Readers may recall a post from October 29, 2019, entitled “Fishtrap & Legacy“. It reflected upon my sunset memorial visit to an uncultivated field on the outskirts of Prosper where Braden and I had spent time together on weekends shooting clays and targets. The field was on a dirt road called Legacy less than a mile north of what had been Fishtrap (now First Street). The post recalled a brief encounter with the land manager who had been driving around that Sunday afternoon and caught us trespassing. I recalled nervously grumbling under my breath to Braden that we were probably in big trouble for trespassing, and we might even be getting a free night in jail.
Rather than demanding we leave his property, this stranger invited us to stay and enjoy our father-son time together. He didn’t have to do that, and he certainly didn’t have to spend a few minutes talking with me about fatherhood to boys in a fast-changing world. Instead of just driving by or telling us to leave, this random stranger had chosen to go that little extra mile to connect. This simple act of kindness was really not a big deal at the time, but it would later become more meaningful.
What the 2019 Fishtrap/ Legacy story did not tell were the events following its writing. The land manager had been reading our blog and decided to reach out after reading the one about our meeting. When I received a private message from one of his staff members, it read, “I work for the guy in your story, and he wants to talk to you”. My heart almost jumped through my chest. You see, Braden and I had not only been trespassing, but we had been firing our guns on the outskirts of the Prosper city limits. I was concerned the post had gotten this guy in trouble with his boss (who we later realized was owner of the Dallas Cowboys). I nervously responded to the direct message with my sincerest apology and a phone number.
Within minutes, my cell phone rang from an “Unknown Caller” and I fully expected to be yelled at and told to remove the online post immediately to avoid further embarrassment. I was stuttering. “I’m so sorry, sir… I wrote that story because it meant a lot to my son and me that you let us stay and enjoy our time together that day. Hopefully it didn’t get you into trouble”. The stranger’s response was unexpected. He said he had been following our posts and remembered our brief chat. He further explained the empty dirt field would eventually be developed into a community of residential homes and his land company wanted to name a street in remembrance of our son!
Fast forward to 2023. Recently, I was invited to speak at a Suicide Prevention Awareness event in my hometown in west Texas. Though very little has changed there since my high school graduation, Brownfield has been hit by the same tragic epidemic larger cities face today. Though I’d struggled to find some way to bring a small sign of hope to my hometown, I drove home feeling disappointed. On my long return across north Texas, I asked God to just give one person a small sign of hope so the trip would be worthwhile.
It was getting late as I neared Denton and Google maps found a faster way around the evening rush hour traffic. This route was one I’d never taken though I visit west Texas often. It took me east towards Prosper along an old road called Fishtrap. My mind was so focused on the annoying traffic from the rapid growth in the area that I’d just zoned out. As I approached the intersection of Fishtrap and Legacy, I checked my ETA. On the far edge of my phone screen, I noticed the name of a new road named “Braden Lane” just a short distance away. Evidently, God had heard my request, but His answer came as a total surprise. The one person who needed a small sign was me!
I realize most will think this was just a coincidence, but after five years of these kinds of small signs, I don’t believe it was luck. God does this kind of thing all the time and I’d just not been paying attention. This subtle reminder of unexpected encouragement had been God-delivered years after it had been sent on a Sunday afternoon from an empty dirt field by a total stranger.
I know Braden would love that his small street will serve as the entry into a community much like the one that has surrounded his family on their darkest road.
We want to sincerely thank Blue Star Land and their general manager, Joe Hickman along with Kerry Harrington who chose to step into our lives rather than just moving along. Although this story refers to them as strangers, we know who they really are, and they will remain in our family’s hearts. By going just that little extra mile, they exemplify what it means to bethe difference you seek.
Some Thoughts:
That tiny extra effort we choose to make can be all it takes when someone else needs to just keep going.
A small investment of ourselves into someone who is in need can yield a far more lasting return than any financial one.
We should keep our eyes and hearts open to what God is doing and where He is taking us. We make our plans, but He directs our path.
Fathers, our most important job is not selfishly directing our children but rather unselfishly leading them to find the only true Navigator, their Heavenly Father.
“The Lord says, “I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.” Psalms 32:8
“Dad, our Heavenly Father is not preparing a place here for you. He’s preparing YOU for a place here with Him”. – Remain true. Love you, Braden
“I won’t ever earn a place in Heaven, but my hope lies in trusting my loving Father will allow me in anyway”. – Braden’s dad
Our north Texas community is growing (as are many others) so fast it’s insane. Real estate prices have climbed through the roof as California moves to Texas. We have friends in real estate who say they have no lack of sales opportunities but the asking prices are far above the appraisal price. Banks don’t loan on anything above proven value.
Today, a prospective buyer in north Dallas arrives at the closing table with a significant amount of cash just to pay the difference between the real versus perceived value. They even have something real estate agents call “Love Letters” which are buyers trying to pull at the heart strings of a home owner to persuade them the sell.
What a terribly wonderful problem to have as a seller. Still if I sold tomorrow I’d have to pay twice as much to move to a similar property unless I buy a shack!
After our son, Braden took his life the morning of October, 30 in 2018, we’ve remained in family counseling. A couple of months ago, I had a conversation with one of them that stuck with me. The counselor asked me about “where I go in my mind” when I replay the day when Cathy called screaming into the phone. We talked about ways to “re-script” that horrific event in order to somehow cope with the trauma in a more healthy way. I was asked to think about our son and where he is in this very moment. What he’s doing? Where is he living? What does he look like?
The doc asked, “Do you believe you’ll ever join Braden again where he is now?” After a thoughtful pause, I finally replied, “Honestly, it’s about a ten percent bet. I’m completely assured he is in Heaven. He deserves the largest and most amazing mansion along with everything he didn’t have here, but I’ve not personally earned the chance to enter Heaven much less the opportunity to live in a mansion God has prepared there. I might squeeze in through a side door, but I’m lucky if there’s even a shack awaiting me”.
Although it was my attempt to make light of a heavy question, there was a hint of some truth in that response. The hard fact is I do have my doubts though rarely have they been verbalized. After all, how could the life I’ve lived here ever earn a ticket into Heaven. Fortunately, I have really good counselors who are strong in their Christian faith. The response to my fully honest answer was met with helpful wisdom.
“There are no shacks in Heaven. No one gets what we deserve based upon what we did or what we didn’t do here. Otherwise, Heaven would be totally empty. Even a shack in Heaven is far beyond anything the saints could have earned”
In my immaturity, I’ve always wondered, “Why would God build a mansion for me? Can’t He just blink and make that sort of thing happen?” How ignorant. The word, “Building” in this scripture means He is “Preparing”. Rather than swinging a hammer or sawing a 2×4, my Heavenly Father is spending His time each day of my physical life preparing ME for the spiritual one. A place He eternally has always had prepared which is with Him.
My faith and my sustenance lie in trusting that I won’t have to pay even one dime towards any mortgage for my “Heavenly mansion”. The only price for such an awesome gift is my surrender and faith in the Builder.
Prayer: Lord, help us replace our own selfish worldly plans with your perfect blue printed spiritual one. Watch over those who are in dark places right now, falling prey to a lie by thinking they don’t deserve to receive what Your offer… the gift of complete grace, forgiveness, and abundant life. In Your Son Jesus’ name, Amen.
John 14: 1-4
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”
“We all have good days and bad. Ups and downs. Keep mindful that without darkness you won’t truly experience light.” – Braden
“Thanks for this reminder, son. We miss you so much and long to see you in the everlasting light of Heaven”. Dad
We are officially a “Dance Family”. Much of our time is spent preparing or performing. Not me. I just watch… and pay. Confession: I never knew how expensive this was until I had a “Dance Daughter”. Might be cheaper to put her under a private Olympics coach!
Most popular sports have a season. The NFL just closed out their most recent football season with the annual Superbowl, establishing the national championship team. Those players are now in their off-season, preparing for next Spring. Dance is constant. I’ve come to wonder if there even is an off-season.
Cait recently had a winter season “Dance Soiree”. Eighty (80) dances in one day. We love to watch Caitlin dance, but a 77:3 ratio of watching dances our daughter isn’t in is a lot (in one dad’s opinion). Still, I forged through, fighting the urge to play a game on my IPhone.
Sitting at the large white linen-covered round table, I turned our chairs around to face the stage. Having lost one child, one tends to appreciate what too many take for granted. In that mindset, it was more enjoyable to soak in the moment. We listened and watched their routines, enjoying what they were doing as they showed off their very best efforts to a supportive audience of parents.
Modern dance can be… let’s just say… different. During one set, the music sounded like an extended electrical short of hissing and buzzing without melody or lyrics. Still, there were people in the room who were moved to tears because it was their child.
There were sets with jazz and tap. Some with rap, and still others with a slow and elegant lyrical style. They all had every heart in the crowd moved in some way.
As kids, my brother and I were encouraged to take piano lessons. We were much more inclined to riding bikes, playing trucks in the field, or having dirt clod fights. To appease our parents, we took our lessons at the piano. We each alternated 30 minute sessions, keeping a timer. Mom sat pointing to each note and placing our finger positioning for scales, practiced over and over… and over and over. Once more with feeling, playing the scales. Again and again.
Mike and I hated piano lessons and I learned little more than proper posture. Also, we learned the notes on the scales and how they translated to the instrument. Like a puzzle, putting the notes together produced a song. Songs like “Camptown Ladies” and “She’ll be Comin’ Round the Mountain”. The classics.
Later in life, I found this basic training helped me learn to play a guitar which I actually enjoy. Guess it was worth the effort after all.
We also learned the white keys are “whole” notes. Playing only white keys produces a major chord. The black keys are called “half” notes and form a minor chord. Not to get too deep into musical theory, the black piano keys make a flat or sharp sound in a melody. Blended properly, a minor chord makes a sound that is thoughtful, somber, or even sad.
I’m not exactly sure how this works but a minor tone in a song immediately affects the listener’s emotion. Think of the theme for the movie, Forest Gump for example. You know, the feather floating around at the opening. That song is loaded with minor notes to produce emotion with the movie audience. If you recall the plot, Gump had a lot of triumphs as well as many tragedies.
Why would we want to include minor notes in a song? Who wants to feel sad when listening to music, watching a dance “soiree” or a feel-good movie? It’s because when the sad and joyful sounds blend together, they make a beautiful song. Hope is woven into the melody along with sadness. A well written song with both parts can be an amazing thing to experience.
In this life, we all have our ups and downs. Without them, life would be boring and without color. Life is a melody made of major and minor chords. Sometimes they seem like one huge dark minor note but more often they are blended together and balance with one another. As much as I hate to admit it, I wouldn’t want a life without some ups and downs… and the hope that lies in trusting Jesus to bring light in our darkness. Hope in Him sustains.
Prayer
Lord, thank you for the hope you bring in finding joy even in the midst of despair. Thanks for blessings like a dancing daughter who brings light when things look so dark at times. You provide hope and peace beyond understanding. Be with those today who are in the middle of a very dark moment in their life and remind them You alone should be their song. It is in Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
“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
Coming into uncomfortable places
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.
Walking together in difficult times
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
Inviting into our lives
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.
Stay
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
5 Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; 6 in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.
Braden’s Voice 