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A few years ago, I marveled at how gracefully my young daughter carried her younger brother on her back. The waves were too big for Mitchell’s weakened muscles, and earlier that day, Mitch privately confided to me, almost with a whisper, “Dad, I’m afraid of being swept into the sea.” Laura-Ashley, sensing Mitch wanted to play with her, offered to help him so he could experience the ocean in the safety of her arms. This image, this tiny moment in time, fills my eyes with tears of gratitude.

It feels like yesterday she was carrying Mitch on her back. Now, my sweet little girl carries a child of her own, and soon, Natalie and I will become grandparents. My heart is bursting with joy for my sweet daughter and her loving husband.

About 13 years ago, I started collecting children’s books for my future grandkids. I have since taken them out of storage and started practicing my dramatic readings and homemade sound effects. I can’t wait to read to them - and more than that, I can't wait to feel their little heartbeats as they fall asleep in my arms.

More recently, over the last few months, I’ve had a brooding impression that a grandchild might be near; so much so, I was pointing out little baby clothes to Natalie with a kind of dreamy anticipation of being a grandfather one day. It’s difficult to describe how excited I am to love and hold my future grandkids.

Laura-Ashley graduates from nursing school in April and is expecting in May. I’m proud of her on so many levels. She works in hospice, and I am humbled by how she serves her people: with dignity and respect, of course … but also with personality and authenticity. She has a unique relationship with each of them, and she becomes a bright part of their day. I remember what Mitchell’s hospice nurse meant to Natalie and me, and to see our daughter become that for others is humbling. There is so much to love about my not-so-little girl: I admire how Laura-Ashley makes friends everywhere she goes, I giggle over her unusual description of things, I cherish her adorable sense of humor, and I love her tender heart.

Nobody ever told me how being a dad would feel, and I wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything. Today, I’m overflowing with all the feels.

It feels like yesterday when I heard the sound of muffled thumps and giggles in our living room.  I was so intrigued by what I heard that I had to sneak behind our couch to spy on what was happening.  As I quietly crawled within view, I saw Mitch laughing as he would squeeze and twist Ethan’s ear like a squishy toy.  They were both laughing so hard that I couldn’t help but laugh, too.  Little Mitch never had a mind to hurt his brother – only to wrestle as young boys do. 

Because Ethan knew his little brother was physically weak, he adapted his play-style so Mitch might feel strong and competitive.  Ethan could have easily turned the tables and overpowered his younger brother.  Instead, he set aside his pride, bridled his strength and allowed Mitch to win in ways that were unique to him – and in so doing, they both won. 

There was a point while home on hospice Mitch said to me “Dad, I just wish I could wrestle.  I just want to wrestle...”  By this time Mitch could hardly function – so it broke my heart to see him yearn for something he loved to do but couldn’t.  I wondered if Mitch missed wrestling so much because his older brother helped him feel normal, healthy and strong.   

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By surrendering his strength, Ethan did more than serve his brother this day.  He reminded me that on the other side of service is the often invisible act of lifting hearts and minds – and Ethan knew how to do just that for his little brother.   

This image reminds me there is so much more to service than lifting heavy things or shoveling a neighbor’s driveway.  There is a time and place for strong arms - but there is a greater place for gentle hands and soft hearts.  The service of a smile, a kind word or loving encouragement can do so much for the downtrodden soul.   

Sometimes, perhaps more often than we appreciate, service can be seen in handing strength over to someone who is not as strong – and giving them a chance to win.                                                                

I miss the muffled thunder of Ethan and Mitch wrestling in my home.  And while part of my home is empty and heart hurting, my soul is overflowing with gratitude because I was blessed with two little giants who showed me the other side of service.  They showed me a different kind of love – and I am better off because of it. 

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A little over a month ago Natalie and I were invited to Zermatt (Utah) to be given the President’s Volunteer Award, which was awarded to us in 2016, under the Obama Administration.

“... when we lose ourselves in the service of others, grief shrinks and we somehow find ourselves … a slightly better version than the one before.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

The award is meant to recognize people who make meaningful contributions to the betterment of society through various forms of service.

Lindsay Hadley (the woman on the right of this photo) and Philip Webb (the man on the left) are both more deserving of such an award. They do so much to help others, with no thought of what they’d get in return. They are the epitome of goodness and abundance. In fact, they have both played a special role in helping Mitchell’s Journey grow and develop.

They are both involved in an organization called Thankful™, which is a non-profit focused on helping make the world a happier place by recognizing and celebrating everyday Thankful moments. I love everything about that organization’s philosophy and efforts. I am grateful (Thankful) they took note of what we’re trying to do at Mitchell’s Journey.

So, we were humbled to be recognized for a brief moment that day – but we knew there was still work to do and people to help. This now hangs on our wall with glad hearts – and we’ve since rolled up our sleeves and got back to work.

I miss my son a great deal. I know Natalie does, too. Though we cannot surgically remove grief, like a tumor to the soul, I have learned we can treat it with gratitude and serve to others. It is my observation that when we lose ourselves in the service of others, grief shrinks and we somehow find ourselves … a slightly better version than the one before.

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I stumbled across this photo the other day and was taken back to the time when all our children were little. On this day we were at grandma’s home for a family dinner.  Little Mitch sat patiently in his chair as his mommy filled his plate with a healthy balance of vegetables and other things.  “Sank you, mommy”, little Mitch said with a soft voice.  Like all young children, he loved his mom and wanted to make her happy.  If only our children knew how much their mother’s loved them.  It is only when children become parents they begin to understand the depth of such love. Then, and only then, can such a splendor be known.

“... when we serve, we love.  And when we love, we heal.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

I remember this era of our life so well.  It was a time of late nights and exhausting days … sticky fingers, dirty shirts, runny noses and little messes around the house that seemed to spring up out of nowhere.  Sometimes it felt like the days were too long and the nights, too short.  But in all of that struggle, or better said, in all of that service, deep love began to grow. 

How exactly love grows is something the world often forgets. There is so much anger and vitriol in society today, it's a wonder we haven't burned the world in a mindless rage.

One thing my little ones taught me is service begets love and healing.  I can’t think of a time in my life where I served someone (even a stranger) that I didn’t grow to love them.  Even if it was as simple as helping someone with their bag at an airport, or letting someone in a hurry go first in line … when I find ways to serve others, I grow to love them.  Service changes us from the inside out; it turns hate into happiness, jealousy into joy, and grief into gratitude.  If there is a single antidote for much of what ails family and society, it is simply service.  When we serve, we heal.

Do you want to turn a foe into a friend?  Find a way to serve them.  Are you mad at a family member?  Do something for them that shows, despite unsettled feelings, you still care.  In times of trouble the best way out, I’ve learned, is to lay down my weapons of war and serve the person I’m at odds with.  Certainly, it takes two to resolve a conflict … and it doesn’t work all the time … but it works more than it doesn’t.  I can live with those odds.

What’s the one thing our children teach us?  They teach us service is the foundation to love. Service gives meaning to our lives and renews our souls.  Service can be inconvenient at times – as it should be: for nothing of value comes easily.

The night Mitchell passed away, I sat at the foot of his bed and wept as I contemplated our [nearly] 11 years together.  I remembered the times I served him:  when I gave him piggybacks up the stairs because his legs were too weak to climb, or the times I read to him before bedtime or helped him with school projects.  I wanted to keep serving him and my heart was broken that I could not.  My last act of service was to tuck my son in for the last time and whispered in his ear how proud I was of the life he lived.  I told him I would spend the rest of my life trying to live up to his example … that his daddy wanted to be just like him.  I gave him permission to go to the other side and assured him he would be okay.  He heard me, then passed away 30 minutes later.

If ever I needed peace and healing, it was then … in the aftermath of that profound loss.  For the wilderness of grief was dark and deep – a pain so great, I wanted to close my eyes drift away into eternal sleep. 

I have healed a great deal over the last 4 years, and much of that healing (in addition to Heaven’s help) has come from setting aside my own sorrows and finding ways to serve others.

I am grateful for this photo because it reminded me of a simpler time in my life … a time when I was picking up on the supernal lesson children teach us … when we serve, we love.  And when we love, we heal.