The things that hurt us can have the power to help us. Through a deeply personal and transformative journey, Chris Jones shares an unexpected discovery during the darkest moment of his life, where he uncovered a universe of interconnected points of light. In this poignant talk, he offers a novel way to respond to life when the lights go out, and the next step seems hard to see. He invites us to embrace both the darkness and light of our experiences and discover what treasures lie hidden just out of sight

Dear Mitch,

This time of year brings you back to me in ways I can’t explain.

For you, the holidays were always magic. Sure, you loved Santa and things, but you treasured the magic of family and being together more – it's ironic that the gift you treasured most was the very gift you gave to others.

It's interesting your favorite time of year was always the darkest and coldest. There’s some beauty to that – for it is only in the dark of night that we learn to appreciate light and warmth.

My son, if you could see what your light has done to lift and serve others. Your life has inspired many to show up with their art, strangers who saw your story and combined their compassion with their passions and shared beautiful stories, strangers who are now friends remember your life and loss and honor it with theirs. If anything, you have shown me anew that the human family is one family.

All over the world, people are making changes for the better.

And they take that light, that spark of meaning and purpose, and become a light to others. Whether they’re serving friends, family or complete strangers … they are lights.

Though you were small in stature, the impact you continue to make is no small thing.

When I look back, I can see so many points of light. So many blessings, big and small. They were as real and miraculous as anything I know. The timing of your life and everything that happened in it was a miracle. You are, sweet boy, like all of us, woven in a tapestry of light.

I don’t get to hold you anymore, but I can hold you in my heart. That is all we can do when we lose the one we love. You are the wind in my face and the lift to my soul.

I treasure my memories with you.

Some of my memories are hard – and I hang on to them, too. I don't shut them out because they remind me how fragile life is – and the need to make the most of the time we have. For one day, we will all die and go to that place beyond the hills.

When I lost you, we were surrounded in darkness. But as I allowed my spiritual eyes to adjust, I saw there was more, much more, happening behind the veil of darkness.

Were we to see through the window of life and peer beyond, I think we’d be awestruck by how much light surrounds us.

We’d be breathless to know we have not, and never will be, alone.

But for reasons we don’t yet know, that door is shut and we must learn to see through the eyes of faith.

I cannot see what’s over there … but I can see what is right here. And I believe. I believe in the goodness of the human family. I believe we’re inspired to love and serve … to make the world a better place in any way we can … in every way we know to do.

I miss you. And though I don’t get to make new memories with you, I can make new memories because of you. I’m learning to live without you – and it’s hard sometimes. But each day I’m getting stronger.

Each day I’m inspired by others, who serve because of you.

I’m not afraid of the dark anymore. Instead, I look upward and search for light. And I see it everywhere.

Well, this is dad, sighing off, for now. Thank you. Thank you for being my son. My teacher. My light.

This holiday, I’ll remember that no matter how difficult life can seem at times, there are blessings along the way. I will look for them because I know, I just know, they show the way.

Love,

Dad

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For those who don’t know, Mitchell’s dog Marlie, whom he received only a few weeks before he passed away, has been a tender blessing to our our son during his last few weeks. I’ll never forget how she comforted him the day/night he passed away. I’ll share a post about that tender exchange soon.

Ever since Mitch passed away, Marlie has been a curious comfort to us. About a week ago, just a few days before Christmas, she had her first set of puppies. These little pups have grown so much in the last week. Mitch would be thrilled to see his little grand doggies.

Our family continues to heal - every person in their own way, and on their own sacred time. Marlie has become something of an echo of Mitchell’s love and affection. Though a dog is not the same as a son, Marlie occupies a healing place in our hearts.

These little pups are tiny tender mercies and we are so grateful for them. We’ll only have them for the next few weeks, until we find a loving home for them. I share this photo from tonight to gladden a trembling soul or lift a heavy heart.

May 2020 be kind to us all, and may we find healing in tiny tender mercies, wherever we find them. 🙏🏼

“Hey Dad, what’s that?” Ethan said pointing to a star. In an instant, my hallway went from routine to reverent as I described a series of blessings that came into our lives during an especially dark time.

In my hallway, just outside my office, is a 7-foot image of what look like constellations. It’s a visual representation of some tender mercies (or points of light) I’ve seen on my life-journey, thus far. A few years ago, I wrote an essay entitled “Nightfall” where I described the spiritual darkness that immediately followed Mitchell’s passing.

I wrote, “With all the lip service we give our religious beliefs, there is nothing so exacting as to see your child die and then to peer into the dark abyss of death. I have been taught that: "Faith, to be faith, must go into the unknown ... must walk to the edge of the light, then a few steps into the darkness." My son's journey, Mitchell's Journey, has forced my wife and I to step into the darkness … a darkness that is as heavy as it is pitch.

Yet, I discovered something in that darkness. When I allowed my spiritual eyes to adjust and look upward, I started to see the stars. Against the backdrop of all that is black and frightening, I can see little flecks of light, tender mercies that were always there but I didn't have eyes to see them. And the accumulation of these tender mercies presents themselves like heavenly constellations so I can find my way. If I look down or to the side, all I see is darkness. Like ancient navigators who looked to the heavens for bearing I can see the fingerprint of God in all that has happened, and I now have a sense of direction. I know we're not alone.

To be clear, it is still nightfall and my heart is heavy with a sinking sorrow. There are days that are blacker than black, and the waves of grief threaten to pull me under. But when I look to the heavens I can see.

I can see.”

Just a few days after writing that essay, I began to make a star chart outlining the undeniable, sometimes unexplainable, blessings that came into my life. Since then, I’ve developed much larger star chart plotting an even more complex tapestry of light, I’ve created a workshop aimed at helping people identify their own points of light and a guided journal. Soon, I’ll begin my deepest life’s work – to build an app that will help people chart and journal their own points of light through the metaphor of a star chart.

This project is among the most sacred of my life’s work – taught through Mitchell’s life, death and my subsequent search for meaning. I’ve been patiently searching for the right time and people to join me in seeing this vision through – and I think the stars are beginning to align.

Ethan, who was Mitchell's big brother and best friend, is now almost 19 years old. As a young adult, he's learning to look back on his life and make meaning of his own journey, heartbreak, and faith. Seeing his life like a constellation helps him see with new eyes.

I have written a lot of unpublished content on Mitch and the topic of tender mercies/points of light and will share that material soon. But for now, I'll say this: when I look at my personal star chart, which is a spiritual chronology of good fortune, hardships, and divine interventions, I can take courage that however dark and unknown my future may seem, things will be okay. Somehow, some way, things work out.