“Dad, will you hold my hand? Will you help me not fall?” Mitch said with a sweet, soft voice. I reached out to hold his hand as Mitch leaned downward and reached into the crystal clear waters that flowed from a natural hot spring. “It’s like a bath! Do you think I could swim in it?” Mitch was fascinated that nature could produce such warm water. Until that moment, he only knew the icy streams that came from snowmelt.
We were at a fathers & son’s campout and I was so excited to hang out with my boys. We played Frisbee on the grass and cooked our famous tinfoil dinners and were the envy of every camper who could smell the magical meal cooking slowly in the glowing embers. Mitch loved that special recipe.
Later that evening we would find ourselves huddled in our family tent listening to a torrential downpour, exhilarated by the relentless crash of thunder that exploded right above our heads. Mitch snuggled into me with his sleeping bag as I wrapped my arm around him and held him tight. Little Wyatt sat on my other side, lovingly wrapped by my other arm. Ethan bravely sat with a smile and listened to the rain pound the walls of our tent, ready to pack up on a moments notice were we to flood.
We made it through the night dry and un-drenched. I am grateful for those moments with my family. If I have a regret in life it is that I didn’t have enough of them. I did my best, but I wish I would have done more.
I often think back on this moment when Mitch asked for help to do something other children could have done with ease. His muscles were weak and his balance always precarious. The slightest bump from someone could send him crashing to the ground. Often, Mitchie’s plea was, “Help me not fall.” Always, when he asked for help, I was reminded of things I took for granted.
Those words, “help me not fall” will echo in my mind forever. As his father, I didn’t want Mitch to fall and hurt himself … yet at the same time I didn’t want to rob my son the opportunity to do things on his own. Therein lies the delicate parental balance … to help enough to enable growth but not enough to rob it.
When I think about it, it doesn’t take much to recognize my Father is doing the same thing with me, and all of us. His hand is often out of view and we go about our lives unaware of His true goodness.
Just tonight something significant happened to me – a heavenly reminder that He is there … and that He cares.
Every time I kneel and ask my Father to “help me not fall” I get the distinct impression that He is not only there … but that He has always been there – helping me just enough to enable growth, but never enough to rob it.
At least on some level, being a Father myself, I think I understand now. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When I took this photo, little Mitch and Ethan were racing down a slippy-slide on their tummies. I loved watching these little kids be kids.
At one point they decided to slide down together at the same time. When they reached the bottom they both sat up and laughed as only little boys know to do. Ethan then reached around his little brother and gave him a big hug. Mitch smiled and hugged him back, then a few seconds later kissed him on the cheek. I posted that photo some time ago.
As I watched these little brothers, my little boys, be good to each other my heart swelled with a love that was eternal – a kind of love that is not from this place. I don’t know what little Mitch was thinking at the moment of this photo, but I can’t help but wonder if he was learning love.
Mitch was a quiet, reflective thinker. His facial expressions often revealed he was thinking deeply on a topic. And his eyes … oh, his eyes … there were layers within layers. Sometimes, when we had father-son time, Mitch would share his observations (which were startlingly perceptive) about adults, peers and life in general. Though he wasn't a boy of many words, and his vocabulary was limited to that of a young child, he had moments where his words were deeper than deep.
There was one point in Mitchell’s young life, not too long before we discovered his heart was in trouble, he had an aide who was unkind to him. In fact, from what I can tell, she was rude and borderline abusive to him. It broke my heart to learn such things. When we learned of the trouble Mitch was having and the things she did and said, you can bet we intervened. To my dismay, this woman never owned up to her behavior and had a pocket-full of cheap excuses. She was reassigned. I was sad for her and confused why she would be unkind to a little boy who struggled in ways healthy children did not. As I struggled to understand why she was the way she was, I remembered the saying “those who hurt people, hurt.”
My point isn't to excite Mitchell’s Journey readers to anger that someone would be unkind to Mitch. Please, let that go. Instead, I want to draw focus to Mitchell’s response to those who were unkind to him. When I asked Mitch how he felt about things he said, “Dad, I just try to see with my heart.” I was taken aback by his statement and asked, “What do you mean, son?” Mitch replied, “When you see with your heart, you see everything that matters. She doesn't mean to be rude.” He didn't know what else to say or how to describe how he was feeling – but I could tell he had already forgiven the woman who was unkind. He saw more than I saw. He saw a soul in need of love and understanding. I remember crying when Mitch shared his thoughts of forgiveness and love. I said to my son, “Mitch, who were you before you came here?” I had the feeling his soul, wrapped inside that broken body, was much older than mine. With that, I kissed him on the forehead and we drove to an ice cream shop and talked about some upcoming movies he wanted to see.
When you see with your heart, you see everything that matters. Wow. I wasn't seeing with my heart, but instead my troubled mind. I was upset and, in truth, I had feelings of recrimination. But Mitch saw something different … he saw with his heart and that freed his heart from anger.
I have been hurt a time or two in my life. I know how intoxicating anger can be and the prison it can become. I also know when people do us wrong the very act of forgiveness might seem nearly impossible. But Mitch taught me how to see with my heart and remember that we all come from the same place and we all have the same Father.
Though we may be strangers in life, when we see with our heart we realize we are no different than these brothers in this photo. We are family ... a human family with a common spiritual source and we are here to learn love. When I remember that, when I see with my heart, I see everything that matters.
Remember the story I posted 2 weeks ago entitled MEATLOAF? Well, I just stumbled across this photo of my weary son savoring his first bite, then throwing his hand on top of my arm saying, “Dad, I just love meatloaf.” He wasn't eating much those days and this meal is what got him out of bed and offered much-needed nourishment. Nourishment that gave us more time.
That inspired act of goodness, that specific meal, offered by a woman who had no knowledge Mitch was sick and dying, is a tender mercy. An evidence of God’s love. I had no idea at the moment of this photo, the strong impressions she would receive that would lead to this very meal and how much it would mean to little Mitch. All I saw, from my limited and mortal perspective, was coincidence … even a little providence … but I had no knowledge of things as they truly were. I just knew was Mitch was grateful, and that made me happy.
It would take my wife and I almost 2 years to learn about the other side of this particular blessing. Learning of this experience has humbled me and I can't help but wonder how often I look at the proverbial table of my life and be tempted to think all that is before me ordinary. This experience reminds me how limited my sight is.
My eyes fill with tears of gratitude to know I have a Father (that WE have a Father) who cares enough about our lives to get involved in the little, seemingly ordinary things. I will spend the rest of my life thanking my Father for blessing my son this day, and every day. I am guilty of a lot of things – but I hope I am never guilty of ingratitude.
Any more, I pray that I might have eyes to see the many blessings so often blind to me. For if I had such eyes to see, I would certainly fall to my knees, humbled by the love He proffers me.
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For those who haven’t read it, here is the MEATLOAF post:
https://www.facebook.com/mitchellsjourney/photos/a.498931326803200.95172805.192859897410346/1060473063982354/?type=1&theater
I learned something today that my Father did for my son. Another tender mercy.
A woman and her husband had moved into our neighborhood not long before Mitch went into heart failure. She heard that other families in my neighborhood were preparing meals for our family to offer some much needed relief. She didn't know the circumstances of our family and that little Mitch was sick and dying.
Because preparing meals for families in crisis is customary in my culture, she was no stranger to this form of service and quickly volunteered to bring dinner over one evening. Over the years she had discovered a kind of universal meal that every family seemed to enjoy. As she was making preparations for that same meal for our family, she had an impression to do something different. At first she ignored it. The more she ignored it, the stronger the impression came. Finally, the impression was so strong she could no longer deny it and knew what to make. Meatloaf.
Not knowing our family, she was nervous about how such a seemingly ordinary meal might be received. She knocked on our door and handed Natalie a variety of dishes that contained meatloaf and other things. We would have been grateful for a sleeve of crackers. Or just a hug.
What this good woman didn't know … couldn't know at the time … was meatloaf was one of Mitchell’s favorite dishes. Because his organs were beginning to fail, he wasn't eating much those days – but when he heard someone brought meatloaf over, he wanted to eat. Natalie lifted him up from his bed and carefully helped him to the kitchen table. Mitch ate like a king that night. Not only was it a treat for him, that same meal gave his beleaguered body much needed nourishment … nourishment that gave us a little more time with our son.
When this good woman shared her experience with members of our church today, my wife and I were in tears. We had no idea.
What a profound gift. My heart is overflowing with gratitude to think that a loving Father who knew Mitch was running out of time would inspire this good woman to do something that was out of the ordinary for her, so my son could find a little comfort.
If He did that for Mitch, sight unseen, I wonder what He is doing for all of us at this very moment. There is so much more to our lives than meets the eye.
Perhaps when we look back on our lives, from that place that feels so far away, the events we experienced through darkness will be made light as noon day. Then, and perhaps only then, it will finally be seen … the times we felt most alone, we in fact walked with heavenly beings.