Last Friday I arrived at my office and discovered a beautiful gold box with a hand written note attached. It was from Candice Madsen, the remarkable woman who produced that 30 minute story on Mitchell’s Journey which aired on television last October. I had learned that her story was nominated for a regional Emmy last month, and about a week ago I discovered it won.
Inside this gold box was the actual Emmy award. In her note she said she wanted our family to have it and encouraged us to “shine on”. I’ve cried several times … both over her kind gesture as well as the price that was paid for such a story to even exist.
I will forever be grateful for Candice and KSL who shared our son’s story with such honest, yet tender care. Never once did we sense we were being exploited or that their efforts were for ratings or prestige. Instead, they seemed to care more about the story itself and its real impact on others.
I didn’t know any of the people they featured in this spot until after I lost my son. Over time, each of these remarkable people and families shared some of their experience with me and they have each become dear friends to me – and my life is richer because of it. In fact, I have been blessed to come to know so many of you. I read your every single comment, I ponder your heartbreak and find myself praying specifically for many of you who share your struggles. I am also inspired by your love, compassion and hope.
Just recently I had an exchange with a woman from a far-away country. She described a bit about her journey to rekindle her faith and had questions. I shared a little about my thoughts and experience with God. She then tried a few things I suggested and she wrote back that she immediately sensed something different. A month later she wrote me again and said she was experiencing an inner awaking. My heart was overflowing.
I am always grateful to hear how Mitchell’s Journey is making a difference. The Gabriel Award and now the Emmy … it is nice to know other institutions recognize this little story on the internet. Yet, in truth, what motivates me aren’t accolades or the honors of society; instead, I am deeply moved when I discover your private stories of faith, hope and healing. It is the invisible stories … stories that exist far under the radar of Hollywood and news circuits that move my soul.
I am inspired by you.
One day, all that society has worked so hard to build will come crashing to the earth – everything will become nothing. The only thing that will remain is what we have become. What we make of our souls.
I have a long way to go – but I have my Father and the hope of seeing my sweet son again to guide me.
instagram.com/mitchells_journey/
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For those that haven’t seen KSL's piece on Mitchell's Journey, here is a link:https://www.ksl.com/?sid=31804270
https://www.facebook.com/Candice-Madsen-KSL-417742541757218/?fref=ts
http://rockymountainemmy.org/
Last night Natalie and I went on a wooded walk. We wandered through the crunchy leaves and just began to talk.
The air was crisp and fragrant, rich with earth's deep tones. If only we could have a bottle to keep and call our own.
So there we shared some gentle words about life and other things. Then our souls went where words do not exist, nor can they … not even in our dreams.
It’s strange to live in such a place, where peace and grief reside. The loneliness of longing forever at your side.
I saw my wife, two lives rolled into one. Arms filled with love and family, yet empty in search of our little son.
Yet something happened in the woods last night – something we didn’t quite see. We knew the season was changing, and suddenly we realized so were we.
Grief evolves. How could that be? I think I see it now, it isn't grief that changed, but me.
Yet there is still a deep, dark wood. A place that is felt, not seen. Where words of grief and anguish do not exist, not even in our dreams.
Baby Marlie waddled up to Mitch and begin to kiss his face. The chief cardiologist allowed her to be smuggled past security so she could perform some puppy therapy. It worked every time.
This little boy and puppy had only met about two weeks prior and were already the best of friends. To look at video footage of these two reveals something that was hiding in plain sight; though she was a baby pup herself, she seemed to recognize something was different with Mitch. She treated him with a tenderness and care that was unique and startlingly obvious. Almost maternal. The circumstances of adopting this puppy were heaven-sent, and I’ll write of that another day. But one thing was clear: this little dog was on a mission of mercy … and not a day passes that I don’t thank my Father for it.
Until that sacred evening of my son’s passing, this little dog played an important role in comforting my son. This little puppy was a tender mercy to our boy. Today, Marlie serves my dear wife, who has a broken heart of a different kind. When Natalie is especially sad, Marlie seems to notice, just like she did with Mitch, and makes a visible effort to comfort her. Often, I can’t help but cry tears of gratitude when I see the little mercies in my life and in the lives of those I love.
Tonight, as I lay my head to sleep, I will greet the night unafraid ... my heart overflowing with gratitude. Gratitude for the little mercies and the big ones, too. For we have a Father who cares about the little things - evidence He loves me and you.
As the winter sky drew dark Mitch began to fade. He didn’t need to say anything, his tired eyes said a million things at once. Natalie tenderly scooped him up in her arms and carried little Mitch to his room. My heart sank as I saw my little boy listless and drifting away. I could almost hear death violently gashing at our door … about to barge in like a terrifying home invasion to steal my son away.
Later that night I prayed to my Father, knees bruised from prayer. I prayed the words of a broken son and terrified dad in need of comfort and council, “Oh Father, how am I to do this difficult thing? I’m so afraid. My hands and soul tremble. I love my son and don’t want to see him suffer. I will take his place, if you will allow me. Please … not my son. If there is any other way … please …”
I often hear people speak of God’s grace when their children are spared suffering or sorrow. Some will say, almost in a tone of victory, “God is good. All the time.” But what happens when our children are not spared? What then? What happens when things go from bad to terribly, horribly, unimaginably wrong? Has God forsaken us? Has he left us abandoned in a wasteland of grief and sorrow? My experience tells me no. In fact, I have come to see there is a purpose to all things … and when I quiet my mind and focus my spiritual eyes, however blinded by tears, I begin to see things as they really are. That gives me hope.
The death of a child is uniquely and exquisitely painful, whatever the age. At least for me, my son’s passing at the age of 10 was a scene from my worst nightmare. As his father, Mitch saw me as the ultimate problem solver, his protector and soul mate. He was so innocent and believing and good. Yet, despite all that we tried to do, I was unable to save my son. With that harsh reality comes unavoidable feelings of failure and regret, despite what I already know. Such is the burden of grief. And a terrible burden it is.
Though the path that lay before us was dark and frightening, I also know my Father put a dim lamp before our feet so we could find our way. We knew we were not alone. Despite our journey through the dark wilderness of grief, we have come to realize were not abandoned. Not once. To the contrary, in our moments of greatest darkness we were carried, sight unseen. I can see that now. I can see it plain as noon day.
I don’t know the secrets of heaven, however much I wish to see and understand them. I don’t know why innocent children are made to suffer. But they are … and they do. God could stop it, but He doesn’t. Clearly suffering is allowed to happen. So, rather than shake my fists at the heavens – as though my puny protests could change the grand design … I have learned to listen with my soul and see where I was once blind.
I have learned that bruised knees and broken hearts are important keys to building our spiritual parts. Being human we would avoid pain and sorrow … but that is where growth starts: bruised knees and broken hearts.