A few weeks ago I took my sweet wife on a winter photo shoot. The night was bitter cold and the earth was covered in a fresh blanket of fluffy snow. Mitch would have been entranced by the quiet beauty of it all. I never go anywhere that I don’t take my little son with me in my mind and heart.
When we arrived at the secluded wood I handed my wife a lantern made of twigs I discovered several months prior. I then placed a light in the heart of the lamp. As Natalie began to walk through a darkened, wintry forest I shot what was in my mind and heart. It was a metaphor for something I was feeling and I had to get it out of me. Everything went as I had hoped.
We didn’t take long as it was cold and dark outside and we were anxious to be home with our children. Before we left I hung my lantern on the broken trunk of a fallen tree. The light from the lamp was warm and beautiful against the backdrop of a frigid, wintry night.
I thought deeply that evening about what it means to be alone in the dark; how we must often walk by the dim lamp of faith and hope as we journey through our own wilderness of hardship and struggle.
It is easy to talk of faith in the abstract, from a pulpit, citing other people’s words. But when life requires us to walk that dark mile, alone ... there is often a breathless silence. When it is our turn to truly suffer, and then take those first few steps into the pitch of night, faith takes on a different, more exacting meaning.
Surely we may have people around us cheering us on, offering love and support. But they cannot bear the burden of the sufferer. They don't know, nor can they know, the horrors of the sufferers heart. And when the night comes, when we lay down to sleep, that is when the unfiltered horrors of loss and sorrow are ours and ours alone. As I wrote in an earlier post, "After all is said and done, the journey of grief is traveled by one." In my experience, going to sleep or waking up was when I was most alone in the dark.
Yet during my darkest moments … when I felt I was drowning in a rising tide of grief and sorrow, I would have subtle impressions and feelings of peace that defied my own understanding and soothed my weary soul. They didn’t take away my sorrow; they only gave me a measure of understanding and just enough strength to carry on a little further.
I am no fanatic, but I believe that when this life is behind us, we will look back on our mortal moments of darkness and realize we were never truly alone in the dark … but that we were surrounded by beings of light we cannot yet see. We will come to know what ancient Elisha knew, “they that be with us” are far more than we realize. And were our eyes truly opened, we would see the mountains we once thought barren were in fact full. Helping us. Soothing us. Offering help and direction.
Ralph Waldo Emerson once observed, “Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not.” The same could be said of spiritual light. We must carry it with us, however dimly, or we will see it not.
We had a special visitor over the weekend whose circumstances in meeting us are more than coincidence. I have long wanted to do something special with Santa and Mitchell's Journey, and as providence would have it, the opportunity presented itself. I'll post this project before Christmas Eve.
When Santa entered Mitchell's room Marlie jumped on his bed, curious and cautiously protective ... for this was the sacred place she comforted Mitch when he passed away. To our family, there are few places more hallowed than this special room where I lost my son.
Santa was gentle and kind to this little tender mercy ... this little puppy, unaware the profound gift she was to our son and remains to our family.
As I watched this tender exchange I had to fight back the tears because Mitch loved Santa and he loved Marlie. Somewhere between these two kind souls was my son: a gift I once held in my arms and now hold in my broken heart.
In the two years leading up to Mitchell's death, he would come up to me and say, "Dad, can I help you make a Christmas video?" He didn't know how to make graphics or edit video, so he would just sit next to me and talk while I put things together. Mitch would help direct the flow and wanted each video to end with a magic Christmas tree. I miss him being my co-pilot.
I wish I had more time to do things like this, not because they're terribly interesting but because they're fun to make and they remind me of the time I spent with Mitch. Though clunky, this less-than-polished piece will have to do.
In this video you'll see a short update on our family.
The opening narrative in the video reads:
Let me tell you a story this cold winter's eve ...
About a little family huddled together, long after the fallen leaves.
It's a simply story.
Not very profound.
Just a story of a family
And where love can be found.
So cuddle up and listen close,
and well share some things we love the most.
At approximately 1:40 you will see clips and photos of Mitchell's last Christmas and the wonderful things people did to lift his heart and let him know he was loved. Those gifts of compassion and love were also gifts to our hearts, already in mourning. So, to all of you who reached out to him, we sincerely thank you.
After that short piece on Mitch the video shifts attention to a much larger contemplation. It begins with the concept of darkness and grief and remembering to look past the darkness and to the heavens. For the heavens are vast and they are deep ... and many secrets do they keep. If we can scarcely comprehend the heavens we CAN see, perhaps we could have faith in the heaven we cannot yet see.
The video concludes with a few more thoughts and an invitation to come with us on the journey ahead.
Our most sincere prayer this holiday season is that each of you who follow Mitchell's Journey, whether you comment or join conversations ... or simply watch and quietly listen; our prayer is that each of you will find joy in your life and that your own journeys will be blessed.
Though we grieve the loss of Mitch, we have found joy despite the pain. We are grateful for all that remains.
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For those who are curious to see the earlier videos you can visit our Christmas Channel here: vimeo.com/channels/852236
2014 Video: vimeo.com/114511333
2013 Video: vimeo.com/81968479
2012 Video: vimeo.com/55333684
2011 Video: vimeo.com/43011694
On December 24th, just as we were about to spend time at home as a family we delivered some gifts and quilts to Primary Children’s Hospital CICU (the same place that cared for our little boy). Nobody has cardiac failure on their schedule so you almost always end up unprepared to stay there. With that in mind we took some quilts that were donated to Mitchell's Journey and other gifts we gathered along with messages of hope to give to some of the families that found themselves there Christmas Eve.
We would like to involve as many Mitchell’s Journey followers as are interested next year and try to bless as many lives as humanly possible.
These quilts were donated by loving hands and hearts from Pipestone Minnesota. A follower of Mitchell’s Journey, Nichole Rieck, who has since become a dear friend to our family mobilized people in her community to help Mitchell’s Journey last spring and the echo of that effort continued on this day as these quilts found a home and tender hearts to comfort. A few of these quilts were made by Mavis Holt, an 87-year-old woman, who hand sewed the most intricate works of warmth and art. Karla Whipple, also from Pipestone, Nichole, and others generously made beautiful quilts and donated them in hopes that it might help.
Our greatest desire was that those who found themselves away from the comfort of home and the flickering light of a fireplace but instead lay under the flashing lights of monitors and endless beeps found a little comfort that night.
As we parked the car and walked to the hospital I found myself struggling to breathe. For a moment it was hard to go back there. Part of me wanted to run down the hall in desperate search of my son. My knees were weak and my heart was racing as my eyes began to swell. Even though it has been almost a year, it felt like we were just there a few days ago. But as we walked toward the building and I saw my wife and kids cheerful and anxious to help others, my tears turned from sorrow to love and appreciation. Suddenly my heart, which moments ago, was heavy as lead became light as snow.
I don’t know many things, but what I do know is our sorrows can be swallowed up in the service of others. The moment we set aside our own hurts to lift someone else, who also hurts, both burdens are made light.
Be the spark: https://vimeo.com/81345868