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Tiny Mitch reached up to grab a door handle that stood just above his head.  He had an almost tangible curiosity about him this day – so much so, he would have seemed mischievous if he wasn’t so innocent.  With a soft tug, his chubby hand and tiny little fingers began to pull downward.  If you were listening carefully, you could hear the old springs in the handle ping and poing as rusty mechanics began to move.

To an adult, this was just an ordinary doorknob.  To this little boy, that golden handle was a gateway to endless curiosities just beyond the finger-smudged glass.  

“... when I think I’ve reached the furthest depths of love for my children, I find that it continues to deepen with each passing day. How deep that love will go, I cannot say. I only know my love is deeper than it was yesterday.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

Tiny Mitch didn’t realize I was following him, so I kept my distance and zoomed in with my lens.  By this time in his life, he was so used to sounds of my camera he had no idea I was shadowing him.  I followed him because I wanted to keep my tiny boy safe from harm … but I was also curious to get a glimpse into his little mind and heart.  “I wonder what he does when no one is looking …”, I thought to myself.  

As the door opened, Mitch walked outside … and, like a good little boy, he closed the door behind him to keep the cold Wyoming wind from stealing away the warmth of the cabin.  Then Mitch crawled backward from the edge of the old wood patio, down a few stairs and began to tromp on grass browned by an early winter’s chill.  I waited patiently until his back turned, then I opened the door quietly and stepped outside.  A kitty approached him and Mitch began to talk to it in ways only a 2-year-old can know.  Softly he hugged his furry friend and kissed its head.  I smiled at Mitchie’s goodness and wanted some of that to rub off on me.  After a few minutes of furry love, Mitch began to walk toward a bush that was home to a little bird’s nest, or so it seemed.  He got on his tippy toes as he pulled a branch down only to see an abandoned nest.  He smiled softly, then turned to explore a pile of wood.  He talked to himself and hummed nursery songs.  At this moment, my heart broke open and poured out more love than it could possibly hold.  I never knew how much love a heart could hold until that moment.

What I learned about little Mitch that day was how much he loved to be alive, even as a toddler.  I also discovered anew how much little things matter. He found joy in the smallest of things.  There wasn’t a flower he walked by that he didn’t lean in to smell softly.  Not a furry pet he didn’t want to love, or a sunset admire.  Mitch not only taught me how to love him, but how to love everything and everyone.

Later that night I knelt in prayer thanking my Father for the gift of little ones.  I thought I had known love before I had a child.  But, I soon discovered a love so deep that it changed me from the inside out.  Completely.  Even still, when I think I’ve reached the furthest depths of love for my children, I find that it continues to deepen with each passing day.  How deep that love will go, I cannot say.  I only know my love is deeper than it was yesterday.

If ever I am discouraged about a personal failure or disappointment, this image gives me hope.  It reminds me that, in the grand scheme of things, we’re all toddlers reaching to open doors and make new discoveries.  And though we may be imperfect, our Father sees us reach and try, and we are loved.  That is no small thing. 

Natalie and I took the boys on a long-awaited weekend adventure. There are many more stories of Mitch to come - but today there are memories to make … for life is short and you only get one.

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This happened almost 4 years ago. It was the first of November as we went to a local park as a family. The day had drawn to a close, and we could tell winter was just around the corner. The grass was cold to the touch … about to go into its deep, yellow sleep for the winter. As the sun set behind the mountains, the evening air had a familiar, wintery chill. We were excited to go home and make hot chocolate and sit by our fireplace to warm up.

Just moments before I took this photo, Mitch breathed deeply through his nose, as if he tried to smell the entire earth at once. He exhaled and said, “Dad, Fall smells so good.” Mitch loved the earthy smell of fallen leaves and was grateful to be alive. I smiled softly and reached down to hold his hand. At the same time, he reached up to hold mine – it was as though we knew what each other needed at that moment.

Though I didn’t exactly know Mitch was about to die, I sensed death was near in the same way I could sense the season about to change. Mitch didn’t exactly know his time was short, but he sensed it, too. This was an unseen tender mercy, for our loving Father softly nudged us to be in the moment because the hour was later than we knew.

Little Mitch had just watched teenagers perform tricks at a skate park. This night was the first time I ever heard him wish for something he didn’t have. He said, “Dad, I wish I could be like regular kids and do the things they do.” Though Mitch wanted to be a healthy boy, he was just grateful to be alive. And I was grateful to be his father.

“I am grateful for warm moments like the one you see here. I store them up in my heart for times of trouble; and when sorrow and disappointment come, as they surely will, I am reminded of life’s good things.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

This was one of those moments in life where I deeply appreciated what I had in the clasp of my hands. Not just Mitch, either. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for my wife and all of my children. Each of them was so dear to my heart, and my cup was overflowing that night.

Though we would soon sit by a crackling fireplace that night and drink warm things … my soul was already stirred with feelings of love and gratitude. There was no winter that could chill my heart.

I am grateful for warm moments like the one you see here. I store them up in my heart for times of trouble; and when sorrow and disappointment come, as they surely will, I am reminded of life’s good things.

If ever I’ve stumbled in life, I believe it has been because I didn’t fully appreciate what I already had in the clasp of my hands. What we clasp with our hands says a lot about what’s in our heart. If I cling to material things, there is my heart, also. If I hang on to distractions or things that waste time, that has a measure of my heart, too. I wish I could say I clasp on to all the right things … but I am human and I make mistakes. But I've learned to view my mistakes as teachers, not tormentors. When I stumble, I bounce right back, shake it off and keep trying.

For all my mistakes in life, all I know is this night I got it right. There, within the clasp of my hand, was a tender son who needed reassurance. Around me were my wife and other children, each of whom I loved and adored – and though I wasn’t holding their hand at this moment, emotionally they knew I had them in my hand and my heart.

Rose Marie Whiteside wrote, “You will make mistakes, change your mind later on the wisdom of a decision, and hope to find better ways of doing something, but if you outline your values and determine the links to those values, the errors won’t count.”

I love this statement. I believe in it, too. Mistakes matter less if we know we value and try to live true.

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Summer was over and Mitch was about to start a new year at school. He was nervous for a lot of reasons: would he make new friends? What if he gets lost? Who would help him if he didn’t have the strength to walk anymore? Who would understand that while he looked normal, he had a muscle wasting disease and doesn’t have the strength of healthy children?

I remember being little and having big worries. I would think to myself at a department store, “What if my mom forgets me and never finds me again?” After all, the world was a very big place and I was just getting familiar with my neighborhood – and any place more than a few blocks away felt like a different country. Maybe even a different world. So, as a child, I was worried about being lost and never found. As a father, I see things differently today. Were my child to get lost, I wouldn’t stop searching until I found my precious child. I would sell the clothes on my back, and my very life if required, to save them. But I didn’t know that as a child. My understanding was limited to my life experience – which was crayons, backpacks, and lunchpails.

So when Mitch shared his worries this year, the child in my heart related. I remembered how I felt and I wanted Mitch to know that I cared. Knelt down so I was eye-level with him and said, “Sweet Mitchie, I will never let you get lost. I will always look out for you and never will you be so far that I couldn’t come racing to save you. Okay?” Mitch would nod softly with tears in his eyes. With that, I hugged him and whispered, “I love you, son.”

Little Mitch was still nervous, but he trusted me and he trusted his mother – who is an infinitely better parent than I could ever hope to be. She sets a standard I strive to emulate, however imperfectly. 

Mitch and a handful of other children his age waited patiently for the doors to open. When the bell rang, the kids were summoned to the door only to be greeted by Shelly Davis, the school’s principal at the time. When I think of the tender mercies in my son’s life, I have no doubt Shelly is one of them.

She took little Mitch under her wing, along with other children with special needs, and helped them feel loved and important. Under her kind care, Mitchell grew strong in confidence and self-assurance. Though he was quiet and shy, he was growing a little more each day because of the way she treated him. Although she was the school’s administrator – she was its best teacher, too. She needed no chalkboard or textbooks, no podium or megaphone; she taught by example and helped these young children believe in themselves.

I watched this good woman from afar and each day I fell to my knees and thanked Heaven for placing her in my son’s path. She was exactly what Mitch needed at the time – and I’m sure she was exactly what many other children needed, too.

When I think back on my education, never once were the mean teachers, detached or ready-to-snap principals and overbearing school staff a positive influence. To the contrary, they got in the way of the very thing they were there to do. Instead, the ones who shaped me were the ones who saw me in the hall and said hello with a smile. They were the ones who got to know me and saw what little I had to offer the world, yet they recognized my potential and watered my tiny seeds of potential with encouragement. They were the ones that said, “I see you. You matter. You can do this.”

I love and appreciate good educators; the ones who not only teach concepts, they teach people. The ones who teach us how to be good people. Shelly did this for Mitch and countless other children. I know Mitch loved her because she first loved him, and that gave him permission to believe in himself. 

Though I am no formal educator, I believe the bedrock of education isn’t books, but belief in self. That will do more for the soul than all the books ever written, standing quietly on a shelf.