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For many reasons, this is a tender time of year for Natalie and me. Earlier this morning, Facebook showed me this photo 4 years ago today. Mitch was fading and time was more valuable than all the riches of earth. While his heart was failing, ours was breaking. 

“The great irony of hardships is they have the power to make our joys sweeter if we listen to the tender lessons of pain. ”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

4 years on, the deep sadness I once felt has been replaced with a clear sobriety about life. The truth is, I experience greater joy than ever before, I love my family more than ever, and I appreciate moments more than any time in my life. I feel more peace than pain and more gratitude than grief. 

The great irony of hardships is they have the power to make our joys sweeter, if we listen to the tender lessons of pain. It doesn't happen all at once, in fact ... at first it seems to take forever ... but peace comes eventually. 

Eventually.

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I stumbled across this photo the other day and was taken back to the time when all our children were little. On this day we were at grandma’s home for a family dinner.  Little Mitch sat patiently in his chair as his mommy filled his plate with a healthy balance of vegetables and other things.  “Sank you, mommy”, little Mitch said with a soft voice.  Like all young children, he loved his mom and wanted to make her happy.  If only our children knew how much their mother’s loved them.  It is only when children become parents they begin to understand the depth of such love. Then, and only then, can such a splendor be known.

“... when we serve, we love.  And when we love, we heal.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

I remember this era of our life so well.  It was a time of late nights and exhausting days … sticky fingers, dirty shirts, runny noses and little messes around the house that seemed to spring up out of nowhere.  Sometimes it felt like the days were too long and the nights, too short.  But in all of that struggle, or better said, in all of that service, deep love began to grow. 

How exactly love grows is something the world often forgets. There is so much anger and vitriol in society today, it's a wonder we haven't burned the world in a mindless rage.

One thing my little ones taught me is service begets love and healing.  I can’t think of a time in my life where I served someone (even a stranger) that I didn’t grow to love them.  Even if it was as simple as helping someone with their bag at an airport, or letting someone in a hurry go first in line … when I find ways to serve others, I grow to love them.  Service changes us from the inside out; it turns hate into happiness, jealousy into joy, and grief into gratitude.  If there is a single antidote for much of what ails family and society, it is simply service.  When we serve, we heal.

Do you want to turn a foe into a friend?  Find a way to serve them.  Are you mad at a family member?  Do something for them that shows, despite unsettled feelings, you still care.  In times of trouble the best way out, I’ve learned, is to lay down my weapons of war and serve the person I’m at odds with.  Certainly, it takes two to resolve a conflict … and it doesn’t work all the time … but it works more than it doesn’t.  I can live with those odds.

What’s the one thing our children teach us?  They teach us service is the foundation to love. Service gives meaning to our lives and renews our souls.  Service can be inconvenient at times – as it should be: for nothing of value comes easily.

The night Mitchell passed away, I sat at the foot of his bed and wept as I contemplated our [nearly] 11 years together.  I remembered the times I served him:  when I gave him piggybacks up the stairs because his legs were too weak to climb, or the times I read to him before bedtime or helped him with school projects.  I wanted to keep serving him and my heart was broken that I could not.  My last act of service was to tuck my son in for the last time and whispered in his ear how proud I was of the life he lived.  I told him I would spend the rest of my life trying to live up to his example … that his daddy wanted to be just like him.  I gave him permission to go to the other side and assured him he would be okay.  He heard me, then passed away 30 minutes later.

If ever I needed peace and healing, it was then … in the aftermath of that profound loss.  For the wilderness of grief was dark and deep – a pain so great, I wanted to close my eyes drift away into eternal sleep. 

I have healed a great deal over the last 4 years, and much of that healing (in addition to Heaven’s help) has come from setting aside my own sorrows and finding ways to serve others.

I am grateful for this photo because it reminded me of a simpler time in my life … a time when I was picking up on the supernal lesson children teach us … when we serve, we love.  And when we love, we heal.

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This was Mitchell’s last October. We went to a local farmer’s lot to pick out some pumpkins to carve. Autumn had slipped away and we were deep into fall, each day getting colder and colder. Except this day was unusually summer-like and the evening sun warmed our skin as if from a nearby fireplace.

“In honor of my son, I will look for those whose bags are a little empty and try to fill them with love and encouragement. Where I can, I will try to carry those who stumble, though I often stumble myself. For the key to happiness, I’ve discovered, is found in giving, not getting.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

Because his leg muscles had wasted away, Mitch had trouble walking around the uneven terrain. He tripped and stumbled a few times and he was much slower than the rest of the children. I couldn’t help but notice the look on my son’s face as he saw other kids race past him. He had a look of gratitude and determination. At one point he just smiled and said to me, “Dad, I’m just glad I can still walk.” 

After a lumbering about the pumpkin patch for a while, we each took turns giving our boy a piggyback, so our little boy’s legs could rest. Though he was getting bigger each year, carrying him was never a burden but in fact a great blessing.

Halloween was just around the corner and I wondered what my boy wanted to do. Each year, trick-or-treating became more and more difficult. In the beginning, he used his electric scooter to go from home to home. As each year passed his muscles became weaker and trying to climb up a neighbor’s stairs to knock on their door was exhausting for him. The year prior to his last Halloween, he just parked on each drive way and Luke or Wyatt would take his basket and trick-or-treat for him. That wasn’t much fun for Mitch because, like so many other children’s activities, he sat on the sidelines and watch the party from afar. No matter his disappointment or wanting to do what other children did, Mitch bore his burden with a tender smile - grateful to be alive.

So, as I carried my son on my back this warm October evening in the Pumpkin patch I asked Mitch what he wanted to be for Halloween. He said, “Dad, I just want to stay home and give candy to other kids.”

“Are you sure Mitchie? I will carry you door-to-door if you want.” I replied. 

He responded with a soft whisper, “No, I want to stay home with you. Plus, I like giving to others more.”

True to his word, Mitch stayed home Halloween night and handed candy out to other children. Each time he shut the door he had a big smile on his face. Giving to others brought more joy to little Mitch than getting ever did. Although his Halloween bag was empty that night, his heart was overflowing. So was mine.

To our surprise, later that night, thoughtful friends knowing he was too weak to trick-or-treat brought him some of their candy. 

Though Halloween was different that year, in every way that matters, it was a happy Halloween.

In honor of my son, I will look for those whose bags are a little empty and try to fill them with love and encouragement. Where I can, I will try to carry those who stumble, though I often stumble myself. For the key to happiness, I’ve discovered, is found in giving, not getting.

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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.