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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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We sat in the upper level of Shriners Hospital waiting our turn to visit with the orthotics department. From a distance, I saw Ethan and Mitch whispering in the corner of a vast open space designed to let children play. I could tell by the looks on their faces these young boys were conspiring to have fun. A few moments later I saw Ethan sit on a scooter and Mitch started pushing him with his electric chair. They both laughed and laughed as they scurried about the hardwood floor, sometimes at exhilarating speeds.

Along the wall of this open corridor, I saw a chalkboard where a young child wrote, “I’m sad.” I’ll post that photo in another story about suffering. As I read that simple phrase, clearly written by young hands, I began to cry for that mystery child. My heart broke and I wished I could share a portion of my own health and give it to others in need, including my son. I would have given my life to save my son.

“So, when I seem to struggle or get lost and can’t find my way, I stop to catch my breath … then find someone I can serve that day. It doesn’t take much to turn a bad day around – if I can help someone in need and my heart goes from lost, to suddenly found.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

As I turned attention back Mitch and Ethan, my eyes began to dry and my heart was filled with gratitude. Though life can seem cruel at times, I saw evidence of heaven’s hand right before me. My eyes began to see the tender mercy these two boys were to each other. In that moment, I knew that while God wouldn’t remove Mitchell’s hardship, He sent Ethan to help ease the way.

Mitch was about to endure a great inconvenience. Within a few hours, he would have both legs placed in cast for a few weeks. These casts were shaped in such a way to stretch his heel cords – which stretching would help keep him walking a little longer. However, just a few short months from this photo Mitch would go into catastrophic heart failure – and all that we tried to do to keep him healthy would become painfully irrelevant.

Ethan, knowing his younger brother’s options in life were limited, knew just how to serve him. He always allowed Mitch to wrestle him to the ground and let him win, even though Ethan was much stronger than his younger brother. He helped Mitch build blanket forts when his arms were weak. Sometimes Mitch would sit in the middle of the room with a smile as Ethan built a big pillowy, blankety fort around him. Mitchell’s smile would always grow in proportion to the size of the fort. Though life was difficult, it was also glorious.

Ethan found ways to serve Mitch so he could feel like a healthy child. Ironically, by allowing his older brother to serve him, Mitch was serving Ethan at the same time. When I think back on my own life, not once have I served someone and regretted the decision. In fact, I have always felt more blessed than the person I was trying to serve. Heaven’s paradoxes are as sweet as they are beautiful.

So, when I seem to struggle or get lost and can’t find my way, I stop to catch my breath … then find someone I can serve that day. It doesn’t take much to turn a bad day around – if I can help someone in need and my heart goes from lost, to suddenly found.

That’s the flipside of service: by allowing people to serve us, we are also serving them. The very act of giving can change or heal a heart … times ten.

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It was mid-November and we were enjoying a mild evening at a park just across the street from the apartments where we temporarily lived.  Like many times before, Mitch sat on my shoulders and tried to twist my hat as though it were a steering wheel.  He would laugh and laugh as I walked in whatever direction he tried to turn my head.  He thought pulling a tuft of my hair was like hoking a horn because I would yell “Ouch!” every time.  It hurt, but I didn’t mind because I loved to hear him laugh. 

“Looking back, I was never carrying Mitch – I think heaven sent Mitch to carry me. This little boy was a tattered angel who was marked for a short life – heaven knew it long before he was born. And I sensed it the moment I first laid eyes on him. Perhaps, among other things, his mission was to save me from me.”

— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

As Mitch sat on my shoulders, he didn’t understand the terrible future that awaited him.  Tiny Mitch didn’t know we had just sold our home because of him – so we could find a place that would accommodate his future needs.  He didn’t know that we would have sold all that we owned to keep him safe and healthy.  Mitch didn’t know much, for he was young; he just knew we loved him – and that was all he needed to know.   

For almost 11 years, we carried Mitch on our shoulders and backs and always in our hearts.  One might think it was a terrible burden to have a child with a fatal disease … a disease that would not only kill him, but would slowly take every part of him away.  Certainly, carrying a muscle-wasting, fatal disease on our shoulders was a burden.  But carrying our child with that hardship was also filled with blessings – and the blessings far outweighed the burdens; for when it comes to our children, no burden is too great. 

The night Mitch passed away he couldn’t open his eyes, but he could squeeze our hands to tell us he was listening.  I wonder what crossed his mind that night.  I remember whispering to him as I wet his pillow with my tears … I whispered memories I had with him and told him how grateful I was to be his daddy.  I hope memories like this photo crossed his mind and gave his weary soul comfort.  I hope he found peace knowing we loved him and were proud of the young boy that he had become.

I did my best to carry Mitch on my shoulders.  Not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually.  In strictly mortal terms, he was younger than me. Though spiritually, I began to sense his soul was much older than mine.  I thought I was on earth to carry him and help him learn and grow – but as heavenly paradoxes go, the opposite was true.  He was teaching and shaping me.  Looking back, I was never carrying Mitch – I think heaven sent Mitch to carry me.  This little boy was a tattered angel who was marked for a short life – heaven knew it long before he was born.  And I sensed it the moment I first laid eyes on him.  Perhaps, among other things, his mission was to save me from me.

Though he is gone now and my heart aches deeply because of it, I sense him from time-to-time.  Not through butterflies and rainbows, but a distinct spiritual impression his soul is near and that he is doing the work of angels … guiding me quietly through whispers that are felt more than heard.  I sense that he is tending to my broken soul – and I hope I am listening. 

Thanksgiving is near and I have a great many things to be thankful for: faith and family are chief among them. I am also grateful that hidden somewhere deep beneath life’s burdens are also blessings – blessings that are earned by-and-through struggle. And whenever I get confused and wonder what to do, I think about my Father and my son ... and I ask myself, "Who's carrying who?"

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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.