Posts tagged Hope
WHEN WEAK THINGS BECOME STRONG THINGS

Toward the end, Mitch was becoming increasingly weak. His fate was slowly becoming visible – which was difficult to watch. You see, to have a child with DMD (or any fatal illness) is to watch your child die in slow motion.

I’m pretty sure if my little boy were still with me he’d add, “And help each other along the way. Life’s too hard to do it alone.”
— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

On this day, we had just taken some family portraits - something I rarely did because I never felt I was very good at it. I preferred more candid photos of our family anyway. Mitch was so cooperative and tender when it was his turn – and because of that, we were blessed to capture a portrait of Mitch that was a mirror image of his sweet soul. I will forever treasure that photo.

When it was time to move on, Mitch said softly, “Mom, will you help me off the ground? I can’t do it by myself anymore.” Natalie’s smile faded slightly, and a pang of sorrow showed through her countenance.

By conventional terms, Mitch wasn’t strong – but he was strong where it mattered ... and that's all that mattered. The notion of strength these days seems to masquerade as brute force, chest-thumping, and vitriol. The irony of anger imitating as strength is when everybody is yelling, nobody is yelling anymore. Outrage becomes the new normal – and never have I seen a man more careless and weak as when he was drunk with rage.

Author Eric Hoffer observed, “Rudeness is the weak man’s imitation of strength.” I’ve seen plenty of rude people in my life. Ironically, in their perceived strength, they were weakest. I’ve seen successful people fail at being true leaders when there was an opportunity to do a good work for humanity and mentor a rising generation with capacity and great desire. I’ve seen some of them abandon reason and their religion for madness and disillusionment. While they were pointing to the failures of others, the more searching question they ignored was who really failed who.

In contrast to those would-be-giants who took a low road, I see my son in this photo … weak, inexperienced, yet sincere at heart. Even in all his weakness, I discovered tremendous moral strength. Mitch learned what so many forget these days, to “Be nice to each other and be glad you’re alive. Nothing else matters.” I’m pretty sure if my little boy were still with me he’d add, “And help each other along the way. Life’s too hard to do it alone.”

I’ve been taught that we are given weaknesses in this life so that we might become humble. And, if we humble ourselves and seek God’s help, those weak things can become strong things. In matters of the mind and soul, weak things don’t automatically become strong. In fact, they will remain weak, and possibly become weaker still, if we aren’t conscious of turning those weaknesses into strengths. Heaven knows I have many weaknesses and I often seem to fall short of who I want to be. But then again, who doesn’t? Any more, I focus less on being discouraged over where I think I should be and instead more on what direction I’m headed. The journey is kinder and more rewarding that way. If you haven’t tried to see life through that lens, give it a try.

Just yesterday I was speaking with a colleague about whether the notion of “living with no regrets” is attainable. He thought for a minute and wondered where the truth was. I then said, “I believe that is a false promise. Everyone has regrets because everyone is human and makes mistakes. Instead, I believe we should learn how to turn regret into resolve. The most realistic aim in life is not to live a life of no regrets, but rather to live in such a way we’re glad we lived the life we lived. We’re glad of the joys and sorrows, successes and failures – because, if properly examined, they each contribute to making us wiser and stronger.”

Throughout my life, I have been injured by some who masqueraded their weakness as strength. In stark contrast, I’ve been inspired by a little boy whose weaknesses revealed his true strength. What’s more, my son’s journey taught me however much I stumble and fall; I have a loving Father who can help me through it all.

I am a lowly beggar in search of understanding and peace, and the heavenly paradox is it only comes when I try to bring others relief. As I get a little older, I worry less about the many and more about the one. In God’s arithmetic, it isn’t about the 99, but instead about the one. That is, and will ever be, where the work of the soul is done.

Loading Comments
THEY THAT MOURN

I dropped by to see little Mitch this morning and discovered 3 notes left at the base of his headstone, each bearing the hashtag #lighttheworld. I was so touched by the compassion of those anonymous souls who seemed to understand grief lasts as long as love lasts. These handwritten notes wished our family peace during this season. Peace ... that is to say rest from the ongoing labor of grief, is a beautiful gift.
.
I think I’m beginning to understand the deeper meaning of the scriptural passage “Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted.“ I have discovered a special kind of comfort and spiritual understanding that seems reserved for those deep mourning. Mourners aren’t blessed because they hurt, they are blessed because they can have access to a unique form of peace and comfort known only to those who mourn and seek spiritual relief.#mitchellsjourney

Loading Comments
THE SEARCH FOR PEACE

Little Mitch was tucked in for the night.  We had just celebrated an early birthday, at his request and he was tired and in need of rest.  No sooner had he closed his eyes than Natalie softly kissed him on the cheek, one more time.   Death was coming fast and we had reached a time when we didn’t know if any moment would be our last moment. 

If I search for meaning first, peace and understanding follow.  If I search for peace without meaning, what I find is fleeting and hollow.
— Christopher M. Jones | Mitchell's Journey

In the shadow of her kiss was baby Marlie, anxious to cuddle and keep Mitch company as he slept.  Sensing something was wrong, Mitch had become afraid of the dark so he asked his mom to keep the light outside his room on and his door opened a crack.  A little light and his puppy was all he needed.

Though we were going through hell at the time, we also experienced moments of supernal peace.  As death came closer, so did Heaven and unseen angels – bearing up our broken souls.  Several months prior, I could feel the sun setting on Mitchell’s life … and though there was a great sorrow in my heart, there was a certain beauty and peace, too.  A peace that doesn’t come from this place.  It is as real as anything I know – and it tells me there is more to life than my eyes behold.    

In my experience, the search for peace is coupled with the search for meaning.  If I search for meaning first, peace and understanding follow.  If I search for peace without meaning, what I find is fleeting and hollow.

 

Loading Comments
OVER HERE

It is interesting how God prepares our souls for the end of life. Not always, but sometimes. And when He does, I believe it is for a higher purpose. It is almost as if He is gently saying, “My child, over here.” Through this hardship I have learned to hear and recognize those impressions in new and meaningful ways. I was being prepared for my son’s passing the day he was born. I had a distinct impression something was seriously wrong. It consistently pressed on my soul for the first 3 years. I couldn’t shake the feeling; I knew his life would be short. Then the diagnosis came and those whispers to my soul suddenly made sense. A year before we discovered Mitchell’s heart was failing, I sensed something life-altering was going to happen. I remember telling a few people that were close to me that I sensed an almost chilling change in the air. I didn’t know what, I just knew something significant was going to happen. I wish I knew it was my son. I would have done more with him and less with things that matter nothing to me now. Such is the lament of those who grieve. 

So, when Mitch came home to die, not knowing his days were short, he had a premonition in the same way I had them – except his was more specific. “Mom, can I have an early birthday?” Mitch said in his soft voice. “It feels so far away.” Natalie looked at me and without saying a word, said a million things at once. Immediately a birthday party was put in motion. We didn’t know if we had 10 minutes, 10 hours or 10 days with Mitch – so every second counted with him. The next day we had a special birthday party for our son. It was a beautiful celebration of life and love and my son’s heart was full – while ours were quietly broken.

After his birthday party, Mitch sat near his aunt Sonya trying to build a Lego set. My sister Diane loving inflated a great many balloons to make the day extra special for my son. As small as that act of service may have seemed, it was big to me. When I saw what those balloons did to Mitchell’s heart … how it lifted his spirits and put a spark in his eyes, I have never looked upon a balloon in the same way. I get it now. 

Just beyond Mitch was my youngest child, Wyatt, twirling in the background with an over-sized teddy bear. For a moment I wondered what act was playing out on the stage of his mind; was he in a magical forest with an imaginary friend or a king’s hall dancing under a moon-lit sky? For a moment I was swept away in wonder, admiring children for all the good and imagination that is in them. Then, I was reminded of my other children’s needs. I knew each of them were different and needed love and attention unique to them. Most importantly, they needed to know in our moment of crisis that mom and dad were going to be okay – that no matter what, the world would go on and that our family would survive this hardship. 

When I saw Wyatt playing happily by himself I felt the words in my heart, “… over here.” I had as distinct an impression as I ever had with Mitch, this time it was directed at my youngest son. At that very moment I set my camera down and walked over to Wyatt and started to play with him. I let him know how proud I was of the young boy he was and that I loved him very much. Wyatt smiled with a mouth full of missing teeth. I kissed his face and hugged him tightly. 

I don’t know what that little exchange meant to my youngest son. I only know my Father wanted me to remember him, too. Ever since, that is all I try to do. Oh, to listen to that whisper, “Over here.” It is there for all to hear, if we choose have a listening ear.

Loading Comments