10 years ago today, my life changed forever, because 10 years ago today, during the 4th quarter of a local high school football game, my mother looked at my father and told him she was sorry just moments before a brain aneurism left her speechless and hospitalized. 3 days later, she was dead.

That one moment set in motion a chain of events that are still hard to wrap my mind around, which is one reason why the year from hell that followed isn’t in book form…yet.  Suffice it here to say that 20 days after my mom passed, my brother had, as well, and my world was upside-down.

And that was only the beginning.

This was a moment that impacted every moment I have lived since.  It changed how I see people, how I teach people, how I love and lead people.  It changed the filter of my worldview from “Christian” and “Non-Christian” to “hurting” and “not hurting yet.”  It changed how I prioritize, it changed how I pastor, it changed how I preach.

That day changed everything in ways that I still do not even comprehend one decade later.

I’m not looking to write something brilliant in one post about something that was so life-altering, but I wouldn’t mind leaving you with this one thought, which could quite possibly become the opening paragraph in the book that will be written about the time that I met Jesus on the worst day of my life.  I’d love your reactions to it.

There are moments that change us.  They change us because they stop us, even if it is only long enough for us to think, to hurt, to cry.  They can’t be stopped, or in most cases, even controlled.  They come and go as they please, and leave us stuck in places we would have never believed…wondering if we will ever move, laugh, or dance again?  They seem like periods, but they are more like commas, something that my 8th-grade English teacher said I didn’t understand.  But I understand them better now, because one day I stared into the eyes of my brother as he died.

From time to time over the next month or so, I’ll post more thoughts, memories, and ramblings that have come over the years.  For now, let me simply tell you one of the important things that I learned in the middle of that time: Jesus doesn’t run from pain, or from those who are in it.

He runs to the pain and carries us through it.

Did you miss Part I, Part II, or Part III?

The young man smiled and thanked God for one person who was willing to stop and take the time to understand. The old man laid the stick on the ground, said a few more words, and started off down the beach. The young man watched him walk off until laughter and yelling caught his attention and he turned to see three children playing catch. He realized that, for the first time, he was actually enjoying their play, not jealous of it. He felt a peace that he had not known before, and he knew the source had been in the simple, kind, and honest words whispered to him by the old man. He turned to yell to his teacher, to thank him even though he wasn’t quite sure what to thank him for.

The beach was deserted. He could see at least a mile away, but saw no one, only sand and the waves crashing upon it. The footprints! He saw them in the sand where the old man had stood and where he had walked off. Quickly, almost in a panic, he pushed the controls on the wheelchair and guided it along the path, until, after only a short distance, they stopped. Well, disappeared. How or why he didn’t know, but he did know that something very unique had happened to him on the beach that day.

He turned his chair around and drove back to where he had written in the sand. The children were gone and he sat there, alone, thanking God for sending him His peace in such a special way. Turning to go, he left his questions to be smoothed over and washed away by the rising tide. After all, they had already been answered.

Did you miss Part I or Part II?

He should have been used to it, but he never could understand why people were so afraid to be near him. He tried once more, this time yelling to an elderly man who was out for an evening of seashell hunting.

“What’s that,” the old man responded.

“Could you help me for a moment?”

The gentleman nodded and approached the wheelchair. He listened as the young man explained the situation, and when no paper could be found, suggested that he use a stick and write it in the sand. The author agreed and began to recite the words to his new-found friend:

I look out and see a beautiful ocean
With all the waves set in motion.
I see the people as they pass me by,
I watch birds spread their wings and fly

Look at the crab dart quickly in the sand
Narrowly escaping a child’s grasping hand.
There’s a beautiful shell made so carefully –
People notice the shell, but they don’t see me.

It’s hard for me to talk and I move kind of slow
But my mind still works, and I really want to know –
I wonder as I sit here looking at the sea
Why the God Who made it all
Won’t reach down and heal me?

The old man put the stick down and knelt in the sand beside the young man. Expecting a sermon on why he shouldn’t say those things, they poet softened when the man whispered in his ear, “I don’t know. All I know is that God never promised us it would be easy; but He did promise to never leave.”

Tomorrow: Questions – Part IV