It’s another stormy Fryday night as I type this in the middle of a chase.

Nothing like getting ahead of a whirlwind in the middle of nowhere amidst an historical event. Not a bad way to spend a night…at least to this guy.

Yet, I’m not here to document pending tales of roadside bravery. Conversely, I’m here to share about an observation, one that’s come to greater light since Lys and I started group grief counseling at Vanderbilt earlier this month.

The short and skinnies are simple:

1. For those who grief, it’s hard to know how. For those around grief, it’s hard to know what.
2. To understand your grief, you must not only face it but embrace it. Only then can you make the transition into biblical mourning.

Of course, there are many challenges to this, most notably the mock premium of individualization our culture has placed on processing. Give yourself a few minutes to research the matter and you’ll find many resources with premises centered on coping by way of escape/retreat, calibrating perspective by a reverse orientation to still minds and ‘happy thoughts’.

Granted, there’s a time and place for those pursuits. I’m not here to bash a particular tool of the trade or what has worked for some in moderation. I’m just saying we, as people who deep down want to be unified and understood, need to wake up and recognize the ministry of availability within our communities and not be afraid to be relational even when we can’t relate.

For Lys and I, as we’ve said before, we appreciate the support we received when Juby was alive. Words can only go so far in capturing our gratitude. But during the last quarter and half, we’ve noticed a concerning trend, a punch to the gut if you will, and that is we’ve hardly been encouraged and tended since Juby passed away.

Why is that? Why is it so hard for people to send a simple text or have the courage to ask how you’re doing, how you’re feeling? Why do some people ask but only want a few sentences, in turn, exposing the cap to their care? Why do people assume hearts aren’t broken if the brokeness isn’t tangibly evident? Is there some sort of valve that shuts off at a certain point? Do people just assume it’s easier for grievers to journey through loss after a loved one has died as opposed to their final days?

While I have bias to what the answers should be, my mind struggles to access the surface translation. At work, at Vanderbilt…there is life and in some cases, in abundance. But at church, where the body is supposed to be the body? Let’s just say confusion abounds and I’m just about over it. It’s been several years since Lys and I experienced a church home in an environment where the amount of life exceeded its transverse. We miss those days when deficits weren’t distractions, when you could approach a sanctuary and look forward to being inside it without the proximity of people who have written you off or have deemed you not worth the conversation.

And hear me, this is not a call out to every church. I know there are safe places out there where people truly love one another and make their compassion/kindness known. Such a dichotomy is a desired reality I hope to encounter at some point. For now, while my expectations in fellow believers acting like Jesus to us may be too high, I can say this as a broad statement across the board: Whether in or outside leadership, you cannot assign parameters to someone else’s grief. You can’t tell them to level or mask up, to just be okay already, to do what you need to get better as soon as possible. If that’s the message you’re conveying, intentionally or not, you are giving the enemy a footstool and sowing destructive seeds, even if the only consequence is withdrawal and separation noticed by a select few. Sure, we may have some days our emotions are a bit more on the sleeve. Guess what? There’s no agenda there. Sometimes, it’s just hard to swallow the tears. Heck, even worship lyrics can be triggers to heaviness.

Whatever the case, I’m sure there are bodies of believers out there who know how to let people grieve, who know how to simply ‘be there’ when times are tough, and aren’t afraid of making the effort. But from what I’m seeing? When it comes to soul tending and post-traumatic nourishment, the healing pathway is more a function of individual walk sprinkled with isolated interactions that may or may not lift spirits in the moment. If the church can promote the afflicted to take confidence steps on their roads to recovery and restoration, watch out. There will be so much new glory to be discovered and testimonies to be shared!

As for closing thoughts, I apologize to those I’ve inadvertently forsaken during their grief battles. I know it’s easy to be narrow-minded, single-focused, to reserve encouragement to those we’re comfortable with. I know I’ve missed my share of opportunities so I don’t want to sound like a victim in all this. Preaching to the choir, I just want us to wake up, to not be afraid to be uncomfortable. If it helps, just ask us, ‘Good day or bad day?’ I promise you, it’s so much better than a cold shoulder, a blind assumption, or any other fruitless maneuver that shuts God out of the operation.

We can do this. I’m not giving up hope.

Selah.

Photo creds: Healthday

Last summer, as the Juby journey entered its final semester, I recall a foreign feeling, one I couldn’t help but cling to in the months to come.

The day was Monday, July 18 and while much was going on behind the scenes, inside Juby’s pod, the road unfolding was becoming quite clear. Only days into a three-week paralytic reset, my sweet princess was the NICU equivalent of Sleeping Beauty, at peace in comatose slumber yet out cold indefinitely.

Peering over her bedside, my heart smitten but with anxiety on edge, the following word picture found me:

Like the woman with the bleeding problem (Luke 8:43-48), I was pining after Jesus knowing one touch from Him would be enough. But unlike her outcome, I could never reach Him thanks, in part, to the masses who needed Him just as much. Despite centurion-like faith, my acceleration could not keep up, my hope constantly ahead of weary head and soiled feet. And as dings became dongs on the monitors, so did my concerns become heartcries cemented in desperation.

Jesus, if you could just slow down a little, maybe then I can finally touch the edge of your robe and my daughter would be healed.

Jesus, I get it. Who am I? But oh, how you are! If you could please stop so I can see your face, so I can thread my fingers through your holy garment, not only would Juby be cured but our NICU neighbors would know you by way of wonder-working power unveiled by extravagant love.

Fast-forward three months and Juby is now a few months passed having graduating into ultimate rest. My heart is mending yet full of cracks occasionally flooded with tears. If I only could rewind the clock to summon more strength at this point, at this time, maybe she would have lived.

Yet, that’s when word picture became dream…one calm, October night not long after her Celebration of Life service. In this dream, I’m back on the trail. I can see Jesus’ backside but the distance is increasing. Tempted to think He could possibly not care, I cry out:

Jesus, was my faith not enough? Why didn’t you save her? Why didn’t you slow down so I could touch your robe?

And within an instant, Jesus is there, an about-face in front of my grill.

You were never meant to touch my robe. You were meant to follow me. And you did! Now, look behind you and see the many more who will follow because of what they’re seeing. Watch and see what I will do.

Suddenly, I wake up. It’s a brand-new day and I, for one, am clinched as never the same through this game-changing moment. After all, I rarely have dreams or visions, let alone divine winks laced with such profound poetic symmetry.

Which takes me to why I’m writing this…

I believe for this year, God is calling many of us to consider the many ways He saves. Often, we ‘black and white’ His purposes thinking redemption, restoration, healing, among other things, are only real if they happen in certain ways. But this is far from God’s design and intent!

Perhaps you can relate to the feeling of running after Jesus but feeling He’s out of reach or that you don’t have what it takes to maintain pace. If so, I want to encourage you through this dream it’s not about your faith metrics but whom your faith is anchored to. Like the disciples in the boat calling out to Jesus in the storm, His proximity ultimately became secondary to His identity. Will you hope God will do what you want Him to do…or delight in simply watching Him do what He will do?

Either way, I admit there’s a lot of application and pivot points on this subject. That is why I’m proud to announce in the months to come, I will be working on my first book (I already have an editor lined up; woohoo!) that discusses God’s sovereignty in the context of suffering and through Juby’s life, unpacks the struggle to keep faith when answers aren’t clear.

The pursuit will likely reduce the amount of posts I churn out in a given year. But for me, this is a call I can’t turn down. Accordingly, I forfeit my normal rhythms with gladness to accomplish a dream birthed from one supremely given.

All that said, thank you in advance for your support and patience. While I’m apprehensive about this entrance into unchartered territory, I fear not knowing there’s lives at stake. Just like God redeemed the one Lys and I lost, so will He redeem those who feel lost within their walks holding onto the end of their ropes.

For now, I pray you’re blessed with this premise. No question, it is the core from which I devote my writing time and focus until this project is done.

‘Til then, I love you all. Let’s do this.

Selah.

P.S. A special shout-out to all our NICU/PICU supporters, especially those who partnered with us during last month’s blessing bag outreach! See 34:38 in the live stream below for a quick update…

Cover photo creds: iStock

Remember that scene in Muppet Christmas Carol when Scrooge tilts around town extending good cheer?

I don’t know about you…but rewatching this with my kiddos, I can’t help but appreciate Caine’s conviction as he proclaims:

The glory that you see
Is born again each day
Don’t let it slip away
How precious life can be

With a thankful heart that is wide awake
I do make this promise every breath I take
Will be used now to sing your praise

To be fair, the transformation of character is heart-warming even if condensed in a cinematic finale. But to be honest, these admissions of truths, while dear to heart, are harder to swallow this year.

And for good reason, dare I dive into details you may already know. A year to remember? Oh, for sure. But what exactly should I remember? That is the question I’m asking with one week left on this year’s clock.

While a recap can only go so far, what I can say is to what I remember, to that I will be grateful. Lost wind and sail be darned, I will not yield to disappointment though the woods still surround me.

For starters, I delight in God and the daily outpouring of His nature into the challenges and opportunities He divinely appointed this past year. No question, it took a marriage, a family…and many a team and tribe to bear the load. To our families, friends, colleagues, and the NICU units at Centennial and Vanderbilt (shout-out to Paige Buhl, Bailey Jenkins Stults, Courtney Osborne & Heather Akers among others who went above and beyond the call of duty), we again express our gratitude from the sincerest and deepest places of our hearts. While we’re saddened to have lost a daughter, we rejoice in having gained new family as a result…not to mention heightened levels of strength, perseverance, and endurance to take into the next God has for us.

While I’m on the ‘grateful heart’ train, I’d like to thank our parents and siblings, most notably Jan Ferguson for her cut-above support in being available despite several family storms this year, to Jessika Stephen Sanders for introducing Lys & I to Praying Through Ministries and inspiring network awareness, to our Gate fam for setting, service, and sustenance support, to Greg McRay, my colleagues in the Sales Department, and many others at Foundation Group who were intentional in following Juby’s journey, really anyone who directly reached out to encourage us the past year…we toast your kindness and generosity.

As for additional recollections, of course, the many miles and minutes logged in juggling home and NICU life stand out. The course and prep work involving Juby’s tracheostomy and homecoming, the teaming in learning new skills…all of it was a highlight even though the ultimate dream fell short. As I told one of my co-workers, Lys & I had a one-of-a-kind year during which we took our date nights to Vandy where we cried, prayed, and processed the crap out of life…where slowly but surely, investments into something much larger than ourselves and our circumstances began to take root.

On the home front, props are certainly warranted for Caeden, Everly & Milo for their flexibility amidst the audibles. With evolving rhythms almost a weekly reality, I take pride in their maturation and how they’ve adjusted to life at Greater Things Christian School (shout-out to Chris Harris). When the year started, Lys & I had hoped to enroll them under the same educational roof. Despite a surge of logistical gymnastics, we rejoice in not only reaching this goal but also having the privilege of being a part of an emerging community full of families like ours.

On the work front, the adversities, unlike the NICU, were felt between the lines and behind the screens. While outlooks and viewpoints have been compelled to modulate, I celebrate the space and place I’m in. As I’ve told several prospects, in terms of mission and colleague comradery, you’d be hard-pressed to find a more humble, unshakable core. In more ways than one, I’m in good company.

As for side hustles, Fry Freelance continued its momentum in guest writing for a host of entrepreneurs connected to Dan Cockerell’s keynote network. With seven active podcast series under our belt, we hope to continue bringing marketplace podcasts to life. In similar fashion, Lys & I look forward to another year of facilitating communications at our local fellowship and leading small group Zoom calls within Messenger Fellowship circles across the globe.

As for looking ahead, it’s hard to know how to feel about next year, let alone tomorrow. But I suppose that’s part of the Juby effect:

• I fear not about tomorrow because today is a gift urging my focus to stay present.
• I fear not about death because today I’m alive in Christ, my life in Him an invitation to embrace the fullness of joy and strength for body, soul, and spirit.
• And I fear not about what man may do or say because today God’s victory in me is imminent and shattering the mold.

His uphold a response to every stronghold, I smile upon the journey that was, is, and is to come. For while many would consider our year a brutal stretch, we see it as a life-altering season with life-giving implications. Yes, losing Juby was a significant shock to the system, but given the reset trajectory, I can’t help but anticipate fresh leaps of faith with refreshed perspective as a man undone.

Which in a way, ties into the reason we gather here today…

For into chaos, Jesus came not only as an innocent babe but also as a Prince of Peace with a sword to awaken the priorities of His beloved.

Tweet

Through all we experience, through all we endure…the glory of God can be known as we seek and press into Immanuel, relying on Him as He calibrates our intentions to what really matters. To everyone, young and old, meek and bold, while seismic life events can serve as holy catalysts, there’s more than enough reason to let a rightful celebration of Christmas wash over and encourage you to receive the gift and presence of Jesus anew.

And as we advance into greater unknowns in this decade like no other, it’s this Spirit-inspired head I choose to maintain as good tidings are embodied much like Scrooge on the heels of his healing. One way or another, we’re going to get there…one Juby empowered baby step at a time.

From our home to yours, have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Selah.