A Boy

Am I now trying to win the approval of men or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men I would not be a servant of Christ. ~ Galatians 1:10

I am thankful today for a boy named Clay. My little nephew of four years old died six years ago today. He was bright, funny, charming . . . and a great dancer. He lost his battle with neuroblastoma that cold December night - but his spirit lives on in all of us.

I could re-count the details of that night, and all of the things that I remember leading up to it, but I choose not to. There was something so incredibly sacred about that time. Even if I tried, the words wouldn't come out right. How do you explain something like that? Even after all of these years, I struggle to find words. Hushed, quieted and calm . . . this is my best attempt.

Without giving too many details, I remember blurs of family, food, hugs and greeting cards. I remember wondering what the Christmas tree in my living room meant anymore. I wondered what anything meant - why would God let a little boy suffer and die like that?

Everyone you talk to has got some kind of a horror story. We live in a fallen world, and pain is inevitable. Traumatic memories and places we have chosen to block out of our minds, these all fall under the category of misery. For Jodie, the loss of Clay was her nightmare - one that she has not been able to wake up from.

But darkness and pain has only been a fraction of the story. Terrible flashbacks and unspeakable emptiness, though daunting - have not won. Over the past six years, I have seen Jodie grow into the most incredible woman of faith. God amazingly took that little mustard seed of piercing pain, and planted it deep within her troubled heart.

What I have seen blossom is difficult to describe. I see a mix of vulnerability and strength all a the same time. There is this embrace of life like never before, and the brave willingness to face the pain head on. I see a love for every breath, and the cursing of that same breath.

As Jodie navigates through the rest of her own days, she does not seek the approval of man. She has learned that God is her only guarantee. His promises can be trusted, even when things look as black as night.

If I have ever seen a servant of Christ, it's my Jo Jo. Through this tragedy she has shed all of the things that hold little importance, to embrace what really matters - family, faith and love.

I will never forget that blue-eyed little boy. And his dear mother is something pretty incredible to behold. She is beautifully broken, clay being molded in the Potter's hands . . . a precious servant to nobody else but the King.