December is usually the month when Emily searches online for the best deals on photo-laden Christmas cards and I write the text portion. You won’t be getting a Christmas card from us this year, but it’s not because we don’t care about you. The opposite is true! So many of you play an integral part in our life – our physical family, our church family, Nyra’s school, our Saint Johns community, our neighbors, and friends and strangers who pray for us. We’ll most likely be sending actual cards every couple years from now on, but this year serves as our first “virtual Christmas card”. 

Lael turned three in October, and is all personality. As with any 3-year-old, her big personality has its highs and lows, but she’s a whole lot of fun. She loves to sing, dance, color, “read” and play with her big brother and sister. Just like them, she loves to feed her daddy whenever he lets her. She’s the only one of our kids with curls, and boy do they ever spring! Her bouncy curls match her silly and sweet personality. Lael joins her siblings in making my caregivers (and everyone else) welcome in our home with her cheesy grin and tiny voice. We love watching our sweet Lael Joy.

Jackson turned six in August and is enjoying kindergarten at home. He’s really been thriving as he learns to read. Sometime this year all of Emily’s hard work teaching him just clicked, and he’s been reading nonstop ever since. It’s cool to see him sitting (or standing or walking) with a book while his lips silently pronounce each word he reads. His imagination runs wild all the time, and he’ll often wear 2-3 different costumes per day. Jackson has been active since birth, and this past year was no exception. He enjoyed playing T-ball this Spring, and is a natural protector of the girls in his life. He sure makes his parents proud.

Nyra turns ten (!) December 19th. It’s been an amazing decade, and we can hardly believe it’s been that long already. Even though she’s still young, it’s hard to see her as just a little girl. God has given her a maturity beyond her years, along with a mind and heart for learning. She’s a fourth-grader in the school God placed in our lives a couple of years ago and is thriving there. Dinner conversations often drift to what she’s been learning, who she sat by at lunch, and the crazy things this or that classmate said. She continues to enjoy learning and playing the piano, and is Emily’s right hand girl in the kitchen. We love watching God shape our Nyra into an astounding young lady.

Emily continues to be SuperMom (I get to say that about her because I’m the one writing). Between cooking, cleaning, homeschooling, carpooling to non-home-school, volunteering as an Awana leader, and helping her disabled husband with everyday tasks, she still manages to find time to play with the kids and make sure they’re well cared for. This stage of life is particularly busy, and I can’t imagine anyone else doing what Emily does for all of us. Recently she’s been enjoying audiobooks by Joni Eareckson Tada, and learning so much through the work of God displayed in that woman’s long testimony of faithfulness.

Lane is the undeserving son of a gun God chose to bless with the gift of these four amazing humans. I’m carrying on with therapy twice a week in East Lansing and seeing slow, small gains. My work on the book I mentioned in our post back in March continues like my therapy: slow and steady. Trying to write a book using only my eyes and an onscreen keyboard makes me appreciate the years I had with fast-typing fingers, and the technology I’ve been blessed with in the years since our accident. The Lord shows me daily that I can only love and lead my family in Christ’s strength. Because apart from Christ, I (and all of us) default to self-centered apathy and pride. But God is faithful every day to reel me back in with His patient love. 

That’s the real “reason for the season”, as the overused phrase goes: the unfathomable love of God shown to us in bodily form. Most often when I hear that clever rhyming phrase (reason for the season), it’s tossed into a mix of other seasonal catchphrases like a Christian M&M in a bag of holiday trail mix. We in America are often so focused on celebrating the day itself that we lose sight of who is behind it, above it, and pulsing through it. 

In the Old Testament, the Israelites weren’t so different from us in that regard. The rhythm of worship God had graciously established for them when He led them out of slavery eventually became a rote list of rules to keep and feasts to prepare out of obligation. God’s design wasn’t the problem; it never is. The problem was that God’s people lost sight of the Lawgiver in favor of the Law. What God gifted to draw their eyes upward, they used as a hypocritical index finger to celebrate their own perceived goodness and everyone else’s flaws. They became masters at outwardly conforming to the rules while inwardly caving to the desires of their twisted hearts. 

Sound familiar? It should. That’s you. That’s me. You and I are pious self-worshipers. Whether we try to evangelize our self-worth to the masses, coddle our selfish desires in the perceived privacy of our own minds, or obsessively compare our flaws with the success of those around us, we have a perpetual bent to make this fallen world revolve around us. 

Let me make it clear that nowhere in Scripture does God require anyone to celebrate Christmas. But if there actually is a “reason for the season” (and I’m convinced there is), that reason doesn’t culminate in being kinder because it’s Christmas. That reason doesn’t even end with the baby in the manger. The true reason we can celebrate Christmas, or anything for that matter, is because the baby in the manger was God Himself, eternal love robed in flesh and blood. His love was so deep that it wasn’t even enough for Him to lay aside His all-powerful majesty to become a helpless baby. The baby grew into a Man, despised and rejected as we should have been. The Man took the punishment for every evil deed, thought and motive of every human being in every corner of the earth from every time past, present and future, and He died with it.

Not so we could feel good about ourselves. Not so we could try harder to be good people. But precisely because we cannot. 

Jesus came, lived, died and was resurrected to save us from the death trap we made for ourselves. To save us from the deathly wages of our sin, and save us to His life of light. He loves us too much to abandon us to our own half-hearted desires, so He offers us infinite joy and the freedom to truly live! 

John 18:37-38
“You are a king then?” Pilate asked.
“You say that I’m a king,” Jesus replied. “I was born for this, and I have come into the world for this: to testify to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to My voice.”
“What is truth?” said Pilate.

John 14:6
 Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

Merry Christmas from our family to you — we thank God for the part that each one of you plays in our lives!

My last living grandfather – my mom’s dad – left this world of suffering and sorrow to join his Creator and Savior last month. He was 83 years old, but his death was sudden and unexpected, leaving us all reeling. I wanted to share with you some of the thoughts I journaled the morning after he passed, and some memories I shared at his funeral with the help of my brother. I’m sharing this for two reasons. One is to honor Papa Leonard by hopefully giving you a tiny taste of who he was. Another is to show how Christians grieve – not without hope, but also not without sorrow and a deep sense of loss. Perhaps you who have lost ones you love can relate and find solace in this post. I don’t know how God will use this, but I trust that He will in some way.

Here’s what I journaled the morning after he died, when the shock and pain were still fresh.

How do you boil a man’s life, a man’s legacy, down to some words on a page? Language is powerful, and Jesus Christ Himself was the Word made flesh, but no mere mortal is capable of reducing another to language alone. It isn’t natural. But neither is death. It is perhaps this combination of two results of the Fall of Man that makes obituaries and eulogies such cruel things to those of us who have to write them. To reduce the life of a man in all his complexities and idiosyncrasies to a date of birth, date of death, places of residence, and surviving relatives feels like erasing a human being from the face of the earth. 

Most Americans know that Abraham Lincoln was tall, but how did he laugh? We know he was shot in a theater, but what made him really talk if you got him going? What did it feel like when he hugged you – I mean really hugged you because he loved you? What was his smell (every man has his own particular smell that his children and grandchildren recognize instantly)?

But I didn’t sit down to write about Honest Abe. My Papa Leonard just died. It was sudden. Nobody saw it coming. No, I take that back. God did. Yahweh held the days of Richard Lee Leonard in His hands from before He created the cosmos. And nobody – not even Dick’s adoring bride of nearly sixty years nor even Papa himself knew the deepest riches of his soul like his loving Creator and Savior did. But that’s hardly a comfort, even to the strongest in faith. “Well of course God knew him best! What of it?” I sometimes feel that we of the Truth are often unfortunately better at numbing and soothing with platitudes than facing our emotions head-on. I think that our comfortable Christianity loses its power when the life-giving truth we rightly embrace gets used as a spiritual Hallmark card. Does the Bible tell us to put on a happy mask and hide our emotions or does it command (yes, command) us to weep and to mourn? Not without hope are we to grieve, but still we are to grieve, to mourn, to lament the earthly loss of the saints we love.

With these things in mind  – knowing I could never capture even the essence of my Papa on a page, and that platitudes are worthless vulgarities – I will set out to record my own memories of him and the impact his life had on mine.

For the next week or so I wrote the following, which my brother Graham helped tweak here and there before he read it for me at Papa’s funeral…

Papa’s look was equally consistent. I never knew him without a solid gut and relaxed demeanor. Let me start with that solid gut. While it always hung slightly over his belt, my Papa’s gut wasn’t the average soft flab the rest of us men over twenty try not to acknowledge. 

Once when my little brother Graham and I were young kids and feeling a little full of ourselves, Ammaw (our grandma) told us to hit Papa in the stomach. After we realized she wasn’t kidding and it was truly okay, we each took a shot. Graham went first, probably because I made him, and once he struck, his eyes got wide as saucers. Thinking he was just a sissy little boy, I swaggered up to the plate in all my eleven-year-old glory. I reared back, caught Papa’s twinkling eye just long enough to see his wise, mischievous grin, and punched what felt like a solid wall. 

As I was writing this, it occurred to me for the first time in more than twenty years that he might have slipped something hard under his shirt to fool us, but whether he did or not, that moment further solidified my desire to be as much like Papa as I could. 

We lazy kids who grew up in the age of technology would get impatient and start flipping through channels; Papa would sit and watch the same thing until his well-earned snack was finished – interrupting his silence only for the occasional “Hm!” or comment about how “Those old timers were so far ahead of their time.”

Papa’s sound was another part of him I won’t forget. I probably speak for my family and others in saying we’ll miss his unique brand of little sayings. From “This tastes good enough to eat!” during a delicious meal, to “That guy was so skinny you couldn’t see him if he turned sideways”, to “It’s hard to dress a ball”, when talking about the way his clothes fit, to “Those trucks get a little quieter every year!” after bringing us back from a monster truck rally without ear plugs – even though he made sure we wore ours – and one of my personal favorites, “That’s so good it’ll make your tongue come up and slap your brains out!” 

Papa was funny, but he was also humble and unpretentious, so he wasn’t particularly talkative until you got him going on something that put the fire in his belly. These topics were fewer than some people have, but he also had much deeper knowledge – and often stronger opinions – than the average man on them. Case in point: vehicles. 

As a young single man I was always confounded by how a man who’d been married for decades to the same woman never grew tired of talking with her. But after having been married for twelve years now, I’m only seeing the tip of the iceberg of love my grandfather had for his wife (not to mention his daughters, sons-in-law, grandkids and great grands.) 

Whenever Papa and Ammaw would come up to Michigan to see us, he never left without wrapping my bride in his big arms with tears in his eyes, and saying “Buh-bye Baby Doll, I’m so proud of you all.” I pray my grandkids will one day experience the same example from me that I did from Papa.

Papa’s legacy is one that will live long after he died – which is exactly what every man worth his salt wants. His legacy is one of gentleness, faithfulness, staunch loyalty and stalwart love.  

There’s a quote by John Piper that I think summarizes Papa’s legacy pretty well… 

“The call to live a quiet life is not a call to inactivity or disengagement, but a call to focus on what truly matters: loving God, loving others, and doing the work God has given us to do. It’s about living a life of simplicity and contentment, free from the constant striving for more, and instead finding our joy and satisfaction in God. A quiet life, lived faithfully for Christ, is a life that speaks volumes in a noisy, chaotic world.”

We love you, Papa. See you soon.

Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil.
Ephesians 5:15-16

The Greek word translated “your time” in this passage is kairos, which refers more to our whole time here on earth than it does to the minutes and hours in our days. We in the English-speaking world tend to view time like a lap pool at the YMCA — we’re standing at one end, and the thing we want is at the other end — so we simply have to cross the pool as quickly as we can in order to reach our goal (whatever that may be). We do everything we can to beat the hands of the clock. But to what end? If we’re honest with ourselves, most of the time we don’t think much farther beyond the next task. Much less beyond this life. 

Granted, making the most of our time here on earth does require us to live well-ordered lives rather than flying by the seat of our pants and ignoring the ever-ticking clock, but if we only use this portion of Scripture to advocate time management, we’re missing the point. The context surrounding this small passage of Scripture points to something far grander than keeping up with our day planners. Right before these two verses, after contrasting the darkness of sin with the light of Christ, Ephesians 5:13-14 say this: 

But all things become visible when they are exposed by the light, for everything that becomes visible is light. For this reason it says, 
“Awake, sleeper, 
And arise from the dead, 
And Christ will shine on you.”

That’s why the passage at the beginning of this post starts with the connecting word “Therefore”. In other words, since everything hidden will one day become exposed, we who are in Christ are to walk in wisdom and make the most of our time here on earth — our kairos. Does that include good time management? Absolutely. Is it limited to time management? No. 

Make the most of your life. I can’t say what that will look like for you. I hardly know what it looks like for myself. But here are a couple of thoughts. 

1. The world has it backwards. Making the most of your life, within the overarching narrative of our culture, means eking out every drop of pleasure you can before you die. It’s all about you. You’re the center of the universe, so the most admirable thing you can do is to check everything off your bucket list before you kick the bucket. That’s a life well-lived. Or so they say. 
2. Even if you don’t share the self-centered, hedonistic philosophy of our age, you may be struck, as I often am, with the question of “How can I make the most of my life without doing something big?” But as I search the Scriptures and experience life, I am less convinced that God wants us to do something “big” than to live lives of ordinary faithfulness. 

For years I was convinced that unless I was overseas on the front lines of bringing the good news of Jesus to the unreached, I was wasting my life. But while I am still convinced of and passionate about the great and urgent need to reach every people group with the gospel, I no longer consider other callings and other Christians as second class (as I wrongfully did for so long). While God does have “big” things planned for some of us, most of us are called to live lives of simple faithfulness to our Creator and Savior right where He’s planted us. 

If you know Emily and me personally, or have followed our story the past eleven years, you know of the great disappointment we experienced when God made it clear through my disability that He had something in mind for us other than overseas church planting. While I don’t pretend to know the details or reasons behind my great God’s redirection of our lives, I do know that He has called us to walk with wisdom and make the most of our kairos. 

For more than a decade, people have been asking, encouraging, begging and nagging me to write a book. At first, my lazy self could only see it as nagging. They were selfishly trying to read all about the details of my life, I thought. I had better, more important ways to spend my time, I thought. Me, me, me, I thought. But God has convinced me that in serving Him with the gifts, talents, and yes, time that He’s given me, my ordinary faithfulness may turn out to be something kind of “big” after all.  And as it turns out, a book about my story, just like my story itself, isn’t really about me. It’s about God, and the tools He’s using to display His glory and love through my bride and me. 

That said, the intimidation of writing a whole book is perhaps the biggest thing that has held me back all these years, so I’d like to ask two things. 

1. Please pray for me. I want to write to the best of my ability, but that takes work. And work that’s not physical is something my sinful nature spurns. God has blessed Emily and me with an army of prayer warriors over the years, so I’m asking with confidence. Thank you. 
2.  Please contact me at lanebargeron@gmail.com if you have any relevant experience with books — writing, publishing, or anything in between (sorry, reading doesn’t count) — and I’d love to pick your brain. 

If you’re in Christ and have been washed by His blood, take a look at your life. Not with shame that you haven’t done anything “big”. Not with arrogance that your accomplishments outnumber those of others. And not with fear that you’ll never be able to do something worthwhile. The world is obsessed with recognition and adulation. Jesus calls us to something higher, something greater than applause from our fellow humans. He calls us to unglamorous, ordinary faithfulness in the mundane of life, that will result in the highest praise imaginable: “Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your Master.”

Make the most of your kairos. 

12/26/12

12/26/12
Snow starts falling lightly in Jackson, MI as we load up our vehicle for the long drive to Charlotte, NC. Christmas was so special yesterday; our first as a married couple. We pass the small evergreen that Lane cut down for us as we walk back and forth from apartment to vehicle countless times. In the car and on the road, the snow picks up a bit. 

12/26/23

12/26/23
It’s been an unusually warm few days for this time of year in Saint Johns, MI. Yesterday’s Christmas was such a nice day that we even took all three kids for a walk around our subdivision. Last night the two older kids slept under the big Christmas tree that Emily’s dad cut down with all three kids “helping” earlier this month. Lane’s caregiver helps him get out of bed, then feeds him breakfast as Emily rounds the kids up for a trip to East Lansing for breakfast with her sister at a local pancake shop. 

12/26/12

12/26/12
The snow isn’t falling so lightly anymore. Here on the interstate it’s getting harder to see what’s in front of us. But Lane feels confident enough to keep driving until the storm passes. We both agree that it can’t last forever, so after a quick stop for gas and Starbucks, we’re back on the road. A pair of cinnamon dolce lattes can do wonders for a young couple’s apprehensions, however well-founded those apprehensions may be. The lines on the road aren’t visible anymore; we grow thankful for the taillights ahead of us. 

12/26/23

12/26/23
Emily comes home with all three kids, some leftovers from breakfast, and a Starbucks drink for Lane, in memory of the one on the road eleven years ago. After feeding Lane his lunch — forkful after tender, routine forkful — Emily puts our youngest down for nap time while our older two revel in yesterday’s Christmas gifts. Lane writes a long overdue blog post using an eye tracker on his laptop. 

12/26/12

12/26/12
The taillights we use to keep track of the road become dim blotches in the whirling snow surrounding us on all sides. Maybe we should take the next exit and see if we can wait out the worst of the storm. The exit signs are even less visible than the fading taillights ahead of us. The last view of our able-bodied marriage is a deadly white storm as our car spins into the path of the semi truck in the right lane behind us. Smash into the rear passenger door. Spin across three lanes and crunch into the concrete median wall. Slam back into the semi truck, this time with the driver’s side front door, only about a foot of material (none of it airbags) between Lane and the Mack truck’s massive grille. 

12/26/23

12/26/23
“Do you know what today is, kids?” They don’t. 
“Today is Life Day!” 
“Life Day? Oh cool, why isn’t it on the calendar?”
 “Life Day is what we call the anniversary of our accident. Eleven years ago today, only God knew if your Mommy and Daddy would be alive.” 
“Oh now I see why it isn’t on the calendar” she responds with an understanding chuckle. 
Our kids have never experienced life without a disabled dad and a caregiving mom. Stories of what we’ve lost and what we’ve gained are fairly commonplace in our home. Our kids hear about God’s faithfulness to us all the time, and we pray they will see Christ for themselves someday soon. 

12/26/12

12/26/12
First responders have to cut us both out of our mangled car using emergency equipment. Emily wakes up with staples in the back of her head and shards of glass in her hair. Thankfully she can still walk, talk, and function normally, but her life is turned upside-down when she hears what happened. Lane wakes up a week later from an induced coma, unable to do anything but panic. As our individual lives and future plans collide with a new and harsh reality, our marriage and trust in Jehovah begin developing roots that extend ever deeper, far beyond the realm of tangible circumstances. Never before has it been more difficult than this, yet the difficulty is what draws us into His arms. 

12/26/23

12/26/23
This has not been a roller coaster ride. Roller coasters start at the highest point and, though they introduce myriad twists, turns, corkscrews and loops, the whole ride is powered by the momentum from that first apex. These past eleven years have had countless twists, turns, corkscrews, loops and all the rest, but we started in a deep valley rather than a momentum-creating peak. In the days, months, weeks and years that have followed, we’ve experienced exhilarating highs and crippling lows, but our heavenly Father is drawing us ever higher and ever closer to His glorious face. Because of our magnificent King Jesus, we victoriously assert that, whether in this life or the next, the best is yet to come. 

What is yet to come for you? At the end of your life, whether tomorrow or fifty years from now, what will you stand to gain or to lose?

Mark 8:36
What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?

A physical therapist and I were talking goals a few years ago during one of my sessions. I had just finished a butt-kicking round of assisted walking, and the two of us were tuckered out but excited. I had made some big physical gains in the several months he and I had been working together. 

“Lane, if you keep this up I can have you using a walker within the year.” My ears perked up at the suggestion, but I also had reality to face. The presence of a brain that makes my body do the opposite of what I tell it, tethered to the certain hope of a new and perfect body awaiting me in Glory. 

We continued talking as we worked together on more exercises to progress my physical recovery. He told me he couldn’t wait to walk beside me instead of helping me fight to take steps. I told him I was excited for that day too, whether it happens in this body or in my resurrected one when I see Jesus. There was an awkward silence after that, and I’ve experienced that tension in beliefs ever since. 

I still believe that Day will come when Christ makes my body new and fit for eternity, but in the meantime I keep fighting hard in rehab to make as much physical progress as I can on this side of Heaven. Is that contradictory thinking?

A man named Cecil Lotchaway Wasdin (“Lotch”) would say no. He lived a full life that quietly displayed both hard work and simple trust. With him, the two went hand in hand. 

Quiet contentment, trust and tobacco 

I had the great privilege of knowing my great grandfather when I was a child. I didn’t see him very often — he lived in small-town Georgia and we in Charlotte, NC — but even as a young boy, I sensed the great respect with which he was regarded. 

Lotch Wasdin was far from an imposing figure — not particularly tall, muscular or commanding in demeanor. He was as calm and quiet as a tobacco field in the Georgia sun, but as steady as the single caution light in his tiny hometown of Screven. 

One of my chief delights was trying to beat him at checkers (an impossible feat, but I considered it my rite of passage to the world of men). He had a certain way of slowly raising a tin cup to his mouth, sneaking his lips inside and silently depositing a hunk of slimy tobacco. He was a man set in his ways — and while some of those ways left him with stained teeth and an ever-present spit cup, the ways that outlived him became the legacy he passed all the way down to his great grandkids. 

I’ll never forget sitting in an uncomfortable wooden pew listening to his son — my great uncle — deliver his funeral sermon. Not much of that sermon found its way into my fidgety eight-year-old head, but I’ve never forgotten the single adjective my great uncle used to describe his father: content. 

My dad often shares an anecdote that describes Lotch Wasdin’s outlook on life well. He was a farmer, so his fields of cotton and tobacco were his livelihood. But when all the other farmers in town would get together and gripe about how dry the weather was, Lotch would just lean back, cross his legs, (probably spit some tobacco in his tin cup) and say, “It’ll rain when the good Lord wants it to rain.”

He was content. But he wasn’t lazy. He worked hard in the Savannah shipyards during the Second World War to help supply ships for the war effort. Growing up in the rural South in the early twentieth century, it’s hard to imagine many days he didn’t work hard. 

That’s what you call a healthy tension: remaining content with your circumstances as they are (as Paul modeled in Philippians 4:11-13), while not being afraid to take advantage of better circumstances should they arise (as Paul taught in 1 Corinthians 7:20-22).

This healthy tension is one of the things that separates joyful contentment from resigned fatalism. 

True contentment is active 

It’s easy to rob contentment of its true meaning, and instead use it as a cover for complacence. 

“I’m content with inactivity, why bother trying to find work?”
“I’m content not knowing much about God, isn’t that what pastors are for?”
“I’m content to let others take care of my responsibility, why should I get off the couch?”
“I’m content being physically disabled, what’s the point of therapy?”

And on it goes. We humans have a tendency to glamorize and justify our faults. And we live in a culture that encourages us to celebrate them. Yes, God uses the weak to shame the strong and the foolish to shame the wise (boy am I ever glad about that!), but He didn’t tell us to stay there. He uses us in our weakness and worldly folly to display His greatness, not to give us an excuse for laziness. 

I’m writing this more to myself than anyone else — because passivity is my default mode — but I have a feeling that this will resonate with a lot of my fellow men. Ever since Adam failed to protect Eve from the fatal lie of the Enemy, we men have been particularly prone to make excuses for our passivity. But no, men, don’t point your finger at Adam like he pointed his at Eve. That passive discontentment is what started us all down this spiraling road. 

When I say “contentment is active”, I’m talking about the same basic principle Paul was communicating in 1 Corinthians 7:20-22. Verse 21 in particular explains the rightness and goodness of being content with your life station, while at the same time taking advantage of better circumstances if they come. The point is that Jesus is Lord, so you can rejoice in Him regardless of your situation. But He gives you the freedom to better your circumstances if you can. Either way, the reward is Jesus, not better circumstances. 

Contentment is active, and contentment is joy. But only if your end goal is the Source of all joy. Otherwise you’re chasing the wind. 

Lotch Wasdin embodied a calm joy, an unflappable active contentment. After thousands of conscious daily decisions, it became part of his character. Sitting outside in his folding chair, when it got too hot and everyone else complained of the sun and the skeeters, he’d quietly fold his chair up and sit in the shade. When the rain finally came and the farmers shifted their ire from the dryness to the soggy soil, he’d chuckle and work on something else until the sun did its work. 

My great grandpa Wasdin wasn’t complacent. He was content with what the Lord gave him, and who the Lord is. But when the chance came to better his crops and his life, he took it. 

I’m learning to be the same way with my life. I want to be content with where the Lord has placed me, and rejoice in who He is. But as long as I have the strength to work like a madman in therapy, I’m going to take it. 

Now somebody find me a spit cup. 

I never thought I’d be sitting here writing about the ten year anniversary of my traumatic brain injury. Matter of fact, I distinctly remember seeing an article several years ago entitled TBI Ten Years Later: A Mother’s Story and thinking to myself, “My ten-year story will be about how I used to have a disability.” 

Mine was a different case. I was more determined to get better than the next guy with a brain injury. My wheelchair and my disability were just a couple-year sidetrack to make me stronger, to teach me greater dependence and (ironically) humility. 

Or so I thought. 

When I read that very same article a few days ago to prep for this post, I was struck by the many similarities between my injury and that of the gentleman in the article. I encourage you to read it as well — it will help you understand how earth-shattering an unexpected lifelong disability can be for a person and their family. 

I’m ashamed to say that when I first read that post seven or eight years ago, I foolishly looked down on the difficulty and genuine hardship this man’s long-term disability brought on his loving family. You see, my own pride skewed my view of the world around me and my fellow humans so much that I assumed anybody in my sort of situation with cognitive deficits simply wasn’t working hard enough. It was their own fault. I was better than them.

Years later, it pains me to see those horrible words written out. Who am I to determine whether or not somebody works hard based on their condition? If another disabled person told me I wasn’t working hard enough back then, I would have used some words I’d rather not write for the world to see. Yet this is how I viewed nearly every person with a TBI who wasn’t as “advanced” as I was (which really wasn’t, and still isn’t, all that advanced). The trouble was that I had made myself the standard by which I measured everyone else. As a class act narcissist, this meant that everyone was less than me — disabled or fully able. The Apostle Paul speaks directly to this sort of tomfoolery in Romans 12:3 — 

For through the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think more highly of himself than he ought to think; but to think so as to have sound judgment, as God has allotted to each a measure of faith.

Do you see the contrast there? Inflated view of self OR sound judgment. You can’t have both; they’re opposites. I’ve experienced that dichotomy firsthand. Maybe you have, too. A big head is hard to see around. 

So for my own tenth anniversary of a TBI post, I thought I’d use the same outline (with some minor changes to fit my own story) as the article that revealed my own big-headed narcissism. Here we go. 

Reintegrating Home 

In the early days of the injury I was fond of saying home was wherever Emily happened to be. After all, the only home we had known together as a married couple was an apartment in the Bible school we lived in for the seven months between our wedding and the accident. 

After that, “home” was the ICU in Cleveland, Ohio for a few weeks. Then, “home” was the Sparrow LTACH in Lansing, MI. Our next home was Mary Free Bed rehab hospital in Grand Rapids for eight months (and a week). It was at Mary Free Bed that I first started saying “Home is wherever Emily is.” Our final home away from home was Hope Network in Grand Rapids, a transitional neuro rehab facility where therapy was integrated into most aspects of life. Four months at Hope completed our full year-and-a-half of living in hospitals and facilities. 

From there it was on to… 

Outpatient Therapy 

The first place we lived for more than a year was a wheelchair accessible first floor apartment in East Lansing. From February 28th, 2014 to July 22nd, 2017 we lived happily in a place we didn’t have to share with other people for the first time in our marriage. It was a three-year period that saw our first daughter arrive, marital highs and lows, adapting to life with caregivers in and out of the house, and outpatient therapy at three different facilities. 

Unlike my experience with inpatient rehab, making progress with outpatient therapy required me to take ownership of my own recovery and work on therapy at home as well. Our time in East Lansing was a time of growing up for me (I was only 22 when we moved in) and some hard spiritual lessons. Turns out having a disability didn’t excuse me from being a husband, father and productive member of society. Who knew? 

Getting a Job

One of the big goals of outpatient therapy is community integration, including the workforce. My first two outpatient rehab facilities had vocational therapy, which essentially evaluates the skills and physical abilities of patients to help them find work. 

I quickly grew frustrated with the lack of available options for people like me with no accredited degree and no physical abilities worth paying for. It didn’t take long for me to give up altogether on work. My loving wife had encouraged me since day one of inpatient rehab that therapy was my full time job. While that might have held true at Mary Free Bed, where therapy was 5-6 hours a day and 6 days a week, I began to excuse my lack of productivity at home with the same reasoning. 

So here was my beautiful wife, working full-time as my caregiver and Nyra’s mother, in addition to multiple twelve-hour shifts per month as a nurse at the hospital, and here was I, going to therapy a few days a week for a couple hours each, and spending the rest of my time tooling around on my computer. 

Social media, Youtube, Netflix, pleasure reading on my Kindle app. Though I’d never been one to crave productivity, my bent toward selfish laziness reached a new low in those days. Emily strongly hinted to me more than once that since a “regular” job wasn’t in the cards for me, I might spend my time better by finding ways to get paid to write (the one productive thing I actually could do). After several disheartening dead ends, and realizing that becoming a good writer actually takes (cringe) work, I typed up a desperate blog post asking for help. 

A friend of my wife’s family reached out not long after with an opportunity to write blog posts for his business. That opened the door to the world of freelancing. As the years have progressed, I’ve gained some fun experience and have ended up writing about subjects I would never have predicted. From farm security systems to coconut flavored teeth whiteners, from laser engraving to ozone therapy, freelance writing and editing has taken me all over the place. 

And yet, neither my income nor Emily’s have alone sustained us financially these past ten years. I’m writing this in the fully accessible house in Saint Johns that God miraculously provided for us through the countless donations of money, time, expertise and elbow grease from friends, family, acquaintances and total strangers. Moving to this house in 2017 did not change God’s often surprising financial provision either. 

Friends and Family Relationships 

We would be nowhere without the friends and family God has blessed us with these past ten years. Our parents, siblings and extended families have sacrificially loved us in ways immeasurable since December 26, 2012. I personally have never been as close and open with my parents and siblings as I have been the past ten years. The same goes for my in-laws. I couldn’t have found a better family to marry into. 

As far as friendships go, the accident happened at a unique stage of life for me. I had just gotten married after living in a different state for nearly a year, so some friendships had already begun to naturally die away (as they do for all of us with the passing of time and circumstance). But some stuck. Those have grown stronger, thanks to technology like email, texting and Whatsapp. I can only imagine how different it would have looked twenty years ago. 

I went several years without any deep friendships here in my community — not for lack of opportunity, but because of my own self-pity and excuses. But in 2016 I became involved with a small group of men in our church digging into the Word of God and growing in friendship with each other. Just as that first blog writing opportunity opened the door to a freelancing career, this first group of men opened my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in my confusion, insecurity and desire to lead my family to Christ in a world that doesn’t understand. Since then, God has been faithfully teaching me that even though my situation may look different than others, I’m not the only one going through hard things. And I share a common bond in Jesus Christ with these men. That group in 2016 was the first of many to come. A few of those men and I still share a level of friendship that is uncommon in today’s America. 

Although I’m still not always clear or loud when I speak, it’s encouraging how many people are willing to stop and listen. After ten years, persistence starts to replace insecurity. 

In case you haven’t been able to pick it up from this post or my other posts on our blog, my dear and precious bride has been the human I’ve cared about the most on this road full of steep inclines, declines, switchbacks and unexpected stops. She’s so much more than a beautiful and kind woman in love with her Creator; she is my love and my rock. 

Honorable mention to the three awesome kids she’s brought into the world with me. This little family God created is anything but typical, but I wouldn’t have us any other way. I would die for any member of my little family any day. 

Higher Education 

Here’s another area where my story diverges from that of the man in the article. He was able to return to school and then college, a truly remarkable feat that took an insane amount of hard work and faithful support. I commend him and his family for it. 

Unless you know me well, you probably don’t know that I was planning on going to Moody Bible Institute to get a degree in teaching English as a second language once Emily graduated from New Tribes Bible Institute where we were living. After I got my TESL degree, she and I would go through another year or two of missionary training and move to a closed country to live and die proclaiming the good news of Jesus. Emily already had her nursing degree and was set to graduate from New Tribes in May of 2013. 

But December 26th, 2012 changed all those high hopes and life plans, displaying the truth of Proverbs 16:9

The mind of a person plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.

Since then I’ve been privileged to see two of my own siblings graduate from college, my brother-in-law complete med school and my sister-in-law graduate from two colleges with two different degrees. I’m insanely proud of each of them, and glad I didn’t put all my eggs in the basket of an accredited college degree. 

I consider the past ten years to be a much “higher education” than any I could pay for with dollars and cents. 

Ten Years Later 

Emily and I make it a point to go on a date every December 26th to celebrate and remember all the things God has accomplished in and through us with this disability. Every year I am humbled to look back and see the impact God has made on others through us. This year I was simply blown away. After we ate dinner, Emily pulled out a bag chock full of letters, cards and emails from friends, family and others affected by our story. Come to find out she’d put something up on Facebook about doing this for me. This woman never ceases to surprise me. We’re still getting emails and snail mail from that post. 

Thank you all! It truly is amazing to see the magnificent ways God shows His kind strength and wisdom through our weakness and foolishness. 

Many things have changed since that life-altering day ten years ago, and I can only imagine what the next ten years will hold — whether I live them here in this fallen world or in glory with my Savior. All praise to Him! 
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Our greatest supporters & prayer warriors the past 10 years

Ten

Ten years of an abiding covenant made by a couple of weak (oh, how little we understood just how weak we were when we said I do) sinners madly in love.

 Ten years of God sustaining those weak sinners and holding fast their covenant when everything in and around them threatened to break it. 

Ten years of a love growing into something deeper than either of us could fathom when we wed.

Nine

Nine years of a lifelong disability that redirected our lives and thrust our navel-gazing eyes up to our Creator, Owner and Lover

Eight

Eight brain surgeries that forced us to our knees in prayer and shaky trust in our heavenly Father. 

Seven 

Seven years of being parents — a role full of responsibility, self-sacrifice, laughter, tears, joy, frustration, and just about every other descriptive noun in the English language. It’s the gift that keeps on giving (diaper joke, get it?) 

Six

Six months of official dates before the only six full months of able-bodied marriage we may ever know. 

Were they great months? Absolutely.

 Do I miss able-bodied marriage? Nearly every day.

Would I trade the past 114 months of wheelchair-bound marriage for the ease of those six? Never. 

Five 

Five Bargerons in Michigan. One import plus one Michigander born with a different last name that God brought together and made into one, plus…
                                                                     one
                                                                                  two
                                                                                                three
                                                                                                           … little natural-born Michigander Bargerons.

Four 

Four parents who sat, cried and prayed with us the day of our accident and have been behind us every day since. Gary and Beth Bargeron, Jim and Debi Davis.
Without these two couples who raised us to be who we are, there would scarcely be two ones. We owe our five, three, two, and health of our ten largely to these precious four.  

Three 

Three amazing and beautiful kids that God has blessed us with and charged us to raise well. 

Two 

Two weak sinners God has graciously led through the tempest to catch us in His arms of tender love every time we stumble and fall. We spent a little over twenty years of our lives as simply two individuals. But the evening of May 4th, 2012, we became…

One 

One love, one Lord, one marriage, we are one. Anyone familiar with the novel Jane Eyre will recognize one of my favorite quotes —
 “God pardon me!” he subjoined ere long; “and man meddle not with me: I have her, and will hold her.”

What God has joined together, let not man separate. 

Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

Matthew 6:25-33 

A Scripture passage like this one is often taken out of context and twisted to mean something other than what was originally intended. 

As a matter of fact, this very passage has been quoted many times to advance the false narrative that God will always give you everything you want as long as you “do your Christian duties”.

The Apostle Paul’s list of sufferings in 2 Corinthians 11 (particularly verse 27) indicates that seeking God’s kingdom above and before all else — and Paul is a prime example of someone who did just that — doesn’t obligate God to give you the easy life. Christ followers are actually promised suffering. 

As you read the whole chapter of Matthew 6, you’ll notice that Jesus was (and is) primarily concerned with our motives, which is the main thrust of the passage at the top of this page. Don’t be anxious. It’s not doing you any good. God loves you. Your life is in His hands. Seek Him and let Him take care of your needs.

The entire sermon that Jesus delivered on a mountain in Galilee flew in the face of everyone listening, piercing the deepest parts of their hearts (instead of the behavior-based teaching they were comfortable with) — and continues to do so to all who listen today.

 Jesus didn’t speak those words only for the benefit of the crowds thronging around Him. He planned from eternity past that you and I would read them someday. And the funny thing about truth is that it’s not affected by time, distance, language or culture. 

What was true about God and humanity 2,000 years ago on a mountain in Galilee is just as true today wherever it is you happen to be. 

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Over the years of my injury, Emily and I have found ourselves constantly worrying, being anxious, and doing anything but seeking God’s kingdom and righteousness. Scroll back up to the words of Jesus at the top of this page. 

What common sense (yet so counterintuitive)! Don’t be anxious, God knows what you need. If He feeds the birds and clothes the ground, He can take care of you who are worth so much more. 

And yet, even though God’s tender daddy care is so glaringly obvious on paper, when the rubber meets the road it’s easy to forget. 

When Michigan passed the law last summer that slashed in half the auto insurance reimbursement rates we rely on for my caregivers, medical expenses, Emily’s income and many other things, worry and anxiety settled in like unwelcome houseguests. 

In the months since that law was passed, God has been drawing us closer to Himself as we’ve been learning to come to Him in faith with our worries and fears. Sometimes we simply cling to the truth as we fight to believe what we can’t always see. It’s not a bad place, however difficult it may be at times. 

But only God has the ability to simultaneously bless and rebuke with a gift. We had just encountered some surprise medical bills last month and were starting to stress about how we would pay them — along with everything else that won’t be covered by auto insurance now — when a friend unexpectedly sent us a significant amount of money. Then another friend did. And another. And another. 

We have been overwhelmed by God’s provision through you who have so graciously given to us when you didn’t even know we needed it. Some of you have said you’re giving us your auto insurance refund from the Michigan Catastrophic Claims Association, others of you mentioned having more than you need. Still others haven’t said anything at all. But every single one of you has blown us away with your generosity. 

This post is a thank you note. We love you. Keep seeking first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness. You’ll never be dissatisfied.