Wednesday – August 12th, 2026

“Well Mommy, we still have a few more hours left for Pops to have a birthday buddy!” Pops is what my kids call my dad, who turned 61 on August 12th. Emily responded with a little chuckle. She was ready to get our fourth baby out, and wouldn’t have minded in the least if our youngest had to share a birthday with her father-in-law.
“God knows just the right time for Baby Sister to be born. Maybe Jackson will have a birthday buddy next week!” Jackson’s birthday is August 19th, a whole week later.

Thursday – August 13th, 2026

“Kids, leave your bikes up with Daddy if you want to come get some milkweed for the caterpillars.” The best patch of milkweed near us is a ten minute walk down the road from our house, and a good excuse to get some fresh air and exercise. I stayed put on the sidewalk, dutifully guarding the bikes and helmets, while Emily and the kids traipsed down a hill to a giant bush filled with milkweed (and unfortunately some poison ivy, which Emily and Lael discovered too late). I sat marveling at the beauty of the sunset and the toughness of my pregnant wife while I listened to her excited voice joining theirs in caterpillar discovery. She never leaves Mom Mode.

Friday – August 14th, 2026

“Don’t worry, Jax. It has boys in it, too.” Little Women isn’t exactly the most appealing movie name for a boy on the cusp of turning eight, but that was on the docket for family movie night this week. Turns out, he loved it. I don’t blame him. The 2019 version is really well done. Emily and I crawled into bed several hours later, exhausted and grateful we could sleep in the next morning…

Saturday – August 15th, 2026

“Lane, my water definitely just broke.”
We hadn’t been asleep more than a couple of hours when our baby decided to wake us up and let us know it was time to get going. It was just after 1am. My caregiver had left for the night at 11. My next caregiver wouldn’t arrive for another 7 hours to help me get out of bed and into my wheelchair for the day. Emily started texting and calling around, and the caregiver who’d just left volunteered to come back in to get me all set. The bigger, more pressing issue was how to get Emily to the hospital. After a few failed attempts to reach local family by calls or texts (remember, this was 1am), Emily called 911.
Observe my wife’s calmness on display.
“Hi, so this is not an emergency but I have kind of a strange request.” She went on to explain how her water broke, yes she was fine, no she wasn’t in unbearable pain, but her parents lived close to the police station and could an unoccupied officer go knock on the door and please let her parents know she was in labor and needed a ride to the hospital? Also, no she didn’t want an ambulance, but thanks for the offer.
Apparently our local 911 dispatcher has received stranger requests, because they sent an officer to Emily’s parents house within minutes, who alerted them and followed up shortly after with a phone call to Emily making sure she was alright.
Saint Johns is swell.
The reaction from Emily’s parents to the middle-of-the-night police visit is one that has already joined the ranks of Davis lore.
All told, from the time Emily woke up to the time she was in a labor and delivery room, only a couple hours had passed. I ended up joining her around 4am, and by noon we were cooing over our precious fourth child. As with all our kids, we had kept her name a secret until she was born.
As I held her in the crook of my arm and smiled at Emily’s only sister, who’d been with Emily all through her labor, I asked Emily, “You mind if I announce her name?” With tears shining, Emily nodded.

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Earlier this year, back when we found out we were having a girl, we spent practically the whole drive home talking about what we were going to name her. Historically, we’ve had a little bit of trouble agreeing on names right away. But this time we weren’t tossing different names back and forth. This time we were dreaming of how well she would fit into the name we both knew belonged to her.

Hope Elouise.

• Hope. In modern English, the word “hope” has taken on a wishy-washy connotation. I hope it doesn’t rain too hard tomorrow, but it might. That sort of hope is uncertain; it’s more of a wish, and it’s based entirely on circumstances. It often disappoints. Biblical hope is not so. It is an eager anticipation of a certain future. Aside from Scripture itself, the best definition of biblical hope I’ve come across recently was in this portion of a poignant blog post by Marie Garreau. Here’s the quote for those who don’t feel like following the link:

“Hebrews 11:1 defines faith as “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” What is it that the Christian hopes for? His hope is held fast in the faithfulness of God. That God, who is rich in mercy, will save, sustain, and bring into a glorious eternal perfection, those he has chosen as his own and who have placed their faith in him. Our sure hope is that nothing, no affliction, can take us from the hand of God (John 10:28), and ‘that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.’ (Romans 8:18)”

The Lord has time and again been our rock & steady anchor since we’ve been married; the unshakable hope that we’ve been able to cling to no matter our earthly circumstances. He’s gifted us with 4 precious children and we long for each one to be reminded of this hope each day, with whatever they encounter in this life. Hope’s name points us above and beyond our present circumstances (easy or hard), and reinvigorates our souls with a fresh reminder of God’s unyielding promises.

• Elouise. Hope’s middle name is a combination of her two dear grandma’s names (Elizabeth Bargeron & [Debra] Louise Davis) and Emily’s sister Elizabeth – three women of faith who we want her to remember and look up to. God has blessed us with two families who love Him and want to see others do the same. This is a legacy for which we are grateful, and one we don’t take lightly.

Our baby girl is even more beautiful and important than her name. From the moment we laid eyes on her and heard her little cry, our lives have been forever changed. That’s the beauty of life. It’s impossible to live without affecting someone else in some way. Her three big siblings adore her and are each taking on their unique roles with more fervor than they probably realize. Baby Hope has forever changed their lives in the space of a week.

We pray that one day she’ll learn the depth of what her name means, and the supreme worth of the One who died and lives so hope (and Hope) can exist.

I have mentioned elsewhere on this blog that God is not a genie beholden to our desires and dreams. He withholds many things, even good things, for our ultimate good and His ultimate glory (and the two are inextricably linked). Over the years, He has graciously and lovingly answered many of our prayers with a “No” or a “Not yet”.

I don’t know why. I’m too small, too human to understand the unfathomable wisdom of a truly loving God. Why He sees fit to give some things and withhold others; why He gives children and takes some away; why He sends some people overseas and keeps others where they are; why He places some in positions of power and wealth and others in dependence and smaller means; why He gives some good health and able bodies, and others compromised immune systems and disabilities.

But I do know this: everything the Lord does flows from His character. God is love, God is just, He doesn’t pick favorites, His thoughts and ways are far greater than any human’s, and everything He does is for our good.

In the same unfathomable wisdom from which have flowed His many “No”s, He answered our prayer for children with a joyful “Yes!”

Lord willing, Emily and I will be welcoming another baby girl into the world this August. We (and Baby Girl’s extremely helpful older siblings) can’t wait to meet her! Please join us in prayer for this precious new life, God’s gift to make us a family of six!

 

Know that phrase, “The days are long, but the years are short”? While this year certainly did feel short, many a day seemed to fly by faster than we wanted. 
The temptation to fill our lives with hurry is perhaps a uniquely modern, uniquely American issue. Maybe I’m wrong. In any case, we’re finding the pull getting stronger as our kids get older. Hurry to school, hurry with homework, hurry to this or that activity. Whenever we sit down (or in my case, stop rolling), our screens allure us with the promise of more productivity, which will lead to more perceived success, but which can only be classified as hurry.

Even with my Type B personality, it wasn’t until earlier this year that I considered the concept of hurry as actually detrimental to our life as a family and as individuals in pursuit of Christ. While there is a time and a place for rushing, much of life is far less urgent than we think. I have yet to hear of someone dying from too little stress. Or families wishing they had spent more time doing things and less time being together. Still, the temptation to always feel accomplished is undeniably real. And none of us are immune to its draw. 

That desire to always be on the go, that fear of missing out, that dangling carrot of fully controlling our own lives has deep roots. It began with our first parents, Adam and Eve, who bought the lie that they could be like God if they did things their own way. Millennia later, though the temptation is less blatant than when Satan explicitly told Eve that disobeying God would make her God’s equal, we still buy the lie that we’re better at managing our own lives than God is. 

The subtlety lies in the fact that much of what we’re hurrying to do isn’t wrong – often we’re in a rush to do good things. Education is good. Serving in church is good. Sports and other activities for the sake of our children’s positive growth are all good. But when control over these, or any other things, becomes the focus of our lives, it can all too easily become a bite of forbidden fruit: us trying to be like God on our own terms. And you and I make sorry gods. 

Psalm 46:10 puts things in proper perspective, and us in our proper place.

“Be still, and know that I am God.
    I will be exalted among the nations,
    I will be exalted in the earth!”

“Be still.” The New American Standard Bible translates that little Hebrew word as “stop striving.” Ok, so God wants us to calm down? Perhaps. But not for the sake of calmness. God has something better than low blood pressure in mind.

“Be still and know that I am God,” He says. For Christians this little sentence all too often becomes minimized to a mere platitude that means nothing more than “Relax, God exists.” But the whole of Psalm 46 speaks of God’s unstoppable power, His unshakable sameness, the safety of His shelter, the inevitable, reciprocal pleasure of all creation exalting Him. With this in mind, “know” becomes less of a passive acknowledgement that God is probably out there somewhere, doing His God thing that doesn’t have much to do with your daily grind. Rather, it’s a call to actively know, from your brain on down into the depths of your soul.

He is God and we are not.  And that is very good news. We don’t have to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, nor do we have to grip the reins of our own frenetic lives as tightly as we like to convince ourselves we must. As a matter of fact, it’s better that we don’t. This doesn’t eliminate responsibility, but it does free us from slavery to the next thing (because there’s always something else, something “more” after this or that has been accomplished). 

Advent is meant to be a season of slowing down, of remembrance, reflection, rest. Let’s not buy into the frenetic feeding frenzy of gifts and activities that the world holds forth as a promise of satisfaction. Let’s look back to The Gift, the only Source of true satisfaction – the God who condescended to come down as a human baby, live the life we could not, die the death we deserve and defeat death by bursting victorious from the grave. 

Our little family is still learning to exchange hurry for rest, but perhaps it will be a lifelong lesson. We’re grateful for the abounding kindness of God in sending His Son to seek and to save us who were lost; we’re also grateful that He brings us to our knees with His daily, unceasing kindness. With all this in mind, here’s a little update on how we’re doing…

Lane and Emily are growing in our love for each other as we grow in our love for our Savior. May 4th marked thirteen years of marriage for us, and it never gets old. If you have been married longer than a decade, you can attest with us to the fact that every year, though full of ups and downs, draws you a little farther from yourself and a little closer to your spouse. 

While Lane has been continuing with therapy and book-writing (almost done!), he’s also been trying to keep his chair from tipping over and bashing his head on the ground again. That’s a long story involving the ER and a weekend-long ICU stay in August – but by God’s grace, he’s just fine. Thank goodness, because he’s thoroughly enjoying reading with (or being read to by) the kids every day. Now that we have two going to school, there’s a lot more homework to oversee, which he’s a fan of helping with (or at least trying to look smart to his ever-growing kids). He’s also been privileged to serve as a deacon this year, and is constantly amazed at all the ways that God works in and through our local church.

Emily was rightly deemed SuperMom in last year’s Christmas update, and continues to hold that title undisputedly. Along with helping carpool both Nyra and Jackson to school (not sure what we’d do without the other drivers), she’s doing preschool with Lael at home. Emily keeps up with her nursing continuing education credits in addition to filling in as Lane’s caregiver as needed. She’s also been going crazy with homemade sourdough. Her husband and kids are spoiled with homemade bread, pastries and occasional experiments, for which we are grateful guinea pigs. Emily is a leader in our church’s Wednesday night Awana program, and has really enjoyed getting to know the girls she works with.

Nyra is plugging along in her increasing workload at school. If you’re a parent, you can probably relate to feeling pretty smart until your fifth-grader asks for help with their homework. I have all but given up on trying to be the “smart” dad. Beyond school, she’s keeping busy (but hopefully not hurried) with piano lessons and her own time at Awana. The 3rd through 6th grade group in Awana is called “T&T”, which stands for Truth & Training. While all the grade levels incorporate both truth and training into their groups on Wednesday nights, T&T is more focused on personal spiritual growth. Nyra has been truly growing in her faith, particularly this year. She experienced another week at Camp Barakel this summer, and loved every minute of it. Camp Barakel was critical in the spiritual formation of Emily and her siblings (and so many others), and God has been using it in the life and soul of our girl as well. On November 2nd, after months of asking about it and lots of conversations, Nyra took the step of publicly proclaiming her growing faith in Christ by getting baptized.

Jackson turned seven in August, and joined Nyra at her school that same month. Just like with Nyra, we were a little worried how he would transition from home life to school life; but just like with Nyra, he dove in headfirst and hasn’t looked back. He loves everything about first grade, but especially all the reading. Recently he’s been really into numbers. He’ll randomly spout out equations to the rest of us. He’s already got a head start on his number-averse daddy. It’s been cool to watch him come home and compare the day’s events with his big sister. They swap stories and songs often (music is a big part of learning in their school). We love hearing about their school days when they make it home, often over a well-earned snack and (lately) hot chocolate. Like his sisters, Jackson is involved in Awana (this is his second year in Sparks, the K-2nd grade group), and he’s faithfully committing multiple verses to memory each week. Our little boy grows bigger and more mature every day and loves his sisters hugely, while still staying silly and often has a joke or riddle up his sleeve. His mind and his heart are starting to outgrow his seven-year-old frame. T-ball was last year, soccer was this year, and Jackson is itching to try something new next year. 

Lael turned four in October. She remains our most adventurous eater, and if her personality doesn’t change much, she may turn out to be our most adventurous child in general. Being the youngest and not yet able to keep up with her older siblings sure hasn’t stopped her from trying. Everything they do is exactly what she wants to do, and she’s determined to not get left behind. Emily has been teaching her letters and numbers, so now she (Lael) is an unstoppable force in writing “L-a-e-l” as often as she can. Lael loves playing with her siblings, cousins, and friends from church as much as possible. She’s working hard in Awana (she learns one Bible verse each week as a Cubbie), and is a joy to everyone she shakes her bouncy curls at. Each of our kids have their own unique brand of humor, and Lael’s is a blend of slapstick and wild facial expressions. She loves books, and often asks Mommy to read her a Bible story around lunchtime. 

Merry Christmas from us to you!

I often find myself complaining in my heart about the smallest of things: I ate breakfast a little later than usual because my caregiver was less experienced. An app I use was updated and I have to relearn how to use it. I didn’t sleep well in the night and nobody was able to help with my afternoon espresso shot.

 Poor Lane.

As I was whining to myself the other day, I was reminded of how seriously God takes His loving provision.

A mere three days after God freed the nation of Israel from Egyptian slavery, they were complaining about thirst. God provided water for them all. Next, they complained about hunger. God made bread literally rain from the sky. They complained about the lack of variety in their diet. God gave them more meat than they could possibly eat. When they finally made it to the land God promised to give them as a home, they complained about the inhabitants being too big for them to conquer. Each of their complaints contained some variation of the refrain, “We were better off as slaves in Egypt.”

After their last complaint, God made it quite clear that their real beef was with Him, not with their circumstances. Numbers 14:26-27 records the following exchange: 

The Lord spoke to Moses and Aaron, saying, “How long shall I bear with this evil congregation who are grumbling against Me? I have heard the complaints of the sons of Israel, which they are making against Me. [emphasis added]

Note how personally God took their complaints. Not because He’s insecure and hypersensitive about how people perceive Him; rather because He was intimately aware of the source of their malcontent. Their grumbling sprung from unbelief, from distrust, and in many ways self-idolatry. Just like we do today, they tried to conform God to their own passing desires, rather than trusting Him to give what’s best when it’s best. But God only gives truly good gifts, and His good nature is reflected in His provision.

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Might my disability also be part of that provision? This question shocked me in the middle of my private whine-fest the other day, and it brought to mind God’s response to Paul in 2 Corinthians 12.

 Here’s the context. After giving Paul a miraculous glimpse of Heaven, God sent him a “thorn in the flesh” to keep him from becoming conceited about what he’d experienced. Paul never specified exactly what this thorn was (beyond calling it “a messenger of Satan to harass me” ), but that hasn’t stopped people from trying to figure it out. A quick Google search for “What was Paul’s thorn?” will bring up articles upon articles presenting any number of educated guesses. Some say it was blindness. Others a speech disorder. There are even people who argue that Paul’s thorn was depression or anxiety. But whether it was physical, mental, spiritual, or otherwise is beside the point. The point is that God sent it (through Satan – how’s that for power?) for Paul’s good. 

Make no mistake, it was a bitter pill to swallow. Verse 8 says “Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me.” Paul didn’t want this ”thorn” any more than you or I would want a literal thorn in our own flesh. Paul said he pleaded with the Lord three times to take it away from him. I have begged God far more than three times to take away my own obvious “thorn” by healing me of my injury. I’ve done the same countless times throughout the course of my life in asking Him to remove this or that discomfort or temptation. Yet, God’s response to Paul in verse 9 reflects His greater plan: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”

 Over the millennia since Paul penned those words, countless people, including yours truly, have taken this rich passage to mean something like, “God’s grace is sufficient even though you’re facing this or that hardship.” But when God brought this passage to my mind the other day, I was hit with a thought that stunned me. God did not contrast His grace with Paul’s thorn; He essentially equated His grace with it. The thorn in Paul’s flesh, the messenger of Satan to harass him was, paradoxically, a gift of God’s grace. 

But wait, doesn’t God only give good gifts? Why doesn’t He get on board with my pursuit of comfort? What could possibly be “good” about a physical ailment, a mental disorder, a crippling disability? God answered that in the second half of His response to Paul: “for my power is made perfect in weakness.” God delights in giving Himself to us and showing Himself through us.

That often rubs us the wrong way because we can only see as far as our next disappointment. Or our next perceived success. But when we encounter the true and lasting pleasure that is found in the triune God of the universe, all the comfort and ease this world has to offer looks like a dim lightbulb trying to outshine the sun. And often it takes the humbling of our hearts through the gift of a thorn to take away our blinders.

The Thorn
By Martha Snell Nicholson

I stood a mendicant of God before His royal throne
And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.

I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, “But Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me.”
He said, “My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee.”

I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.

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.