A Day In The Life, Easter Sunday, When I Am 99

As I write these words I am settling in after the most incredible day, one that has been full of laughs and good conversations and some of the most incredible music I have ever heard in a single place. I love it here. The beauty of my surroundings is matched only by the perfect peace within me.

As I ready myself for a good night’s sleep, I find myself in a reflective mood. This is the year my being will turn 99, and I realize once again I have so many reasons to be thankful — for my family and friends, of course; but also for a sense of purpose; the joy that comes from giving; and love like I never could have dreamed.

Most of all, I am thankful for the chance to be. I arrived in early 1960 when my mother felt this inexplicable wave of nausea, and I saw my first sunrise in late July after meeting some nice nurses at Middletown Hospital. Life is a gift.

For the longest time, Easter was about bonnets and baskets and plastic eggs filled with money. 

But now I celebrate it as so much more.

It is the day Hope became Reality.

…

I ALWAYS WONDERED WHY life presented constant struggles. Every day there was a problem to worry about. Why couldn’t everyone be nice? Why did bad things happen to good people? I’d often drive home from work feeling like a boxer who had gone 10 rounds with Muhammed Ali.

Though I was more fortunate than other people, I still faced difficult moments. I kept thinking they would all go away…after I graduated college…after I got through law school…after I was able to buy a house…after I won a certain number of jury trials…after my children got through high school…after I reached retirement age…always after, after, after.

On a cold morning in February 1998, I remember driving to my office at 5:30 in the morning. I seemingly had it all, at least as far as the world was concerned, and yet I felt overwhelmed. I had a brutal day ahead of me. I sat at a stop sign for 15 minutes, paralyzed as the snow covered my car, and rubbed my eyes.

I listened to the still, small voice whispering inside me:

“The problems will never go away. You live in a fallen world. You were made to help solve the problems, not just simply contribute to them. So be you. Embrace peace. Be assured that your best is good enough, and know that in the end everything is going to be okay. I’ve put you in the middle of difficult situations for a reason. This is what you were made for.”

I started a faith journey like Mack did years later in the movie, "The Shack" (pictured). I had a brighter perspective. Life was not about avoiding problems, but serving as a beacon of light through them. The more we give, we get. The more you lose your life, you find it. 

One of my favorite songs is “Already Gone,” by the Eagles. I love these words:

So often times it happens /

That we live our lives in chains /

And we never even know we have the key

…

FOUR DAYS BEFORE MY funeral twenty-one years ago, I closed my Earthly eyes for the very last time. I watched the highlights of my 78 years on Earth played to a collection of music that was the soundtrack of my life. We had some serious hair in the ‘70s, didn’t we? Sitting with my dad and my sister Julie, I was then shown a scrapbook of the days ahead, that Kim, Chloe, and Adam, and the rest of my family were all going to be okay, despite any problems they faced. I was told, “Jeff, it’s okay to go with us…”

I was wrapped in a invisible blanket of joy, peace, happiness, and serenity that was more comfortable than a warm fire on a cold winter night. I still wear it every single day.

Then I met a man called Love. He didn’t have a printout of how many times I had messed up or missed church or questioned his very existence. He was not the angry junior high principal who couldn’t wait to punish me for doing something wrong. He was just the opposite. He knew everything about me, and was my biggest fan. We talked until the sun came up.

In this peaceful, beautiful place, I am now surrounded by people who have experienced the very same thing. Many of them never dreamed they would be here. They all have stories about their wayward ways on Earth. But they all can talk about the time (sometimes early in life, and sometimes at the very last minute) when heaven’s curtain was pulled back and they heard the whisper of the still, small voice.

I say it all the time now: God’s grace is way underestimated.

...

AS I CLOSE MY EYES TONIGHT, I think back to a time in 2019 when so many good people I knew faced monumental struggles — because of death, disease, or divorce. They wanted comfort. Or answers. Or encouragement. My prayer was that all of them would find the peace they were looking for.

And they did…eventually.

As I write these words tonight, I am settling in after the most incredible day, one that has been full of laughs and good conversations and some of the most incredible music I have ever heard. 

Do you know who I spent today with? All those people.

— Jeff Kirby

March 30, 2059 A.D.

To Jerry: See You On The Other Side, My Friend

It has been said there are two kinds of people in this world. The first walks into a room and says, “Here I am.” The second walks in and instead says, “There you are.” 

Without a doubt, my friend Jerry Williams, who passed away unexpectedly last Monday at the age of 68, was a “there you are” kind of person.

He was as warm, caring and conversational as he was smart, hard-working and resourceful. He loved his hometown of Lebanon, loved serving its people, and as a result made somewhere close to 200,000 best friends along the way, give or take a few.

His legacy was evident at last night’s visitation, when people were lined out the door of Oswald Hoskins Funeral Home for more than three hours. It was also apparent this morning at a beautiful service that had every seat filled.

Zach Burns, who is married to Jerry’s daughter, Jenny, delivered a moving eulogy. “I was so incredibly lucky to be his son-in-law,” he said. “He was loved by all. He had more friends than you could count.”

Jerry was preceded in death by his parents, his late wife, Sue (nee: Terry) Williams in 1995 and brother in law, David Blanton.

Jerry is survived by his wife, Karin (nee: Fueston) Williams of Lebanon, two daughters, Jennifer (Zach) Burns of Lebanon and Kristi (Wes) Thompson of Hurricane, WV, step daughter, Stephanie (Phil) Penrod of Miamisburg, step son, David Sanker of Washington, DC, sister, Betty Blanton of Lebanon, seven grandchildren, Jack, Lillie, Evie, Luke, Kora, Jovie and Lucas and many nieces, nephews, friends and extended family members.

“He loved people, and he loved to tell jokes,” Zach continued. “You’d see him at parties and you’d watch him go from group to group, often telling each one of them the same joke.” And Jerry loved to tell stories. “Hey, hey, I gotta’ tell you this,” Jerry would often say. “And what followed was a story,” Zach added, “and a long one.”

Jerry was a handyman. “He knew a little bit about everything, and made sure you knew it,” Zach joked. Jerry was also competitive. “Even with the grandkids; he showed them no mercy,” he added.
But more than anything, Jerry loved his family and friends. “He held no grudges. He did not judge,” Zach said. “There was no such thing as ‘extended family’ with him. Instead, everyone was just ‘family.’”
…

I MET JERRY TWO YEARS ago when he became a bailiff for Judge Tim Oliver in the Warren County Domestic Relations Court, where I was a magistrate at the time. We talked briefly between cases and went to lunch with Judge Oliver, but we didn’t really work together until after the Judge retired.

Still, Jerry impressed me right away with his humility. He didn’t act like a man who had spent much of his professional career as a bank president. He didn’t hesitate to take small tasks around the office, or hint that anything was beneath him.

Instead, he was just “Jerry.” I quickly gathered what Zach talked about this morning – Jerry’s signature line was, “Hey, hey, I gotta’ tell you this.”

He has been an enormous help to me since the first of the year, not just because he arranged the cases properly and the kept courtroom to order, but also because he worked well with everyone on staff, always joking with everybody, and encouraged me to be myself and trust my instincts.

God bless the positive people of this world. Jerry was certainly one of them.

Often, at the end of a long day in the courtroom, we would talk…maybe about the case we’d just finished, or maybe about family, things from the past, or how faith played a big part in our lives.
I’d tell him all the time how music speaks to me, about all sorts of things, just when I need to hear it. I’d say it went way beyond mere coincidence, to an degree I am convinced comes from up above. Jerry would get the biggest kicks out of those episodes.

I’ll miss him. Like so many countless others, I will miss his jokes and stories and the ways he provided encouragement. I still can't believe he is gone. Rest in peace, my friend.
…

I BROKE FOR LUNCH about 12:15 last Friday afternoon, and as I was walking out the door, I had to walk past Jerry’s empty desk. It hit hard yet again that he will never sit there.

As soon I got outside, a black truck drove by, which shocked me for a second because Jerry drove a black truck. But it kept going, and Jerry’s parking space was still empty.

I looked up at the sun, and for a second I had a thought. “Are you okay, man? Is there really a life we can look forward to someday?”

I started my car and began to back out. As always, my radio was tuned to station WGRR 103.5, which plays songs from the 70s and 80s. When the music started, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Tell me this is just a coincidence.

“When I die and they lay me to rest/
I’m gonna’ go to the place that’s the best/
When I lay me down to die/
Going up to the spirit in the sky.
Goin' up to the spirit in the sky/
That's where I'm gonna go when I die/
When I die and they lay me to rest/
Gonna go to the place that's the best.”

Maybe that’s all it was, just a coincidence, but I’ll think otherwise. I pictured Jerry in heaven surrounded by former musical greats, going from one group to the next.

“Hey, hey. Watch this.”

A Field On The Edge Of Town

Back when I was a kid, when Springboro had only two traffic lights, two schools and two police cruisers, my classmates and I were given 15 minutes of freedom two times every school day to do as we pleased, so long as we stayed on school property.

The scholars might have said education was all about reading, writing and arithmetic, but we thought it was about recess. 

When the wondrous moment finally arrived, we burst out the back door like dogs that found an open gate. We played football, searched for frogs, ran races, swung high on the swing set, played tag, ignored girls, told jokes and did back flips off the monkey bars (okay, that’s a stretch), all right up until the teachers raised their hands and told us it was time to go back to the grind.

Thankfully, Mr. C. Gordon always let us get a drink of water. “Take your time, but hurry,” he’d say.

I remember it as a time of innocence, boundless energy and fun.

On a field on the edge of town.
…

BY HIGH SCHOOL, MY family had moved. That meant I was a Franklin Wildcat instead of a Springboro Panther, something I never dreamed would happen. In the beginning, I thought the change might be the worst thing that ever happened to me. But in time, I realized just the opposite was true.

As a senior, I remember a Saturday doubleheader (against Springboro), when I looked around, embracing the moment, comprehending the changes, and realizing — surprisingly — that everything had actually turned out pretty well.

I had excellent teachers, great friends, and a ton of memories that would stay with me for the rest of my life. I would forever have two hometowns, not just one.

Doug Long, Franklin’s legendary baseball coach for 30 years, did more than emphasize baseball principles such as hustling, hitting and hanging on when times were tough. Instead, he instilled life lessons in us.

We were leaders, he would say. So act it.

We led best by serving, he added. So be helpful.

And never, ever fail to appreciate the opportunities you have been given, he concluded. So be grateful.

By the end of that Saturday doubleheader, after we had been fortunate to take both games, I sat in the dugout watching the Springboro bus drive away. It occurred to me it could have been me riding in that bus, and I’m sure my life would have been just fine if it had. But because of the move, I came to know a whole different group of really good people, guys who have been my friends for life.

Why was I so lucky? Who could have foreseen such a turn of events? I may have grown up having “The Heart of the Panthers,” but because of the move to Franklin, I would forever know what it means to be “Once A Wildcat, Always A Wildcat.”

I packed away my cleans and glove. I felt a sense of achievement, and satisfaction of a job well done.

At a field on the edge of town.
…

I DO NOT KNOW THE day or the hour, but I know it will come. Any stress, anxiety, doubt, worry or regret that has ever troubled my earthly existence will forever leave my soul, and in its place will be a heavenly total peace and a perfect love — the kind that is so absolutely amazing that I cannot possibly describe it.

I will be so overcome by God’s comforting and overpowering love that I will be instantly transformed into a presence that I never thought was possible. I will be assured that despite all my thoughts to the contrary, my life indeed had a purpose and my actions in fact made a difference (as does yours). This will result in me saying “Really?” about 15,642 times.

More importantly, I will instantly know that the loved ones I left behind will be all right, despite their moments of extreme sadness. Time moves much more quickly in eternity. Plus, in a figurative sense, I will have seen the end of the movie, or read the last chapter of the book, and know that God had it right when he inspired the words “Fear not” to be included 365 times in the Bible.

I could write an entire book on what I imagine heaven will be like, and maybe one day I will have the chance to put it on paper.

When my life flashes before my eyes, I will see faces of wonderful people who have meant so much to me through the years —my wife Kim, my children Adam and Chloe, my parents, my brothers and sisters and their children, and all my friends and acquaintances. I will also see the places I have been and the things I have done.

And I will see fields. In addition to the school playground and the Franklin baseball field, I will see the soccer fields my children played games on, the golf courses I played around on (hacked, to be more accurate), the campsites I have watched the stars on, and the football fields I have witnessed greatness on.

Life on earth is awesome. I cannot wait to see what is next.

Through it all, I will see one more image, a large piece of a stone with my name written on it.

In a field on the edge of town.

It's About Health And Safety, Peace And Purpose, Amen

Two years ago tonight, in front of a capacity crowd just before one of Springboro’s biggest football games ever, there was a moment that had nothing to do with Xs and Os or winning and losing.

Instead, it was about the beauty of life and the suddenness of death, and the appreciation we should have at all points in between.

Two teams and two communities came together as one body and one common thought – to remember a player whose life ended far too early.

Shaun Frechette was only 17 when he was killed in a single-car accident just two days before. He had been a significant part of the Panther preparation against Lakota East, Springboro’s opponent in the first round of the Division I playoffs that night.

Yet now he would not be in uniform. Rather, he would be memorialized in a funeral service at the Springboro High School auditorium two days later. His passing was a tragedy to Shaun’s family, his classmates and to his team.

Amid the shock and sadness, there was a call for perspective.

Shawn Acrey, who at the time was a pastor in Springboro, led both teams in a poignant moment that belied the roughness and toughness of football. I was standing at midfield, hat in hand, tears in my eyes, not sure I was really witnessing such a scene. At the risk of being disrespectful, I took this photograph. It was a moment I wanted to capture on film.

In it, you see Pastor Shawn praying openly for Player Shaun, and also offering a lesson to those in front of him. Life is a gift. Love is the reward. Hug those who mean the world to you, because you never know when they will leave this life for the next one.

Be safe. Live in peace. A life devoted to a purpose of loving people – whether as a nurse, a teacher, a teammate or a coach or whatever – is a life best lived.

Awesome words.

Moments earlier, in the locker room just before Springboro took the field, Panther head coach Ryan Wilhite invited his team to not just play the game FOR their fallen teammate, but instead play it WITH him.

Shaun was still with them, if not in body, then in spirit. So hang on to his memory, Coach Wilhite said, for death in this life is only a birth in another. I love it when successful coaches have proper morals and values that transcend athletic achievement.

I THOUGHT OF THIS picture tonight in part because it is the two-year anniversary since it happened, and coincidentally because Springboro will play Lakota East once again this Saturday night in the first round of the Division I playoffs.

But I also thought of this photo because of a similar tragedy a couple of months ago, just before the University of Cincinnati played Ohio State in a football game. If you’ll remember, UC went into that game having suffered a terrible loss that week when a player had been killed while riding a motorcycle on his way to practice.

That player was Chamoda Kennedy-Palmore, a running back.

Chamoda was a UC redshirt freshman who graduated from Lakota East two years ago. He was on the field the night this photograph was taken. Not five minutes after this prayer ended, he ran 80 yards for a ThunderHawk touchdown on the first play from scrimmage. Poof. He made a cut and was gone, just like that.

The same thing happened just before the OSU game, when another driver pulled in front of him.

Cherish your loved ones. Give a hug, make a call, extend a hand, and say the words. We just never know when they will no longer be there.

That’s the perspective we all need.

Let me close with this thought. As this week unfolds, you can bet the Springboro football team will work hard and prepare thoroughly for its return match-up against Lakota East. After all, the Panthers have won 28 of their last 30 regular season games. There’s a commitment to excellence in the program, and it shows.

Shawn Acrey, Chris Harwood, Jack Schaaf

On game night, there will be a voluntary pre-game prayer in the Panther locker room for those who choose to participate, and it will emphasize all things that are really important.

It will be about health and safety for the players on both teams, and about the love and appreciation for community, classmates and families who are there to support them. It will be about loving life and enjoying the moment they have been given.

It will be about everything but winning a football game.

SEE, GOD DOES NOT care who wins ball games, and will redeem whatever happens in elections and business deals and court cases. In life, as in football, it’s not all about winning.

It’s about perspective, and recognizing how light overcomes darkness, in all situations.

So I don’t know what the scoreboard will say come 10 o’clock Saturday evening, when these two teams walk off the field battered and bruised, but I already believe one thing.

If that’s the way the Panthers or any other team can look at football, they’re already winners.

George, The Radio, And Coincidence (?)

George Harrison, during his days as a Beatle

This story begins with a random moment almost two weeks ago when, for no particular reason, I decided to pick up a book about George Harrison, the late musical artist who was well known for his good music and insightful lyrics.

Oh yeah, and he was in a band called the Beatles. Maybe you’ve heard of them.

I read the book over the course of five days. George had all the fame and money any aspiring singer-songwriter could ever want, and yet he couldn’t wait to get away from Beatlemania.

Life was not about worldly issues and material success, in his opinion. The soul and its eternal resting place was a much more meaningful pursuit to him.

Soon after the break-up of the Beatles, he wrote a song that became wildly popular, “My Sweet Lord.”

Since I was reading the book, I listened to a lot of George Harrison songs over the course of a few days, with that song among them.

LAST TUESDAY AFTERNOON, I received a phone call from my friend Tony Strong asking me to perform a Celebration of Life service for his brother, who had died suddenly the day before at the age of 50.

His brother’s name was … George.

I met with Tony and his family last Wednesday night to gather the many anecdotes and humorous stories about George Strong. What a character he was. He loved his daughter, he loved his family, he loved his Reds and Bengals, and he loved his music, especially Van Halen.

I was told they wanted a few songs played during the service – among them an old tune by John Mellencamp and “Jump,” by Van Halen.

… And “My Sweet Lord,” by George Harrison.

I thought to myself, “Wow. Has someone been spying on me?”

The funeral home was packed last Friday night when George’s life was celebrated.

Amid the funny stories (told by myself, Tony, Carl Bray and Andy Kyle), I sprinkled a reality I believe in to the core of my being, but one I am always careful to say -- that there is no such thing as a coincidence. We have a Master Musician in the sky, and our planet is one of the instruments in a grand symphony.

I hit this point for only a few minutes, because a spiritual message, like a political debate, can get old really fast if not presented in the right setting. Sprinkle a little salt on a piece of steak and it is delicious, creating a hunger for more. But turn the salt shaker upside down, and the person eating it has no choice but to spit it out.

Things happen for a reason. Life is beyond our comprehension, in both science and reason, and we are constantly given indicators of that fundamental truth.

So, just when we need it, we often encounter someone unexpectedly who gives us a pep in our step. Or the clouds or the sunset give us a glimpse of something out of this world. Or someone whose name mysteriously popped into our heads in the morning will magically appear in person or on the telephone later that night.

Or, among a million other things, you hear a song on the radio.

If we start looking, the exception is not in finding a miracle. The exception is in finding what isn’t one.

George Strong had a life worth celebrating. It was a pleasure being part of special a ceremony that honored it.

THIS STORY ENDS with what happened this morning. I arrived at my office at 7:15, a little frazzled because I had a number of decisions to complete. Since I had hearings stacked up all day long, I knew I wouldn’t have much time to get them done if I didn’t finish them then.

I’ll take a little encouragement any time I can get it.

Just then George Harrison was singing on the radio, “My Sweet Lord.”

I smiled. I plugged onward. When I left to go into the courtroom for a little bit, I came back, sat down, determined to get done.

I’m not kidding about what happened next. Go to the WGRR website and look up their playlist from this morning. At that moment, Van Halen came on the radio: “Jump.” I couldn’t believe it.

But then one more thing happened. Just as I finished a text message to Tony Strong telling him about my morning, the radio station topped it off with what I’ll call the spiritual trifecta.

It played an old John Mellencamp tune.

After that, nothing was ruining the rest of my day.

I HAVE TO CHUCKLE as I write this because I know it can sound contrived or hokey. I get it.

But somewhere, someone will understand me, and they will tell me they agree with me, that all of this was not just some coincidence.

I'll have one simple response: "By George, I think you're right."

The Free Ride All Graduates Can Take...

As I drove home yesterday afternoon, I was struck by the sight of two vehicles on a single stretch of roadway. In one direction, I saw a van full of high school seniors and their parents smiling on their way to graduation. In the other, I saw a family quietly following a hearse into a cemetery.

I had a pretty good idea of what the people in each vehicle were thinking.

In one, there was the worry over what tomorrow holds. A loved one will go away and life will never be the same. He will leave behind the memories he has created, the love he has shown, and the impact he has made. Loss brings sadness. Change is never easy.

In the other, there was quiet celebration because, for her, tomorrow brings a better day. Life may not be the same, but it’s a wonderful journey nonetheless. Life is about being the person we are supposed to be, content in the completion of one season and confident in the anticipation of the next. Endings are only beginnings. Change is the only constant.

Oh wait. You thought worry and sadness had to do with the funeral, right?

That’s okay. Most people do.

Here’s a graduation speech I would love to make one day.

Or maybe I should say this is the funeral message I would love to preach.

Sometimes the worst thing that ever happens to us turns out to be the best thing that ever happens to us. Sometimes what seems really complicated is actually very simple. And sometimes when we do not consider the eternal perspective God wants for all of our lives, we find sadness when it might just be cause for celebration.

The Beatles sang a song 50 years ago called “Goodbye, Hello”:

“You say yes, I say no
You say stop and I say go go go, oh no
You say goodbye and I say hello…
Hello, hello
I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello”

Our lives are full of events that are in one way goodbyes, but in another hellos.

Graduates are frequently told, “Make every day count, because you never know when it will be your last.” So there is this consistent invitation to live a life of gusto, grabbing all that is possible and having as much fun that can be had, because one day this life will end, and that’s it.

I love the motivational essence of such a speech. That’s a whole lot better than, “Hey, you made it through high school! Now kick back and enjoy the spoils of life, because the world owes you a living.”

But I have a different take on that. I say, “Make every day count. Embrace all that life gives you – the good, the bad and the ugly…which you will have, no matter how hard you try to avoid them. But despite those terrible experiences, make the most of each day, NOT because it might be your last.

“Do it because you know this life ISN’T all there is.“

When you live life on Earth with the assurance that one day it can be replaced by life in heaven, you’ll have a comfort that allows you to get through anything you face here.

You can live peacefully in the place you have been put, with the people who have been put around you, and you can always feel secure in the knowledge that that that is good enough. You avoid all the anxiety of having to be CEO of a Fortune 500 company to feel successful, or owning the biggest house in town and driving the fanciest cars to feel that you have arrived.

If you’re blessed with all that, great. Enjoy. Be all that you were made to be.

But if you’re not, don’t be tempted to twist principles and manipulate people just to get what you want. You’re not a loser if life turns out differently than what you had planned. Remember you are the only you ever made, and the world needs you. And remember that life, warts and all, is still pretty good, and it's only made better at the notion it will one day be out of this world, if you will embrace the eternal perspective.

The price of eternal perspective is only a little bit of humility.

If I truly embrace that eternal perspective, I can more easily forgive today, because now the difficult people I encounter aren’t ruining my one and only life.

If I truly embrace that eternal perspective, I will find it easier to hold my anger, because I will realize it’s practically killing me and, all the while, doing absolutely nothing to the person I’m angry with.

If I truly embrace that eternal perspective, I live my life the same way I watch a mystery movie for the second time. There’s no need for anxiety and worry over how everything turns out, because I’ve seen the ending, and everything will be okay.

Hey, if you ask me, that’s something to celebrate. Tomorrow really is a better day, no matter what we face today.

So now let the party begin. Let me offer, first up, a Rascal Flatts’ remake of a song by the Edgar Winter Group 40 years ago, “Free Ride.”

“The mountain is high, the valley is low
And you’re confused on which way to go
But I’ve come here to give you a hand
And lead you into the Promised Land.

“So, come on and take a free ride…”

To My Friend Mike Smith: I'll Miss Those Bear Hugs

HEAVEN'S WELCOMING COMMITTEE took on a new leader two weeks ago. If ever there were a thought that the Pearly Gates were quiet and dignified, sort of like a piano recital on a Sunday afternoon, let's put that theory to rest right now. Mike Smith is now large and in charge, and the party is as alive now as it's ever been. He's God's right-hand man.

Those of us who knew Mike knew he was bound to get that position someday. He loved his life and embraced his faith, and he loved people, probably more than anyone I've ever known. If anyone had the gift of making people feel welcome, it was Mike.

A bear hug was his greeting card. Unconditional love was his message.

The world would be a happier place if we could all be like Mike.

The sad part in all this is that we just didn't see it coming so soon, not at age 48, not when he was so alive and in shape. Just the day before he left this life for the next, he ran vigorously while training for a marathon.

Mike's huge heart stopped working. He was gone in an instant.

It doesn't seem fair. Mike had a great marriage with his wife Kristi and a loving relationship with his two daughters, Abbi and Faith (both students at Springboro, pictured above). He had so much to offer.

So why did he have to leave so soon?

We'll never know until, one day, we join Mike in the party.

I first met Mike more than 10 years ago when he was -- surprise, surprise -- a social pastor at SouthBrook Christian Church. It was his job to meet people and make them feel welcome, then get them connected to other people.

Yeah, you could say Mike was pretty good at what he did. That would be like saying Michelangelo probably did pretty well in art class, too. He was such a natural. In that regard, he was more than just a church employee; he was God's messenger, delivering love.

He stayed that way, even when he left vocational ministry to devote more time to flying and being with his family. He wrote me a message on my birthday this past summer: "Happy B-Day Jeff. I'm glad God took time out to create you," said said. I told him later I thought that sentiment applied more to him than me, but I appreciated the comment.

“God is good, brother,” he’d always say.

...

THERE'S A SLOGAN that says, “You may be the only Bible some people ever read." And if that's the case, then some people got the full flavor of God just by being around Mike. I know I did. I'll miss him in so many ways.

I plan to see him again. When I get to the pearly gates, I'm sure I'll walk quietly, nervously, wondering if I'm in the right place, just like I did years ago when I walked into SouthBrook. But soon I'll hear the loud music. I'll hear Mike call out my name, and he'll be smiling. He'll be singing. He'll have that sense of peace that comes from living with He Who Made Everything. Then he'll point me in the direction of my long-lost family and loved ones (see, he'll still be getting everyone connected.

And then I'll get The Bear Hug. It'll be his way of saying my ticket has been stamped.

"Thanks, Mike, I'm really glad God took time out to create you," I'll say.

"God is good, brother."

I can't imagine how Kristi and the girls feel. They too have their faith, and I know they've felt the love and support of so many people. They're comforted also by the love and memories of a man who was such an inspiration to so many people. Like so many who have lost loved ones, I hope they continue to feel wrapped up in a presence that can only be described as heavenly.

If God is love, then Mike is a huge Valentine's card, with a huge heart on the front.

Crumpled, a little of course, because of all that hugging.

Chris, You Will Be Missed, But If It's All True Then This Is Not A Permanent Goodbye

Kyle,  Joyce, Jeff and Chris Stapleton, at a Cowboy game, Fall 2010.

If it’s all true, as people the world over believe it is, then I know personally the new starting quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys. He’s in a team meeting right now with Tom Landry, Bob Hayes and Dandy Don Meredith, all heavenly hall of famers, plotting strategy to beat the Philadelphia Eagles for the right to go to the Super Bowl.

“Ladies and gentlemen … at quarterback … Chris Stapleton.” The capacity crowd of more than 100,000 is on its feet. What a rush.

If it’s true, as our faith says it is, then he did not lose his life late last Sunday evening. Instead, he very much found it, in a way he never before could have even imagined, with more freedom than he ever could have dreamed. It’s like he was stuck in rush-hour traffic and suddenly found an empty freeway – with no speed limit.

“There'll be no sadness, all will be gladness,” as the song goes, “when we shall join that happy band.” What a peace.

If it’s true, then he is not in his final resting place, as is so often said. Instead, he’s more alive now than he ever was, in even more constant motion, creating even more laughter than he ever did before. It’s like being 11 years old and getting a season pass for every amusement park in the world. C’mon, let’s go. What are we going to do next? Boy, this is fun.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." This statement – long the subject of faith and ridicule (depending on the perspective) -- is something he knows to be a proven fact, not fiction. What a revelation.

If it’s true, then something major happened in that moment when his life flashed before his eyes. He was not only shown the pictures from his past, from his wide-eyed days as a budding basketball star to the proud moments of loving his little girl, but he was also shown the pages from future scrapbooks. Mom, Dad, his brother, and everyone else who chose wisely … they all turned out to be okay, despite whatever ups and downs this world threw at them. What a relief. And so it was okay to go.

If it’s true, his life had a purpose, as too did his passing. If it’s true, then we’re not just spiraling out of control into oblivion. And if’s it’s true, then this life can be enjoyed, not just because every last moment needs to count, but because there is the assurance that this isn’t all there is. Heaven exists.

It’s true.

Can you believe he’d be a preacher now? Not a holy-roller, but just as someone who spoke the truth: People, why all the worrying? Why all the sadness? You can have such a peace … about any circumstance, including physical death … if only you will believe in something bigger than yourselves.

Love life. Love one another. Believe.

As I write this, I’ve just come from the visitation for Chris Stapleton, the oldest son of a couple my wife and I have known for a very long time. When I left after two hours, there was still a line out the door. In a world of conflict, mayhem and anonymous blogging, tonight was an act of people coming together in love. It was harmony. It was also a testament to the kind of family the Stapletons are.

Four days ago, when a bunch of us were in their family kitchen, doing our best to show love and support when it was needed most, Kathy Brink Zambon summed it up best: “It’s like we keep looking for the right words to say, and there’s nothing there.” I mean, seriously, moralisms are nice, but it’s still awful to lose the companionship of someone so close, no matter what.

But Kathy’s daughter Brittany, who was one of Chris’ best friends in the whole world, offered up a thought that comes only from personal experience. Having lost her dad thirteen years ago, she knows more about loss and grief than she would ever care to know. “You’ll get signs every so often that tell you everything is okay,” she said. Like out of nowhere, she’ll look to the sky and see a hawk, a comfort to her because her dad had once been the basketball coach for the Fairborn Skyhawks.

There was also the image at her dad’s funeral, when the sun came shining through the clouds on an otherwise cloudy day.

There are no coincidences in life.

I’ve been thinking about that the last few days. Those moments usually happen to me through music. For instance, when my friend Jim Anderson lost his dad several years ago, we sat in his front living room talking about the reunion he was having with his mother, who had died several years before. I then left his house and got in my car, where an Eddie Money song was on the radio: “I’ve got two tickets to paradise. Pack your bags we leave tonight.” I kid you not.

On the morning I was to speak at my dad’s funeral, and I sat in the silence wondering if I was up for such a thing. I turned on the radio and heard a song I’ve been listening to for thirty years, but never like I had that morning. “Oooh child, things are gonna’ get easier. Oooh child, things’ll get brighter.” I get chills thinking about it now.

And so, with all that in mind when I left the Stapleton’s Monday evening, I once again turned on the radio. I didn’t plan this. The song  I heard was classic rock (God’s music), from 1970, performed by a band named Free (I’m telling you, I can’t make this stuff up).

            “All right now /

            “Baby, it’s all right now.”

You can’t tell me stuff like that just happens. You can’t tell me that in a world as complex as this one is, that it all just came about and goes on by pure chance. I’m a lawyer who’s knee-deep in ugly confrontations every day. I’m suspicious of anything I’m told.

But I have to believe there's something deep down in the soul of every one of us that yeans to be part of something much bigger than our little world. That's why we embrace college football and NASCAR. It's why also, in times of trouble, we wonder if the church on the corner really does have something to offer us. We want that because we need that, for without that we’re just walking down a dead-end road.

It all comes down to this: The case for the existence of a loving God is so much stronger than the one against Him, even when bad things happen to good people.

If it’s true that heaven exists, as I believe it does, then Chris is now having a reunion with family members he wasn’t sure he’d ever see before. He’s also preparing for the future reunion with family members who definitely want to see him again. And he, them.

If it’s true that heaven exists, as I believe it does, then his parents can take comfort in the knowledge that he’s now safe. And loved. And without a care in the world.

If it’s true that heaven exists, as I believe it does, then he’s leading his beloved Cowboys on a game-winning drive late in the fourth quarter. The crowd is loud. He’s having fun.

He’s having the time of his eternal life.  

One day he'll tell us all about it.