A fitting memorial

Today, Ryan's grave marker was put in place. It took me an exceptional amount of time to think about exactly how to put who Ryan was into a two-foot wide slab of granite. Lots of thanks to Ryan's parents and my friends for being my sounding board and offering suggestions or affirmations. Thanks also to Ryan's cousin David for the beautiful craftsmanship. 

What I ended up loving the most about this stone is the scripture that is on it. "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God." (Psalm 20:7, NIV) This scripture so embodies who my Ryan was. Although he loved horses and was often defined by his cowboy lifestyle, he was most defined by his faith in Jesus Christ. The picture also illustrates the way that Ryan led his life fully submitted to his Savior. Oh, I am so proud of you, Ry. 

In case you are interested in visiting this, Ryan was buried at Hersey Village Cemetery, an eighth of a mile west of the main street in Hersey (near his hometown of Reed City) on Three Mile Road. His gravesite is at the extreme east end of the cemetery.

If His grace is an ocean...

Eating dinner tonight - a gourmet delight consisting of macaroni and cheese and reheated leftovers (hey, a single mom has to cut corners sometimes!), today's date jarred my memory.

Instantly I was transported back to March 26, six months ago today.  A very grave, dejected Dr. Vashi, gently telling Ryan and I the words that we so desperately did not want to hear.

It was time to go home.  No more options.

I had steeled myself for this news for the previous 24 hours.  I could see the whole news unfolding exactly as it did, almost like a premonition or a foreshadowing.  I could see the symptoms increasing.  I knew that Ryan's surgery six days prior had been unsuccessful in its attempt to stop the internal bleeding that had plagued him since late February.

However, my husband had not spent the same amount of time preparing himself for the news. When we had a private moment, my husband, weak and bone-thin after four weeks of fighting for his life with every ounce of strength he had, laid his head on my shoulder and quietly sobbed and we prayed.  Most of it was guttural, but it was almost an entirely non-verbal plea for grace, peace, and mercy.

And there it came, rushing over us yet again, even in one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life.  And even in that excruciating moment where death stared us in the eyes, I knew that God's grace was once again going to sustain and buoy us through the next (short) chapter of our lives.  Because it is sufficient for me.  It was for Ryan.

It is for you, too.

2 Corinthians 12:8-9 "Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that [the thorn] should leave me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me."

The next two weeks will be really tough for me again as the six-month anniversary of Ryan's passing approaches. The combination of the impending anniversary and school starting (Really?  I'm really doing all of this myself?  All the time?  No breaks?) has left me feeling bereft, lonely, and overwhelmed for the past few weeks.

And yet, throughout all of the pain that this month of September has dredged up, I am reminded of that sufficient grace.  As a believer, I have an enormous source of power within me that is a direct result of the Holy Spirit's indwelling of me.  This power has allowed me to choose joy in spite of paralyzing sadness, and has allowed me to live life in abundance in spite of my weakness.

My Savior loves me.  My Father comforts me.  His Spirit sustains me.

And His grace is an ocean in which I am still sinking, six months later.

The silver lining

One week after Ryan's funeral, I found myself lying flat on my face on my bedroom floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

Given that our new house was not completely unpacked yet, I decided that following Saturday to attack my bedroom and get some of the boxes out of the way.  Along the way, there had to be at least fifty emotional landmines.  What was I supposed to do with the items from Ryan's nightstand?  His eyeglasses?  His socks?  Meaningless items, but it was still hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that he did not need these anymore.  All of this was difficult, but it did not compare to the ammunition provided by a stack of handwritten letters, tied with a black ribbon.

When Ryan was 17, he spent a summer in Wyoming "cowboying" on a ranch.  He did not have much internet access, and this was prior to texting.  So we went old-fashioned that summer.  Countless letters and postcards were sent between Hart, Michigan and Cody, Wyoming.  We had been dating for about a year and a half, and we were crazy, crazy in love.  I made the stupid, absolutely insane decision to read the letters that day.

"I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you..."
"I am so looking forward to growing old with you and playing with our grandkids..."
"I could spend eighty years with you and never grow tired of you..."

Suddenly, the fact that all of our dreams for a long life together, horses, children, grandchildren, traveling, and ministry had been cut down and destroyed hit me like a ton of bricks, and I crumpled and hit the floor.

There is no time period of my life that has been more excruciating than the spring of 2013.  And sometimes I have struggled to make any sense of it. Why?  Why this pain?  Why me?  Why Ryan?  Why Colton?  Does this pain have any purpose?!  Is there any silver lining?

It does have purpose.  And there is a silver lining.

Fifteen months ago, I wrote a blog post about suffering.  This post is not going to be a replica of that one, which was about sharing in the sufferings of Christ and why suffering is beneficial for us in the long run.  Today, I'm simply searching for what I have to be thankful for.  I am redeeming the pain that I have suffered.  My God has promised me that His plans are meant for my good, and that He has given me hope and a future.  Today I am looking for what has been for my good.

Because of this pain, I...

• have become a better parent.  Being the only parent of a grieving child has taught me even more about compassion and patience.  It has forced me to be less self-focused at a time when I could easily be all about myself.  My little boy lost his father and he doesn't fully understand why.  Anything that I'm going through pales in comparison to his situation.
• have learned to take better care of myself.  I am very in tune with my needs at the moment.  Some days I need alone time to recharge, and I'm making that a priority.  Sometimes I need to be with my friends.  I need to exercise and eat food that makes me energetic.  I need to have fun and laugh and do things that I enjoy, so I'm doing that.
• have learned to appreciate happiness (even small measures of it) and not take it for granted.  When something comes along that truly makes me grin, I recognize that and I thank God for it.  A beautiful sunset, a wonderful conversation, a walk-off Tigers win, a well-brewed pot of coffee, a good book, a bike ride through creation, or even just a really funny TV show - I am so grateful for these things.
• have learned (re-learned?) to rely on the Lord for my joy.  All of the things listed above are wonderful, but they do not compare to the deep contentment that comes from knowing Him and trusting Him and being thisclose to Him.
• will be a better spouse (if God chooses that for me) in the future.  I can easily look back and pick apart all of the faults that I had when I was married to Ryan, but that is futile.  Let's just say that I grew a lot in seven years, and Ryan pushed me to be a better person. (Anyone who knew Ryan well is probably smiling, imagining what I mean by that.) What is most important is that I learned not to take someone for granted because we are not guaranteed (at all) that we will have our spouse into old age.  Each day is a gift.

I never would have chosen the road that I've been on.  The price that I had to pay to learn all these lessons - when I think about that price, it is almost too much to bear.  I still have to pinch myself when I think, I buried my 27-year-old husband.  It is still totally surreal.  But despite the grief, the emotional triggers that appear out of freaking nowhere, I know that I'm moving forward.  I have finally come to the place where I am thankful for what I have, what I had, and I am not mourning all the time but rather I'm celebrating because my God has once again proven Himself to be enough for me.  I have been so blessed.  So blessed.

Are there still hard days?  Absolutely.  Don't ask me about the night before Colton's first day of preschool last week; it's a tear-filled haze.  Am I still in pain?  Yes, and I imagine that I will always feel those sharp twinges of pain throughout the rest of my life.  But I am reminded of Psalm 40:1-3 at this stage in my life:

I waited patiently for the Lord;
    he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
    out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
    and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth,
    a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear the Lord
    and put their trust in him.

Because I have been redeemed, my hymn of praise will continue, undaunted.  Christ's sacrificial love for me is the ultimate silver lining.

Prayer request for Colton

Hello friends, I don't have any deep thoughts to share today. I only have a simple request: that you would continue to pray for my precious son. He is really struggling right now to understand why his dad left him and there are a lot of emotions that we are handling. Anger and sadness are definitely the most prominent. It is all normal and a part of the healing process. Kids process grief so differently from adults and Colton didn't have the luxury of understanding for two years what was about to happen. He is just truly beginning to understand what this all means. 

Please pray for me, too. It rips me apart to see Colton so torn about it and when the grief causes anger and misbehavior, sometimes it's hard to discern what is normal toddler behavior and what necessitates further conversation with him. I certainly need wisdom and guidance to weather this particular storm. I am so grateful for your continued bringing us before the throne. 

The scab

That, my friends, is a bonafide little boy knee.

Colton and I have been very busy lately. We just got back from a ten day trip to Colorado, where we were able to explore, meet new people, catch up with family and friends, see new things, and relax. It was perfect. It was just what the doctor ordered. 

While Colton was there, he was incredibly active. He ran, jumped, and daredeviled. He has become quite a boy! Of course, in the course of these events, he picked up quite a few battle scars. The picture above is his skinned up knee from many exploits over the last couple of weeks. 

As I looked at his knee last night and prepared to kiss a boo boo acquired at a family Fourth of July party, it occurred to me that Colton's knee and my heart have a lot in common. Like his knee, my heart is healing. Actually, it is healing nicely and better than I thought. I feel like I'm adjusted, functioning, and feeling like myself again (for the most part). My sense of humor has returned, I don't feel lethargic anymore, and it feels like the black cloud isn't constantly hanging over my head.

However, not all days are perfect.

Something new happened to Colton last night. Another boo boo caused the scab on his knee to reopen, and fresh blood trickled out of the wound he acquired while jumping in a pile of rocks at a rodeo last weekend. 

So it feels with the scab on my heart.

Fourth of July parties - shouldn't he be here?

Colorado trip - gosh, I wish he were here with me to ___________ (fill in the blank).

Every time I have one of those moments (hours, days) where I miss him, it feels like the scab reopens and that same familiar grief comes running out. 

And yet, by the grace of God I am healing. I'll always have a little scab that will reopen from time to time. Sometimes the corner of the scab might peel up, and perhaps sometimes the entire scab will be roughly ripped off and I'll have to practically start over again. Maybe, like the skin on Colton's knee, the new flesh will not be the same color and the pink flesh will be telling of the massive scab that used to occupy that space.

But thankfully the God I serve is one that heals both physical and emotional scars. As He has been faithful to me thus far, I know he will continue to do so. By His grace, and with the comforting salve of the prayers of his Body and His saints (here's looking at you, Ry Guy), I know that I will continue to live life abundantly.

Victor, not victim.

Poor Kendra.  Poor Colton.  Poor Ryan.

I have no doubt that those words have crossed many people's minds, and probably many people's lips.  And certainly that is understandable.  Probably most of you that are reading this have been walking this road with me for the better part of two years: the first days when Ryan was first diagnosed, to when we got our first set of great scans, then when we had to try radiation since chemo wasn't working well, then when we got amazing news last summer, to when things started to turn downward, really downward, and then when the bottom truly fell out of our lives.  And then...you know how that chapter of the story ended.

Even now, as I spent some time this week reading over our past blog entries, I can have a tendency to feel really sorry for myself.

I'm 28.  And widowed.

I have a young son who has no siblings and no other immediate family other than me.

My friends are buying minivans for their burgeoning families. I am buying a gravestone for my husband's burial plot.

And yet, this "woe is me" attitude is simply not a place that I can stay for long.

Because... do you know what I'm about?  Do you know whom I serve?  The God that I know and the One that knows me is a God of victory.


Hope

For me to break out of "victim mentality", it requires a refocusing of my mind from temporal to eternal: from things of finite importance, to things of eternal value.

I want to post some scripture from Romans 8 with my own emphases added.  I would love to post the whole chapter, but it is really long.  Please do read Romans 8 in its entirety (click here); it's phenomenal.

18 I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. ... 24 For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? 25 But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

... 28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. 

...31 What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? ...

37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.


Wow.  So powerful.  I almost feel like verse 39 should end with an obscene amount of exclamation points. :)  "NOTHING is able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

What is it that makes me a victor?  It is the hope that I have in the resurrection of Christ, nothing else.  It wasn't my marriage, it's not my job, it's not my precious son (although I love him a thousand times more than I love my own life), and it's not my possessions.  Lest I think that it's any of those things, I am reminded in the very first verse that I posted above - what we have here on earth, whether it is blessing or suffering, comfort or discomfort - it's not worth talking about.  It is not worth comparing to the GLORY that will be revealed in us.  Can you imagine what heaven must be like, if everything that we think is so important here on earth, is completely miniscule and trivial compared to that?  Wow.  Now that is some hope.  That is some victory that awaits us.

Maybe you have gone through some trials in your life too.  I know for a fact that some people that are reading this right now are in deep pain.  (I am actually envisioning a friend reading this very sentence, who has suffered unimaginable loss in her own life only three short weeks ago.  Praying so much for you.)  Or maybe it's divorce, job loss, or the pain of loneliness.  My dear friends, hang on.  "...in all things God works for the good of those who love him".  It doesn't make sense now.  It doesn't.  I want Ryan back with every cell in my body, but I have to somehow trust - you do too - that this season in our lives is meant to purify, strengthen, and solidify our faith.  Please, let's not fall victim to Satan's desire - that suffering would lead to doubt, and doubt to contempt, and contempt to hatred.


Victim Mentality

The Bible is chock full of lessons about victim mentality, although I'm pretty sure that the term was only invented in the 20th century.  Remember the Israelites wandering in the desert?  As Moses and Aaron prepared them and talked to them about moving into Canaan, the Israelites freaked out about the "what ifs".  Instead of preparing mentally for the battle that lay ahead, they spun their proverbial wheels about what could possibly happen, completely disregarding the Lord's promises and His proven faithfulness.  Heck, they even mention in Numbers 14 that they would rather have died in Egypt or the wilderness than to be where they were, on the brink of entering the promised land. 

I will lay it all bare here for you: I have had some days recently when I've felt like an Israelite.  I wouldn't say that I've exactly doubted God or His plans, but we've had words.  Sometimes those words have gotten intense on my part.  I have, for a few moments, felt like a victim.  Why is all of this happening to me and Colton and not to someone else?

However, it's flipping that switch in my mind from dwelling upon my circumstances, to setting my mind upon the One who cares so deeply about our hurt, and is cradling our broken hearts.  He alone will raise me/us to victory.  If God is for us, then who could be against us?  What circumstances are too big or too complicated or too hurtful for Him to handle?  Those of us who are in Christ Jesus are not victims, because of the hope we have in Him, and the comfort we have through the Holy Spirit.


More than conquerors

When I think of a conqueror, I think of someone wearing battle gear.  As most of you know, I'm not really into battle gear, camo, or weapons.  I'm more into great shoes and trendy sweaters.  However, I am a conqueror because of this amazing hope I've been given.  Are you a conqueror?  Are you headed for victory?

At the end of the passage, Paul talks about the many things that could potentially get in the way of our victory: death, demons, the present, the future, etc.  However, because of the army we have behind us, none of these things matter - none of them can separate us from the love of our Lord. 

Unless we allow them to.

What is your mentality, friends?  Are you feeling browbeat and defeated, like a victim?  Or do you hear that battle cry, the steady drum of the Victor, the Conquering Hero who has defeated sin and offers us a future that is not worth comparing to our present circumstances?

I know that for myself, I choose victory.  Choosing the victor mentality over a victim mentality requires work, and it requires me to daily put on my armor.  But I refuse to be "Poor Kendra".  I have been shown too much mercy, and showered with too many blessings to be "Poor Kendra".  I have been rescued, redeemed, and refined by His grace and His love.

I am a victor.

Grief is in the small things.

Hello friends and family,

I know that it's been a long time since I last wrote.  I hardly seem to have words to say to explain what I'm feeling these days.  It's so dichotomous - though my world is rife with pain and grief, yet I am also sustained by that unimaginable peace that comes only through a tight tether with the Holy Spirit.  I have truly been blessed for the last several weeks by His grace and His comfort.

I've been through a few of those "firsts" that are notoriously difficult in the first year after loss.

The first birthday party (for Colton):

First major family event that Ryan had expressed he had really wanted to be at (Corey's graduation):

First Mother's Day (which Ryan had done an excellent job celebrating with me for three years prior):

Mother's Day at Comerica: WIN!

First wedding anniversary without him - May 13.

Somehow, the "firsts" have not been as bad as I worked them up to be.  Maybe the first Christmas is where all of the anxiety and sadness is going to hit me like a freight train, but I've been okay so far through these "firsts".

It's the small things that have been getting me:

• The silence
• His handwriting
• Seeing an article of his clothing
• Catching a whiff of his brand of cologne somewhere
• Disconnecting his phone
• Hearing a song that reminds me of him
• Checking the "Single" box on a piece of paperwork
• Seeing his traits in his son
• Seeing a TV show that we watched together
• Seeing his horse
• Seeing any horse

I lived with Ryan 365 days a year.  Only 10-15 of the days in any given year are holidays or special days that we celebrated together.  So the other 340 days of the year is where it feels like we really did true life together.  The laughing, loving, arguing, negotiating, encouraging, bantering, and just living - we did that all together and that's the part that I miss the most.  As I write this, it's Saturday morning and I am waiting for Colton to wake up.  If Ryan were still here, he would be awake and we would be probably a quarter of the way through a pot of coffee and watching SportsCenter, our Saturday morning routine.  I miss having the need to make an entire pot of coffee on a Saturday.  I miss the SportsCenter theme song.

I just miss Ryan.  And all of the sights, sounds, activities, hugs, phone calls, letters, and everything else that accompanied him.

And yet - however wrenching the pain is, my God is greater.  I know, without any doubt, that His grace will be sufficient for today, even without a pot of coffee and SportsCenter - and my best friend.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.

Oh Lord, please heal my broken heart and help lessen the pain.  I know that somehow Ryan's death was somehow meant for my good and not for my harm.  May I and my family continue to glorify you even through tears.  I trust you implicitly and I love you desperately.

On rocking chairs and twilight.

Tonight I watched the sunset.  I had put Colton to bed, and since it was finally one of the first warm days we have had all spring, I sat out in a rocking chair on my back porch and watched the orange sun wane down below the horizon, and I listened to the matching rocking chair next to me as it swayed gently in the breeze, noticeably and painfully empty.

I sat for a long time and as the sun sank deeper, it began to get harder and harder to see my surroundings.  I strained my eyes to see Colton's swingset, and I could barely make out the outline of our Australian Shepherd as he paced the lawn, still searching for his beloved master even after two weeks have already passed.  Even familiar surroundings were difficult to decipher and navigate in the scant twilight.

Since my best friend died, life has felt like it's literally in a twilight zone - not just because of how strange everything feels, but because twilight is dim and gloomy and it feels like it will be eons until the world is bright again.  So it feels without Ryan.  Was it really just two months ago that we went out for his birthday and traipsed through a furniture store, bouncing on mattresses and drawing the ire of the store clerk?  Were we really laughing, imagining how we would decorate our new home together?  Was it really just two years ago (and some odd days) that we were making plans for when we were going to have our second child and planning the birthday bash for our firstborn's first birthday?  Only two years ago.

How did I get here?

Where am I going?

In this dark, dimly lit period of my life, I have but one hope:

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."

Romans 8:18 - NIV, emphasis added

While I sit rocking on a porch, contemplating the darkness that has suddenly enveloped my life in the short span of two months - okay, well, two years - I pause to think of what my best friend is doing.  What he's seeing.  Who he's talking to.  Imagining his grin as he gets to worship in wild, unadulterated adoration of the Savior that he clung to.  And as much as I hurt, and as much as I ache for the Ryan that I had, I can't help but be happy that he is where he is.  Whole.  Free.  And I feel a twinge of jealousy and longing for the same glory.

Eventually it got completely pitch black as I was outside and I was completely blinded to what was in front of me.  But I do know this: darkness does not last forever.  I know, somewhere down this painful road, that there is joy ahead, in the morning.  And direction.  Guidance.  Purpose.  Meaning.  I do not know what that looks like, and I don't know when it's coming.  All I know to do right now is to sit patiently, rock, and wait upon the One who loves me - and feels every single ache right along with me as I sit in silent darkness.

Memorial service video

Because of the length of the service, this is in two parts:



Ryan Prudhomme Celebration Service 1/2 from Grace Adventures on Vimeo.




Ryan Prudhomme Celebration Service 2/2 from Grace Adventures on Vimeo.

Memorial service remarks

Hello,

Sometime this week the video of the memorial service will be uploaded.  It was a long service (somewhere between an hour and a half to two hours), so it's taking some time to digitize and upload.  It should be done sometime after Wednesday.

In the meantime, here is the text of the remarks that I made about Ryan at the memorial service and what it meant to Ryan to live in high definition - and what it means for the rest of us that are left behind.  I have been asked by a few people to upload this.



"Living in High Definition"


Good morning.  It is amazing to me to look out over this crowd of people and be once again reminded of the impact that my husband had on a number of people.  While the pain that I and my families have felt this week has been suffocating, we have been blessed beyond measure of the response that we have had from around the world, hearing of how Ryan has impacted people – not just in the last two years, but for 27 years.  Ryan’s passion for the Lord, his love for his family, and his desire to do things that made a difference for the Kingdom of God are all of the things that we admire about him and what draws us to this place today. Whether he was a family member, a friend, a coworker, a former teammate, a classmate, a counselor, or even just a guy whose blog we read and admired – Ryan has impacted all of us not just because of the smile, his laugh, his sense of humor, or his practical jokes – but because of the brilliant light of hope that he reflected through Jesus Christ.

One of the things that I think we all admired about Ryan was the fact that despite his response to his cancer diagnosis was extraordinary, he was in fact a very ordinary person in real life.  I was married to him for almost seven years and dated him for four and a half years prior to that.  I can readily attest to the fact that Ryan had faults.  As a matter of fact, many of you may not know that Ryan had a criminal record.  Yes.  He was convicted of a misdemeanor three years ago.  After we bought our house in Claybanks Township, we had a devious horse that kept coming up with ways to break our fence and bust herself and our other horse loose, and they always headed towards the freeway that was just a mile from our house.  Deuce and Riata got loose three times in one month, and Ryan frantically kept trying to repair the electric fence that they had broken.  After the third time they got loose, the state police caught the two horses on the entrance ramp to the freeway.  As Ryan zoomed up in his green pickup truck to retrieve the horses, the very unimpressed state police officer gave him a citation for – wait for it - livestock at large.  We did not have any idea that someone could be cited for such a thing!  Ryan tried very hard to fight the citation, but he ended up pleading no contest to a misdemeanor and was fined.  Although Ryan didn’t think it was so funny at the time, we had many good laughs imagining him having to declare his misdemeanor of “livestock at large” on a future employment application.

So despite his criminal record, I had the immense honor and privilege of marrying and being the best friend of this incredible person.  Many people have asked me for the past two years whether or not Ryan really meant what he said on our blog and at his speaking engagements and if he was different at home.  To answer that succinctly, absolutely not.  While Ryan did struggle with the thought of leaving the rest of us behind – especially Colton and I - I never heard him complain about his illness, and he never once complained of how this whole situation was terribly unfair.  Of course he was human, but his faith and his response never wavered throughout 24 months of heavy treatment, rollercoaster scans, and ultimately the blow that we received at the end of his long hospitalization and in his final days as he realized that he was close to death.  Ryan was a person that was truly graced by God with the determination to praise his Savior no matter the circumstances that were thrown his direction.  And he had the confidence and the burning desire to share this praise with the world at large, so that other people might also be impacted by Jesus Christ.

So what makes a young man, with his whole life ahead of him, be able to respond this way?  I want to turn your attention to the passage on the inside of the program, from 2 Corinthians 4: 16-18. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”  You see, one of the most remarkable characteristics about my husband was what he chose to fixate upon.  He did not fixate upon cancer.  He chose to fix his eyes on what was unseen, on things of eternal value.  His ultimate hope was not just to be healed of cancer, but rather no matter what happened to him, his hope remained completely rooted in the salvation that he had through Christ Jesus.  And because of that hope, he did not lose heart.  Though outwardly his human body wasted away, each and every day he was renewed by his hope in the Lord.  In that passage, Paul talks about “light and momentary troubles”.  This is said by Paul – the Apostle Paul – the man who was beaten, shipwrecked, and imprisoned.  Ryan also considered his troubles to be light and momentary – the radiation, the countless rounds of chemo, the side effects from medication, the loss of physical strength.  However, both Paul and Ryan considered that their present sufferings were not worth comparing to the glory that would be revealed in them.

And that, my friends, is the very essence of what Living in High Definition is all about.  Eternal perspective.  I would like to share some of Ryan’s very own words from a blog that he wrote in March of 2012.

"Some days this cancer and the future feel overwhelming. I may very well have a lot of pain and suffering in my future. I may have the loss of dreams and goals and hopes. Continuing to work at being obedient and living our faith out is hard, very hard at times. Yes as bad as all this feels - what must Glory be like? If it makes this hell that we are going through seem "light and momentary" - what must eternity be like! Chew a moment on what could possibly make shipwrecks, beatings, imprisonments, poverty, sickness, and more seem "light and momentary". How does that not motivate us to do everything we can to honor God?

That is Living in High Definition. To see every situation and circumstance through an eternal perspective. Fixing our eyes on what is unseen, what is eternal! I can relate to Paul's feeling a death sentence, but I'm also starting to understand the incredible future that is called Heaven. It doesn't just give me peace, it drives me to serve Him more and more."

Ryan chose to see life in high definition.  To trust God.  To obey Him.  To honor his family and to choose not to stress about things that were temporary.  It was not always an easy decision to have eternal perspective or to be obedient.  But time and time again, Ryan and I said aloud to each other – to live in high definition is ultimately a choice.  It’s a choice that sometimes has to be made even several times a day.  But all it is, is a choice.  And when trials come, as they so often do, a person that lives life in high definition is going to be able to stand tall, as Ryan did, and handle trials with grace and dignity, knowing that Scripture promises us in Romans 5 that “suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”

I know my husband very well.  I know that he would be so touched by the fact that so many of his friends and family and supporters came here today to remember him and to support his wife and his family members.  He would laugh at our jokes, and he would add several of his own, and some of those jokes would probably border on inappropriate.  But he would also ask these questions: What do you believe?  Why do you believe it?  And if you have faith, what are you going to do with it?  Are you going to use your faith to impact the world, or are you going to hide it under a rock?  And when circumstances happen: does your faith define your circumstances or do your circumstances define your faith?  He would want every single person here to know that it is possible to live life in high definition.  It first takes faith in Jesus Christ.  And then it takes total surrender to God’s purposes for your life.  Life will not always be easy – it wasn’t for Ryan.  But Ryan finished his short life well, and I imagine that as he entered heaven and kneeled before the throne, his Heavenly Father touched his beautiful dark hair and looked into his warm brown eyes, and said, “Well done, good and faithful servant.  Welcome home.”

I miss him more than I ever could have imagined.  My husband, my best friend, my son’s father, our inspiration, cowboy, comic relief, brother, son, grandson, nephew, friend.  He has truly left a legacy so deep and so wide that the world will remember him for years to come, and even more importantly – Colton will keep learning the rich spiritual lessons that Ryan so bravely taught in the midst of his illness.  Ryan will have left more of a legacy in his short life than many people do in a full life.  Although I ache for the profound loss that my son and I will acutely feel for years, I do rejoice today in knowing that my best friend is safe in the loving arms of Jesus, where he will remain for eternity – and because I have the same hope that he had, I will once again see him before long.

Until we meet again, cowboy.  I love you.