when you were nine.

 Dear Mason,

We all watch you in a bit of awe. We always have. You are fast on your feet, you have strength that comes from deep within inside of your soul, and you're scared of very little. You're nine and yet, you're so much more than nine at the same time.

You test limits. You watch carefully. You push buttons. You don't give in or give up. Ever.

You are admired at age nine more than some are even thought of during the span of their entire life. And the funny thing is, you often doubt it.

You doubt your ability to do things in a way that shows you are a perfectionist just like someone else I know. You don't want to do anything you might fail at. You don't want to show weakness to anyone. You don't want to stand out, but at the same time without intentionally trying, you do.

You pull at the heart of your mama and the rest of your world with your eyes, with your smile, with your determination, with your lack of giving anything but 100% ... even if it's killing you inside.

Sometimes you even pretend you don't need help. You appear to have everything under control. You tackle things that don't always need tackling just to prove a point. And you definitely don't like to be wrong.

You don't rest very often. You never have. You are on the go from the minute you wake up until you lay your head down ... and within seconds, sleep finds you. You appreciate a good nights sleep, but love mornings.

You watch the world go by and I know, without a doubt, you are making this world better just by being in it. You are making my world better just by giving me a reflection of myself - even at your worst. I look at you, and I see myself. I see the person that everyone loves, but the person that has a hard time loving themselves truly and deeply - especially when they mess up or fail or let someone down. I see the people-pleaser who wants the best for everyone around them - sometimes at the expense of yourself.

I see the eyes that twinkle with something special. I see your love of life and I can only hope that through it all - you will see that you don't have to prove yourself to anyone. You're alive, you're living, and you're trusting in a God that you can't always feel or see, but you know is there. You're shining in a dirty and dusty world brighter than you even realize.

So Mason, my nine year old workaholic, stubborn, hard-headed, strong-willed son that loves to bring joy to the lives of others by helping and doing ... remember that when it comes down to knowing and feeling that you're worth something - you are.

You are a treasure and gift straight from God ... and His approval is all you will ever need. Enter His gates with thanksgiving in your heart and the rest of the world and everything in it will fade away.

You are enough - just as you are.

With thankfulness of who you are now and who you are becoming,

Mom

a branding iron.

There was this time in my life when I'm certain the only reason I knew what a branding iron was, was because of one of the various westerns my sister and I would watch on Saturday mornings as kids. The Rifleman, Bonanza, Big Valley, and Gunsmoke seemed to do it all for us. The more I think about it, I'm not really certain that there were branding irons on any of those shows, but if there were, that is where I saw them for the first time.

Approximately 30 years later and 5,428 episodes of any & all westerns that I could find on cable, I have found myself with my own branding iron (several in fact) - which are most often found in the hands of my very own cowboy that doesn't brand anything lightly.

When I watch him with a branding iron, it all makes sense. You see, when you're holding that iron in your hand, it means you have something worth owning and claiming with pride. It's a tool that shouts from a distance that you have raised some calves you're proud of. You want them to have your signature for life.

You have been entrusted with much, but at the same time, you know that to whom much is given, much is required and this task of raising cattle, well it's much more than just signing on a dotted line and walking away after putting in your time for a few months. It's a lifestyle. It's day in and day out - in the pouring down rain, on the windiest of days, and even when they're not in the pen directly below the house - where these animals you've branded with your signature require nothing less than the best of you.

I've also learned that even when you're surrounded by the best of help and the best of friends, if it's your branding, you are most likely the one with the iron in your hand. Everyone around you shuffles and hustles and gives all the strength they can muster up just for you. They value your branding day almost as much as you do, but in a different sort of way, and when it comes down to who holds the heat and gives the orders, well ... the 'boss' usually wins.

You know right where the iron goes. You know if it's on the left or the right and how high or low you need to go. You know how hard to push and you know exactly when to let go. You've learned that it's easier to be the one holding the iron, and everyone else agrees with you.

Most often from behind the lens of my camera, I've learned and experienced so much about branding irons and their power when heated that I can almost smell the singe, and hear the bawling just by looking at a picture. I can feel the heat, and taste the smoke and suddenly, I realize that this isn't a western on TV anymore, this is my life, this is my cowboy, and this is our signature that can't be erased.

Your Love Never Fails ...

There is this song that my family loves. 

It speaks so much truth about life & death ... and that we have nothing to fear because of God's great love.

I believe the words were the cry of our hearts as we said goodbye to Papa Roy on that beautiful day last spring.

Higher than the mountains that I face.

Stronger than the power of the grave.

Constant through the trial and the change.

One thing remains.

Yes, One thing remains.

Your love never fails ...

it never gives up ...

it never runs out on me.

Your love never fails ...

it never gives up ...

it never runs out on me.

On and on and on and on it goes.

It overwhelms,

And satisfies my soul.

And I never ever have to be afraid

Because One thing remains.

In death ...

in life ...

I'm confident and covered by the power of Your great love.

My debt is paid ...

and there is nothing that can separate my heart from Your great love.

Your love never fails, it never gives up, it never runs out on me.

Your love ... never ... fails.

red balloons and some a cappella "I'll Fly Away" ...

Some bright morning 

when this life is over

I'll fly away 

To that home on God's celestial shore

I'll fly away 

I'll fly away, oh glory

I'll fly away

When I die hallelujah by and by...

the adventures of the Burley funeral coach ...

I wonder what it's like to have the keys to a "funeral coach" in your hands and your dad in the back?

I wonder what it's like to know that the ride you're about to take is one not many people in the world get to experience, let alone navigate?

I wonder what it's like to wave at your boys sitting in the car next to you - knowing they're carrying the love of your life to a beautiful countryside cemetery?

I wonder about a lot of things that happened for these 4 very special people who were saying goodbye to a man they loved, a man they treasured, a man they had spent their lives with on that beautiful sunny day.

But even as I wonder, I have this peace inside my heart and soul that knows this day was absolutely perfect in every sort of way.  Because even as we were saying goodbye, their was so much joy in every moment. Even through the tears, joy won.

My family was more than blessed that day to be the ones holding the keys and the ones that showed the rest of the world that saying goodbye doesn't have to be an occasion without fun. No, it's far from depressing when you know that my Papa was smiling down from heaven when the funeral coach headed south towards Coupeville, watching his boys lead a procession of cars filled with the people he loved and the people who loved him right back.

** My Aunt Merrie and Uncle Mark owned and operated the Burley Funeral Chapel for many years ... and so when my Papa Roy died, they were able to work some magic and give my Uncle Terry and my dad the opportunity to take their dad on a ride of a lifetime - a ride that none of us will ever forget we witnessed.