I often think about the people God put around me in my life. I’m obviously not the center of the universe, but sometimes, when I think about all those who have looked out for me throughout my life, it’s hard not to feel like that.
There’s an individual in my life who played a critical role at two of the most important junctures in my life. He was a dear friend, coach, mentor.
What’s so funny is, Coach Gonzalez never actually coached me. Jessie Gonzalez was the athletic director at my high school. Coach Gonzalez got close with most of the teams he looked over as athletic director. The basketball program was no exception.
My senior year at Cimarron we went to a tournament in Hawaii. Coach Gonzalez came on that trip to “watch” us, or chaperone, I guess. On that trip, Coach Gonzalez went from Coach Gonzalez to Gonzo, or just Coach.
Gonzo looked out for me throughout high school. Many don’t know this now, but I needed a lot of looking out for at that time.
I had bonded with Gonzo a bit on the Hawaii trip, but he wasn’t someone I would have considered a close friend or confidant. That is until I really, really needed someone to talk to. Then he was there, at the most difficult time of my life. Somehow, for reasons I won’t understand until I see the bigger picture, Gonzo was the phone call I made. He helped me through some very difficult things. I look forward to speaking to God, and Him showing me how critical that moment was. I look forward to seeing why Gonzo was there at that precise moment, and why God made sure I reached out to him.
We stayed in loose contact as I left high school.
Gonzo had a few of us he took under his wing and looked out for. I felt truly blessed to be “one of his boys.”
After high school, this fascinating thing happened where the roles Gonzo played in my life morphed. He went from 100% mentor to 50% mentor and 50% friend. Gonzo was only 11 years older than me. Not that many years, in the grand scheme.
In 2015 I went to a birthday party in Houston. It was a relative of Gonzo’s and made no sense for me to be there. It was really just an excuse to go to Houston and see Gonzo, who had moved to Michigan, and I hadn’t seen since high school. That trip is so memorable. I’m not going to elaborate any further. During that trip Gonzo stayed a 50% mentor but also became one of my closest friends, a lifelong friend.
The second, extremely critical cross roads in my life- I was trying to return to church. Who did I turn to? Who talked me through a year plus of difficulty, repentance, trials, temptations, questions, doubts, uncertainties? Countless hours were spent on the phone with him. He was going to see me through.
Gonzo isn’t a member of my church. He’s a member of a grander organization. He’s a brother and an angel that was here to look over me and guide me. I’m not sure I’d be an active member of my church today without his guidance. That was the power of Coach. He didn’t need to be a member of my church to help me with something so important. He only needed to listen, love me, help me.
Another moment I’ll never forget, I was only a couple months into trying to return into activity in the Church. Satan was hard at work in those first months. I could go on and on about what he put before me during those months.
One of those temptations was a staycation at my favorite place at the time, Talking Sticks Resort. I was still playing poker. During this weekend that TSR gave me a free suite to stay in, there was a huge summer pool party. My room overlooked the pool, of course.
Imagine me for a moment. Just a couple months into not drinking. Here I am at Talking Stick Resort, in a super nice room, overlooking a pool filled with beautiful people and all my temptations. I was literally in the great and spacious building. I had alcohol in the fridge. For those who don’t know this feeling, I can’t describe the pull. I don’t have words to describe the need to drink alcohol, go to the pool, let myself fully embrace this staycation.
I had worked so hard. I was going to church and making good choices. Surely, I could give myself this one weekend, right?
I was going to drink and join this party. There was really no doubt. As much as I told myself I wouldn’t, I was going to.
I can’t remember if I called him. There’s a chance he called me. I talked to Coach Gonzo. In true Jessie fashion, he didn’t tell me not to drink. He talked me through it. He told me it was a choice I had to make. He reminded me how hard I’d worked to return to church and stop drinking.
Then, almost nonchalantly, as if an afterthought, Coach said the most critical thing. He said, “You can drink and get wild and crazy, but man, after not drinking for as long as you’ve gone, tomorrow is going to suck. That hangover is going to be bad. Hangover aside, how are you going to feel about yourself in the morning?”
That was all I needed to hear.
For those wondering, I did join the pool party. I hung out, walked around. I didn’t embrace the party. I owe Jessie, Coach, Gonzo for that. I may owe him my now 5 years of sobriety.
Jessie Gonzalez left this stage of his coaching journey 6/8/21. He had some new people to coach and mentor, and he couldn’t do that here. I will miss him dearly. I already wonder who I will turn to when I need to be guided through the next trial. Part of me thinks he could move on because he already got me to the point where I can take care of myself. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t need him anymore. The greater and more comforting truth is that you always need a mentor and friend like Gonzo, and he’s still there for me, more than ever now.
He was light. And he was joy. Nobody brought together a room like him.
He protected me from harm while here, both physically and spiritually.
I thought of something interesting last night. It hit me that Gonzo likely, just recently, had his life review. It brought me so much joy to think of him getting to see all the good he had done. I considered him getting to see every moment he impacted me and how big a role he played in my life. I thought about the net of goodness and light he spread while he was here.
It brought a smile to my face to know that he got to see his Savior. He was embraced, and loved, and free from the difficulties of this world.
He can coach in purity now, for, a purer heart there never was.
I miss him a lot now. Though I can’t hear his voice or see his face, he’ll continue to be with me, coaching from above. I look forward to the reunion.
I love you Jessie, Coach, Gonzo, and I thank you for all you did for me.
I write this with as much humility as possible. Fully knowing and understanding my weaknesses have given me perspective. It is my faults and errors that make me feel like I can write this letter.
I remember when I came back to church I was asked to not take the sacrament for three weeks. It was one of the more difficult things I had to do, although it doesn’t sound like much. I think it was the moment I realized I had changed. Something that in the past might not have affected me too much, really hurt. It was difficult coming back and immediately feeling like maybe I’m not enough. Maybe I could have gone the route of resentment. Instead I realized how much I didn’t want to have to go through that again.
I don’t in any way imply I’m better than someone who can’t take the sacrament and does feel resentment. We all have our own paths. Mine was of being completely away, coming back, and realizing I deserved my three weeks. Some are never officially away so that state of probation seems unfair or not right. I understand that.
This is my letter to the sinner. A reminder, that includes all of us. This is the sinner who has made mistakes. This particular sinner might come from a perfect family and part of their struggle is feeling like they don’t fit in in the one place they should feel welcome. This sinner might feel judged by the very people that should love them the most. It doesn’t matter if those family, friends, and caring loved ones are right or wrong. It matters how the sinner interprets things. We all live our own experiences and encounter the world in different ways. We must, to the best our abilities, see the world in perfect light and perfect truth.
Here is my letter to a hypothetical sinner:
You will never be like the “perfect” people you see around you. You won’t. Your path has been set. Your path has been set partly by different “luck,” different experiences. Partly by your choices. My life was set by very bad choices. But now that I’ve come out of the other side, my joy is greater than I could have ever imagined. You won’t be “perfect”, but you’ll be who Heavenly Father sees you can be. You won’t be “better” than those who never made the mistakes you made, but you might be stronger. Your path will lead you somewhere wholly different. And if you decide you want to come through to the other side: to truly know your Savior, to know forgiveness, to know what being welcomed home feels like even if you don’t think you’ll ever deserve it – if you come to that other side with that relationship with your Savior, your testimony will be welded in steel, as hard as diamond. You’ll have gone through the refiner’s fire and come out united with He who gives all strength. This is no excuse to continue to sin. You know the light. You’ve seen and felt the light. I knew the light and I turned from it. I hope to help anyone not make the same mistake.
You will make mistakes. You will sin. But no matter what, you have to remember Jesus Christ. Because while the world will judge you and you’ll have to struggle with that, He will judge you with a perfect love and comprehension. Remember that those around you are trying to judge you with love. They’re trying to love you righteously. Jesus Christ doesn’t try. He is perfect love. Don’t forget it. Don’t forget that those around you whose points of view you can’t understand, they’re trying to be like Jesus Christ. They may be falling short. But that’s not for you to judge. Just as they can’t judge you, you can’t judge their intentions or efforts. Just love and do your best.
I’m sorry you have to go through trials. But do not lose sight of Jesus Christ. Do not. He is the only person true peace can come from. Whatever you do, whatever mistakes you make, do not forget HIM. He won’t forget you. I promise.
At this point I must apologize. Throughout this letter I’ve referred to you as “the sinner.” I know that phrase hurt the whole way through. I know it because I’ve felt it. I did it throughout the whole letter to get to this point. I want to remind you, “sinner” is not who you are. It will never be who you are. We all sin but that’s not what God and Jesus Christ see in us. No matter how many mistakes we make. No matter how many slip ups or downright wrong things you do, you are not a sinner. You are a child of Heavenly Father. You are growing. You are learning. I reiterate something I said earlier, this does not excuse your sin. Sin is wrong, you know that. Christ will see your sin. What means much more to Him is your repentance. He doesn’t see who you were but who you will be.
“God cares a lot more about who we are and who we are becoming than about who we once were. He cares that we keep trying.”
Elder Dale G. Renlund in April 2015 Conference talk “Latter-day Saints Keep on Trying”
Quick update on my recovery. Nothing short of a miracle. The cover picture you’ve already seen is my head and arm today. It’s amazing. Read to the end to see the healing my head has gone through. Be warned, it is NOT pretty.
There has been real fear that I would have a permanent divot in my head. Like a mini crater. It was a likelihood that I would have a permanent bald spot. There were concerns about it healing and sealing up properly. There were many concerns.
I never concerned myself with much of this. It was something Beth and others would discuss. For one, I’m old, married, with a kid anyways. I always thought a bald spot would bother me. Once you get old, who really cares. Secondly, I didn’t concern myself with it because I knew it would work itself out.
Where I used to fear touching because there was a hole and I didn’t want to fully know what was going on back there, is now just a scab. Where we thought I might have a permanent crater and baldness, you can’t even tell there is an injury. My hair has grown long and now it blends in with the scab that has filled in my head.
There was some concern about how my arm might heal. I briefly had thoughts about whether the healing skin would tighten up and restrict movement. It’s my shooting shoulder! I set aside those concerns. It would heal or it wouldn’t. I wish I had the poetic ability to properly describe how it has transformed. From extremely painful, you’ve seen the pictures, to basically looking like a scratch. As of right now, it looks like I got a mild sunburn.
The third thing aside from my head and arm that was a concern was the helicopter bill. Our initial bill was for $46,198.50. You can imagine this would cause some amount of stress. I can say that Beth was pretty stressed about it. I say this with little pride, I like to think she was positively affected by my calm outlook. This is more due to our different demeanors than anything. It’s something I’ve written about before. Where Beth is pragmatic and planning, I like to think God will take care of it. See The Chance of Faith for more on that. God is likely more on Beth’s side. But I was not worried. We would have to pay it, or we wouldn’t. Either way, God was watching.
Despite my lack of worry and naïve, innocent belief that all would work out, I was still not looking forward to paying $46,000. For that reason, it was quite a relief when, after Beth’s work with forms and paperwork, our bill was dramatically decreased. I won’t give the exact amount, leave some intrigue, but I will say the decrease was ridiculous.
What’s the moral of the story?
I’m lucky?
Yes, I am.
I mentioned when I was on the ATV my brother gave me a priesthood blessing. I asked him 3 days after the accident what he said in the blessing. He replied that I was blessed that I would heal, and Beth wouldn’t lose me anytime soon. Again, my healing has been nothing short of miraculous. Anyone who has seen my head progress over the past 6 weeks is blown away. It’s unbelievable.
Am I lucky?
Yes, I am.
When I was 25 years old, I was ordained an Elder and given the Melchizedek Priesthood. I was so excited I invited every person I knew to be there. I was receiving the power and authority of God, to act in the name of Jesus Christ. I could heal, bless, baptize, and give the gift of the holy ghost. It was the most important moment in my life at that point.
Here is my testimony. The priesthood is the power and authority of God gifted to His children here on earth. When my brother laid his hands on my head and blessed me with health, it wasn’t the average prayer. The power that coursed from his hands to my bleeding head, the authority I myself had given him just months prior, that power literally healed me. That blessing was in affect and ordained by God. My brother worked hard to be worthy to bless me in that moment. That blessing came from heaven.
The priesthood authority is not mythical. It is not imaginary. It is a real power to act in God’s name. When I was blessed on that ATV, I was healed. I know it as sure as I am still breathing and typing this.
It’s a miracle how I’ve healed. I couldn’t heal like this without divine authority. I couldn’t heal like this unless God intended it to be. I was blessed by his power and authority. Why was I at peace throughout this process? Because 3 days in I asked my brother what he blessed me with that day. When he said, “you’ll heal,” I knew it would be. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.
I can’t thank my Heavenly Father enough for what he has blessed me with. Last week I was able to bless my daughter with the same priesthood authority. I know the blessing I gave my daughter was ordained by God and will also be in full affect. I can’t thank God enough for the priesthood He has blessed me with. How it blesses my life and my family’s life every day.
I know that the authority to act in God’s name must come by the proper channels. I know that Joseph Smith was visited by Peter, James, and John and given the keys to this priesthood power. I know the Church of Jesus Christ was restored and we are blessed by His delegating those keys to us, to simple, flawed man. He has trusted us with power. I am grateful to Joseph Smith for restoring the priesthood power and authority. I’m grateful for every blessing I’ve received and given in my life.
I know that God has authorized this. I look forward to the day when I can kneel before him in humble amazement and ask how He could love us so much, that He would give us all He has.
This my testimony in the sacred name of Jesus Christ.
________________________________________
I will provide some picture evidence of the miraculous nature of my recover.
*****WARNING*****
Please don’t keep scrolling if you get queasy easily. These are pictures I refused to look at until today. You can call me a wimp, but I had to step outside for some fresh air after seeing them. You’ve been warned.
“We need to wait for a helicopter. It’s 2 hours by road to the nearest hospital. You might have internal bleeding in your brain. You might die before we could get you there.”
I was in the back of an ambulance for the first time. It’s an interesting thing to wonder if you’re being melodramatic about dying and then being told by an EMT that you might die. It becomes a real possibility, if it wasn’t already.
My family rented ATVs over the weekend. We rented a cabin and stayed in Duck Creek, near Cedar City, Utah. We had the ATVs for four hours. My family went out first while Beth and I stayed at the cabin with Ivy. Then Beth and I swapped in for my mom and sister.
There were nine of us total and three ATVs. Two of the ATVs held four people and one of them held two. When Beth and I swapped in I drove with Beth in the front seat, my dad and brother in the back seat. We drove to Mammoth caves and explored. After 30 or so minutes looking at the caves, we went back to the ATVs to off road for our last 90 minutes before the ATVs had to be returned.
Moments before the accident
Beth hadn’t driven so we made her drive. My brother Garrick and his girlfriend Arielle rode in the back. We reminded Beth that if you’re not flipping the ATV you’re not trying. My uncle Jon led in the two-seater and my brother Dresdan drove the other four-seater behind them. We took up the rear so Beth could go at her own pace and not feel the pressure of Dresdan bearing down on her.
I had one glove off because I was eating airheads from my pocket. Beth was driving as cautiously as expected and the other two vehicles got ahead of us. I had a thought cross my mind: ‘I bet it would be safer to have no seatbelt on. It would probably be safer to be thrown out of this thing than stuck and crushed inside of it.’ I did have my seatbelt on. That thought I had was undoubtedly wrong.
I’ll describe what I remember next. Then I’ll tell the whole story from the perspective of those who stayed conscious throughout.
We were coming up on a turn. We were not going that fast. I had driven with much more reckless abandon when I was behind the wheel. We came up on this turn and Beth began to break and then we started to tip.
The next thing I remember was feeling pinned down and stuck. I couldn’t see anything. But I was stuck. My arm couldn’t move. I believe I started yelling.
The next thing I remember was the feeling of flipping over.
I still couldn’t see anything.
The next thing I remember was hearing crying and screaming from Beth. I told her I was going to be ok. It was going to be ok. I still couldn’t see anything.
The next thing I remember was moving. Jon was in the driver’s seat next to me. Someone was behind me holding something down firmly on my head.
It is fascinating how the brain works in moments of trauma. How was I thinking so clearly?
I asked if an ambulance was called and was told yes. It occurred to me, we drove way out into these trails. We were at least 30 minutes from anything. I asked who was behind me. Dresdan. It crossed my mind: the firmer whatever is on my head is being pressed down, the more likely I am to survive. I asked Dresdan to push down harder. He did, and it hurt. I asked him to push down less hard. I put my hand up and held it myself and asked Dresdan to support on top of my hand. I felt him start checking my neck and spine with his other hand. I put my right, gloved hand out the window and started flexing my fingers. I was tapping my legs repeatedly. I was acutely aware of the importance of staying awake.
I was staring through the windshield and thought I saw a crack. I stared harder and realized there was no crack, my vision was getting blurry. I was so tired. I told Jon and Dresdan that my vision was getting blurry and I was very tired. I told Dresdan to talk to me. He said something to me, and I can’t remember what it was. It wasn’t a conversation starter. I put my hand on Jon’s leg and squeezed. He put his hand on mine and held it. I asked Dresdan about the book I’d given him to read. He told me it was good and that I’d really like the one he gave me for Christmas. I talked about the book he had just read briefly, then got quiet. I was awake enough.
I asked Dresdan to give me a blessing. It was too loud. He would have to yell it. The talking I’d already done had made my head throb. I asked him to quietly give me a priesthood blessing.
I’ve always wondered how I would react at the prospect of death. It’s easy to say you don’t fear dying but what about when you actually might die?
I’ve always hoped there would be no fear, just faith.
On a destroyed ATV, soaked in my own blood, I learned the answer. I wasn’t afraid to die. While I wasn’t afraid to die something kept coming to my mind on repeat. My daughter is 6 weeks old. I want to see her again. Beth was driving, she can’t live with this guilt. I love my daughter more than anything in the world, I need to see her again. I love Beth so much and can’t have her live with this pain. I want to see my daughter again. I love my wife.
Beth’s cries in that moment of blackness were in my mind. I could hear her grief. Could she live with this? I might die. Probably not. I was conscious. I was awake. Dresdan was keeping pressure on the wound. I would be fine.
But what if I wasn’t?
In that moment I confirmed what I’d always known. The two most important things in this world are God and family. In that moment I prayed relentlessly. I believe the blessing and my prayers kept me awake. What else mattered in that moment but God and my family?
Nothing.
I wanted to see my mom again, I wanted to see my dad again, I wanted to see my brothers and sisters. More than anything I wanted to see Ivy again. It hit me, maybe I wouldn’t. I realized, just in case, I should say something that needed to be said. I told Jon he had to tell Beth that I was ok, and it wasn’t her fault. It was an accident.
We came to a crossroads in the trail. I remembered where we had come from and told Jon. Adie and Jared drove up in the two-seater and told Jon to follow them to the main road.
We got out to a main street and started driving. We came to an intersection and there was the ambulance. We pulled into a dirt lot. I was surrounded by people I didn’t know. I was asked a lot of questions. They cut my clothes off of me and told me not to move my neck if I could help it. I was able to get my seatbelt off. They asked if I could get to the stretcher. I said I could with some help. I took the couple steps to the stretcher and they buckled me in. As I was taken to the ambulance, I saw Beth. Her eye was extremely swollen. She said she was ok. I was put into the ambulance.
This is where our story started. The EMT told me I might die.
Oh.
Ok.
It was real then.
Still no fear. Maybe that’s natural. Maybe the panic and shock takes precedence. I don’t know, I’ve only almost died this one time. The main EMT was a young blond guy. I asked him, “Are you a member of the church, you know, we’re in Utah right?”
He told me he wasn’t, he was raised in the church but had distanced himself from it. We had a conversation about the comfort I felt having that hope. He told me that hope was a powerful thing. He told me that hope told me that even if I died today, I would see my daughter again. He told me the other EMT in the ambulance was a member of the church.
I was told we had to wait for a helicopter. The drive was too long. I might die on the way. We had to wait. I was tapping my toes repeatedly. I was doing it to stay awake. I asked the EMT, Aidan, if it was ok. He said it was a panic response, my anxiety was high. He said it was natural, but if I could take some deep breaths and calm my body, that would help.
I haven’t been meditating all this time for nothing.
I took a few deep breaths and felt my body relax. He said my vitals (I don’t know, blood pressure?) improved and I was looking good.
They asked if I wanted my clothes that they’d cut off thrown out. I told them my garment top was there and it needed to be disposed of properly. Every person I saw from then on got the message that my garment top was present, and it was important it went with me.
The helicopter arrived and I was airlifted to the hospital. I asked the man sitting with me in the helicopter if he was a member of the church. He said he was just Christian. I told him we were part of the same family. He said he loves to discuss the differences. Oh, if I could have gotten his phone number.
In the ambulance they gave me pain medicine. What a difference that made. I was also told it was ok to sleep. I don’t know if I slept, I’m sure I at least dozed off.
At one point the man nudged me and told me we were going over Zion. I turned my head best I could and looked out. My first helicopter ride could have been better. Wasn’t the worst, though.
I arrived at the hospital and was wheeled in.
I can’t emphasize enough how kind every person was to me.
From Aidan, the first person I saw at the ambulance, to the helicopter, to the hospital. Every person treated me with love.
The next bit is a blur, so much happened.
I was given more pain medicine, my skull was numbed, they tried as best they could to clean out the wound in my head and arm, I did x-rays and a CT scan.
At one point a nurse told me something I did not want to hear. She tried to see if I wanted to hear it and I misunderstood and got much more information than I wanted. She could see my skull. Cool.
Eventually they determined I didn’t need surgery. Everything was good. They could staple me up.
The doctor counted 51 staples in my head, I counted 52. He said it wasn’t often they had to use a whole stapler. I was released the same day.
Sounds like it wasn’t that bad, right? You should see me now. My head has been leaking for three straight days and my shoulder is pretty morbid. I’ll put some pictures at the bottom for the sickos in the audience.
It all ended up being fine. I lived. I’m fine.
I should have died. If a couple things didn’t happen I wouldn’t have survived.
The parts that you (and I) missed. Apparently when the ATV flipped, my brother who was sitting back and to the left of me saw my body. He thought I was literally drowning in a pool of my blood.
The other two ATVs had stopped. They said something about knowing that was a slippery turn and wanting to wait. If the other two ATVs had gone on, I’m almost sure I would have died. Them stopping was the difference between me bleeding out in a tipped over ATV and living.
I firmly believe that I am protected by angels. Not just that day, but every day. I tell Beth often that God won’t take me a minute sooner than is my time. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that angels resided with me that day. I know the others were prompted by the spirit to stay. They were feet away when we flipped.
It is difficult to get a group of 8 people to do anything in a quick and organized fashion. Set aside the panic and fear that might have set in. I’ve never been more proud of my family than when I heard the steps they took to save my life.
My brother-in-law Jared heard me yelling and thought I was crushed. Every male in the group, my dad, Jon, Garrick, Dresdan, Jared and Easton immediately grabbed the ATV and flipped it over. Jon got in to drive. Dresdan got in behind me to keep pressure on my head. I learned later that Easton was in my ATV also.
Adie and Jared jumped in the two person ATV and drove off to get cell reception to call an ambulance.
The others got in the other ATV. Initially they were going to drive ahead also. Someone realized, since the other ATV had flipped, it might have an issue driving. They drove behind us the whole way in case the ATV I was still seat-belted into broke down.
Can you believe that? In minutes, every person in my family did exactly what was necessary. Without a moment’s hesitation they saved me.
The doctors at the hospital told me they couldn’t believe I still had my right arm. They told me they’d seen a ton of these accidents and almost every time the person’s arm is destroyed or gone. They said if I’d reached out my arm would be gone. I think the airhead I was eating might have played a part in saving my arm.
God and family.
It’s weird to look back on nearly dying.
I’m amazed at the peace I could feel in what should have been a terrifying moment. I knew if I was meant to die, I would. The only thing that mattered to me was that my wife knew I loved her and it absolutely, positively, was not her fault.
Leaving Ivy would have hurt. It would have hurt. It would have hurt. It would have hurt. But I know that she would have been so loved.
I know what’s important in this life. I’m grateful for trials and scary moments to reaffirm what I know.
God and family.
To all those that have prayed for me, thank you.
To the Hollerbach’s, thank you for sending us food the night we drove back from Utah.
Beth has been off the charts amazing since the accident. She is currently caring for a newborn and someone with a traumatic head injury. She drove us back from Utah, 7 hours, the very next day. I just wanted to get home.
Ivy slept the entire way. We had to wake her for the two stops to feed her. She would get back in her car seat and zonk out. God has blessed me with so much.
I feel it necessary, because Ivy will read this one day, to say something to her.
To my sweet girl when you were born my world stopped revolving around the sun. When I thought I might die, you were my first thought. I hope you never doubt how much I love you. You and your mom are the most important things in the world to me. Never doubt it. Because I did come close the other day. I know what’s important. I love you, Ivy. I love my family and I can’t say enough how grateful I am for them.
God and family.
The pictures below are kind of gross. View them at your own risk. I’ll keep the pictures I wish I never saw private.
No Coincidences 