I don’t know why it happened. I don’t know what happened. That’s why I’m writing it. Maybe writing it down will help me to understand.
It’s 1/2/25 at 9:00 in the morning. It’s my first day back at work in something like 2 weeks. I’m driving to a client’s office. I’m listening to a podcast called Y Religion. They’re discussing 50 relics of the restoration; 50 items from the time the gospel of Jesus Christ was being restored.
They mention a microphone used by Spencer W. Kimball. I love Spencer W. Kimball. He is one of my favorite prophets.
As I’m writing this, I’m remembering what they talked about before this microphone. What they talked about before this microphone was the original manuscript of Jesus the Christ written by James E. Talmage. They emphasized that the writing of Jesus the Christ, one of the most impactful books of my life, was inspired by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints attempting to re-emphasize its focus on what is most important: Jesus Christ.
The podcasters said sometimes the culture needs to be reminded of what our most important focus is.
I wondered if the Church needs that reminder again today.
I remember thinking that President Russell M. Nelson, a prophet today, is trying.
They talked about the microphone. Brad Wilcox, the provider of one of my all-time favorite talks/speeches/dissertations (His Grace is Sufficient) started talking about Spencer W. Kimball. He shared a story from when he was on his mission and for the first time would hear a radio broadcast of General Conference. Back in those days, certain countries only got Conference in written word months after Conference completed. Brad Wilcox as a young missionary was disappointed when the radio turned on and he realized it was just a translator. Of course it was a translator. The message needed to be broadcast to this particular area in Spanish.
Then, he said, Spencer W. Kimball came on the radio with his telltale, well-known scratchy voice. The small group of saints asked Brad, “Who is that????”
He replied, and as he told the story he choked up, “That is the prophet of God.”
On the podcast, they then started to discuss the sacrifice that Spencer Kimball went through – losing his vocal cords and continuing to preach, speak regularly, and guide God’s church.
I thought about that sacrifice.
What have we gone through?
Have we lost our vocal cords and then been asked to continue to preach?
I thought about that sacrifice. I thought about that prophet of God. I thought about that voice.
And while I was driving in the car, I was crying. I didn’t even know I was crying. I didn’t know why I was crying. I still don’t know why I was crying.
I started thinking about why I was crying.
They talked about the kindness of Spencer W. Kimball and how losing his vocal cords made him so gentle, so empathetic to the suffering of others.
I thought about my current calling as Elders Quorum President.
I thought about how much I fall short in that calling.
I thought about telling my quorum that I’m a bad ministering brother. But I try. And asking them, who are also bad ministering brothers, to also try.
I thought about all the suffering I’ve learned about in our ward since becoming president. I thought about all the loneliness and sickness and illness and suffering and heartache.
I thought about my daughters.
I thought about the client I was about to see and some of the personal things he had told me about his family when he invited me to a Suns game once.
I thought about the suffering of his family.
I thought about all the suffering my daughters would have to endure in this life.
And I asked why.
And I cried harder.
And I reminded myself of why.
We know the why. Luckily, I know the why. I’ve written about it here a hundred times.
And then I pulled up to a light. And I looked directly at a homeless man. And I thought about giving him a dollar. And I wondered if the light was going to change. And I thought about how I didn’t want him to have to limp over to me for a dollar. Then he started to limp over to me. And I let him pass. And I let him walk back by me. And I wondered if he had a drug addiction.
And I thought about all the suffering in the world.
And I cried.
I wrote this. And I still don’t know quite what it means.
I know the world is going to get a lot harder and there’s going to be a lot of suffering.
And I’m going to ask why, despite knowing the answer.
And I realize that sometimes knowing why will make it easier, maybe even help, and sometimes, maybe it won’t.
And I worry about my daughters.
And I worry about this world.
And I worry about all the lost and lonely people.
And I wonder why.
And I want Jesus Christ to come back so it can stop. I want to help. But my efforts seem so small and fruitless. I’m a bad ministering brother and a bad Elders Quorum President and I wonder, I can’t possibly be who God needs in this position now.
And I feel so small.
And I just want Christ to come back and fix it all.
But I know before that happens this all has to get a lot harder. It has to get so much harder.
And I worry.
And I have faith.
And I wonder if my faith is enough.
And I cry.
So I wipe my eyes and blow my nose, hoping the client can’t tell that I’ve been crying. And I go about my day, always with why in the back of my mind.
The other day I banged my knee against a bed frame so hard that I almost threw up. The pain was excruciating. Then I realized, why am I fine? I’m fine because I know the pain will end in the next couple minutes, then I’ll be fine.
I haven’t experienced tons of physical pain in my life. I’ve been very lucky in that respect. I imagine the worst thing about pain is not knowing when it will end.
What makes pain bearable is knowing it will end. It’s the not knowing that can be truly excruciating. For example, take even just the pain of a paper cut. If that painful cut was indefinite, meaning you felt the papercut for minutes, then hours, then days, just as intensely as that first moment when the cut happened, it would be horrible. Papercuts aren’t that bad because the pain passes quickly.
What about when you don’t know when the pain will end?
I think that’s the worst kind of experience. Again, I haven’t personally gone through that, so I can’t say from experience. But we’ve all heard stories of or know people with some sort of chronic pain. Pain that doesn’t end would be a challenge due to the mental exhaustion along with the physical pain.
I haven’t even gotten into mental or emotional pain. Those are different categories that can be completely different levels of unbearable.
If you’ve read a couple of my posts before, you know where this is going: The infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Did the pain Christ felt in Gethsemane feel infinite? I doubt “infinite” is even close to an adequate word for what Christ felt when he experienced the past, present, and future sins, sufferings, and pains of a universe.
41 And he was withdrawn from them about a stone’s cast, and kneeled down, and prayed,
42 Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.
43 And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.
44 And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.
I wonder if the uncertainty of time led to the ultimate request, “If thou be willing, remove this cup from me.”
It’s hard to imagine what Christ felt in those moments. The “infinite” Atonement of Jesus Christ. Did it feel infinite? Did it feel like it would never end? However it felt, it didn’t feel good.
18 “Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink.
19 Nevertheless, glory be to the Father, and I partook and finished my preparations unto the children of men.
I remind myself daily that Christ suffered what He did because He loves me. I owe Him everything. I’m grateful that He was willing to pay the price of my sins and to feel all my sorrows and pains so He can support and understand everything about me.
I hope during this Christmas season we remember what Christ did for us and why we celebrate Christmas.
One of the tragedies the trinitarian belief (that God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit are one being) has taken away is appreciation and understanding of God’s part of the sacrifice in the Atonement.
“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son.”
Doesn’t mean much if there isn’t actually a God giving up his Only Begotten Son, right?
We talk so much about the sacrifice that Jesus Christ did for us, for good reason. His Atonement paved the way for us to return home. He suffered, bled, felt the crushing pain of a universe of sickness, pain, and sin, and died for us. He did that. There’s reason we talk about Him. He is the only way to God, our Heavenly Father.
Speaking of God’s part in that sacrifice shouldn’t diminish what Christ Himself did for us.
I’m a father.
The other day Ivy was on the top of the couch and fell backward to the cushion. She wasn’t hurt at all. She was fine, but try telling her that. She was scared, and she was screaming and freaking out. She was fine, but she was still upset.
Now, if Ivy was really hurt, if she fell from the cushion down to the floor, I would have moved so fast. I would have been there. As it was, I stayed in my seat and tried to tell her how awesome a fall that was.
If Ivy or Sage are in real pain, I’m there.
I can’t imagine the torment, the suffering, the heart-wrenching anguish of watching my children suffer. I can’t imagine it.
God can.
God watched His Son be spit upon, scourged, beaten, slapped, ridiculed, and finally nailed to a cross to die a slow, painful, and seemingly humiliating death.
“I am a father, inadequate to be sure, but I cannot comprehend the burden it must have been for God in His heaven to witness the deep suffering and Crucifixion of His Beloved Son in such a manner. His every impulse and instinct must have been to stop it, to send angels to intervene-but He did not intervene. He endured what He saw because it was the only way that a saving, vicarious payment could be made for the sins of all His other children from Adam and Eve to the end of the world. I am eternally grateful for a perfect Father and His perfect Son, neither of whom shrank from the bitter cup nor forsook the rest of us who are imperfect, who fall short and stumble, who too often miss the mark” (“The Hands of the Fathers,” Ensign, May 1999, 14).
What I realize is that God knew His Son. He knew Jesus Christ was going to fulfill His destiny. He knew what His Son, Jesus Christ, would do on the cross. LIke me on the couch, knowing Ivy was ultimately going to be OK, God knew Jesus Christ would be OK. He knew that Christ so loved us, that He would suffer it all for us. Why did God do it though? Why didn’t He send angels to intervene? Wouldn’t that be what a loving Father would do? He didn’t intervene because He so loved the world. The world is us. He loves us so much that He was willing to suffer this pain of watching His Son suffer. The ultimate sacrifice, of Father and Son.
If that doesn’t bring you to tears, I don’t know what will.
God loves you.
I don’t know how it all works. I don’t know how the celestial kingdom, heaven, a place of infinite joy and peace, can also have weeping. But I know that my God weeps.
Don’t let us forget that God suffered that day too. He suffered an anguish hardly imaginable. The anguish of watching His only begotten in pain.
In the case of the suffering of Jesus Christ, the payment had to be made to save us. In some grand cosmic mystery that I don’t yet understand, we can’t return home until we are perfected through the blood of Christ. God allowed that sacrifice, and contributed His sacrifice, because he loves the world. He loves us.
I believe God does weep over the evil, heartache, pain, suffering, and sadness in this world. He weeps over sin. He weeps over us.
But ultimately, we have fallen to a soft cushion. We are safe. We are secure. We are secure in the blood of Jesus Christ. We are secure only because of Jesus Christ and what He did for us.
While God wants to come comfort us, He doesn’t stop suffering because we’re still on the couch cushion. And if it helps us grow, does that make it any easier for Him to watch us suffer? Maybe. I knew Ivy wasn’t really suffering. I knew it was temporary fear she felt. I was always there for her.
This is my reminder to you: God is there for you. He will never leave you. He is always aware of your hardships. In addition to God, Jesus Christ isn’t only there with your hardships, He already felt your hardships. He understands it all, because He felt it all.
God loves you. Jesus Christ loves you. They love you so much that they sacrificed for you. Don’t forget that. It will give you strength.
Since I wrote that dramatic post about my near death it’s probably good etiquette to write a follow up about how I’m recovering.
The human body is a truly extraordinary thing. Blows my mind that some people think this thing that has a trillion parts working perfectly together can have fallen together like a puzzle from the sky. My healing has gone extremely well. It’s gone so well that Beth has had to remind me on multiple occasions about the seriousness of my accident.
Seriously. I think about what happened, and it doesn’t coincide with how smoothly my recovery has been. That’s not to say it’s been a complete walk in the park. There is a fair amount of pain, my head is constantly leaking, my arm hurts. All in all, it’s not that bad.
The truth is, my comfortable recovery may be due in large part to my on-staff nurse (I love you!). Beth has been the most attentive, caring, helpful person ever. Sometimes I wonder how she’s caring for me and a newborn all at the same time. Beth has daily and sometimes multiple times a day re-dressed my wounds. She’s taken off the bandages, helped clean, re-anoint, re-bandage my head and shoulder at least once a day since I was hurt. No wonder I’m healing well.
There was one night that was extraordinarily painful. The fifth night I think it was. We had wrapped my arm and shoulder like normal. Over the course of the night it itched and stung and hurt. Around 11pm I unwrapped the wound. I applied more ointment which didn’t help. Then I made a potentially grave mistake. We have some antiseptic numbing spray that in bold red letters on the bottle says “NO STING.” The greatest act of false advertising in the history of false advertising. The only defense I can think of is maybe they claim it’s no sting, instead it BURNS. It hurt so bad.
I spent four hours basically pacing around in pain. It’s crazy, a gaping head wound and it’s the road rash that is hurting, by far, the most.
Again, I feel extraordinarily blessed with how I’ve improved. I even worked a half day the first week. I would have worked another half day if not for the great night of burning arm. I attribute my recovery, apart from my visible angel here with me (Beth), to the same thing I attribute my life. I believe God and angels I can’t see are attending to me daily.
I want to thank everyone for their support while I’ve been hurt. It’s heart-warming to get messages of love and care from so many people.
In my last post I talked about the two things my mind rested on. God and family. There’s something that wasn’t said that I want to make sure is extremely clear. Family doesn’t only mean blood family. We’re all family here and while I’ve been blessed with the most amazing blood family, in-laws, wife, and daughter, it’s my extended, non-blood family that feels over the top.
As I’ve been hurt I’ve thought about all the people in my life that I can rely on. When I came to Arizona I moved away from all family. I didn’t know that I’d end up having so many people basically adopt me into their care. Friends that will drop anything to help me, offers for me to come over for holidays, help moving, help with my car. I was blessed with a roommate who’s family became my family away from home.
There are so many people I owe so much to.
This is personal, something I’ve never told anyone. In my prayers I often ask God what I did to deserve so much love? A loving family, loving friends. So many people that care for and watch out for me. It’s something I’ve asked often. I don’t know what I did to deserve so many amazing people in my life. All I know is I’m grateful for them.
So, thank you everyone for continuing to help us and watch over us. Thank you for the love. It means so much.
God and family.
____________________________________
Here is the progression of my arm healing (If you’re looking for day by day healing updates on my head, gross, go watch pimple popper videos). By the way, I’m not flexing in all those pictures, I still can’t fully extend my right arm:
Day 1
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 3
Day 3
Day 3
Day 4
Day 4
Day 5
Day 11
Day 11
Can’t end with mutilated arm pictures, to lighten things up:
“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 