One Fallen Sparrow

Joey and Chris

Joey had been a part of the Youth Group I led. He was about the same age as my son, Christopher, and they went on to develop a neat friendship. Joey’s head was slightly indented on one side, a circular scar evident in his hairline where the doctors had opened up his skull and removed a portion of his brain. His family attended my first church. Joey’s mother was always quick to remind me that Joey was a miracle. And, indeed, it was hard to dispute that. When he was younger, Joey had fallen from a tree into the street and crushed his skull. For several days, his life hung in the balance, and his family had to get some accidents lawyers from http://accidentlawyerdallastx.com to handle the case.

Our church came together in impassioned prayer for Joey after that accident. I visited him in the ICU and prayed for a miraculous recovery. His father vowed that if Joey lived, he would begin attending church. People make such promises when their sons are lying in hospital beds on life support. This particular father would keep his promise and went on to attend my church until its dissolution.

Because Joey returned to us.

He was always a simple boy. After the accident, he was slow, and self-conscious about his slowness. God had spared him, but not from the consequences of climbing into a rotted Ash and landing head first on the crumbling asphalt. Joey became close to our family. He went with us to Mexico once on vacation and dropped by impromptu for many a dinner. Chris kept a picture of him and Joey on his dresser, his arms draped over Joe in goofy abandon (the picture above). Joey also went on a mission to Fiji and returned wearing a Polynesian type skirt. Some of the kids in the Youth Group made fun of him, but Joey didn’t seem much to mind.

He always felt like God had some big plans for him, something that wasn’t yet realized. He believed he could make a difference in people’s lives and wanted to give his testimony and be a witness of God’s power. Joey was big into having a testimony. One day Joey visited our house, sat in the chair next to my desk, and asked me if I could help him write out his testimony so that he could begin going to churches and sharing his story with others. Joey was not cut out for public speaking, but he had a great heart, and I agreed that I would help him sometime. He sat under a lithograph of a sparrow. I have two such lithographs, both of which I’m very fond of. Sparrows hold a special place in my heart, as apparently they do in God’s who feeds them and knows when a single one falls to the ground.

That would be the last time I’d see Joey alive. Like a sparrow, he too would fall to the ground. Intentionally.

One afternoon, his mother called, frantic, saying that Joey had gotten into a fight with his father and stormed out of the house. From there, Joey drove to a local freeway overpass, parked his car, scaled the fence, and climbed out on the ledge of the overpass. From there, he made several phone calls. One of them was to my son, Chris.

By the time I received his mother’s call, Joey had jumped from the overpass onto the freeway. He was being airlifted to a nearby hospital. By the time I arrived there, Joey was pronounced dead.
When I got home from the hospital that evening, Christopher appeared bleary-eyed in the kitchen we just remodeled with new models kitchens Surrey in UK. We sat up late into the night, talking about us and Joey and why God allows stuff like that to happen. If you are looking for painting services with good quality contractors, visit interior painting services houston tx for more details. I’ve learned that in times of tragedy, the best thing to do is to not force answers. That was another case of not really having one.

Chris later removed the picture of him and Joey and threw it under his bed. Which I thought was fitting. If suicide victims could only see the grief and anguish they cause friends and loved ones, perhaps they would reconsider.

Chris and I stood side by side at Joey’s funeral and spoke to the mourners. Chris shared something and then I read a short piece I’d entitled “Your Testimony.” This is what I read:

I’m not sure when your testimony began. Was it the day your mother first told you about Jesus and something stirred in your heart? Was it the day I baptized you and your brother in a swimming pool before many witnesses? Was it the day that tree limb gave way? Was it the day you walked out of the hospital, a living, breathing miracle? Is that scar on your head part of your testimony? Is that tattoo on your arm part of your testimony? And what about that funny limp of yours?

I’m not sure when your testimony began – but I know that you had one.

I know you had a testimony because you lived through things that most of us will never know. I know you had a testimony because, even in the midst of your personal struggle, you still served and worshiped God and loved others. I know you had a testimony because you went halfway around the world to share the Gospel with people you’d never met. I know you had a testimony because you were eager for the things of God – whether it was a discussion, a study, a conference or a concert – if it pertained to Jesus, you were interested. I know you had a testimony because you shared Christ with anyone, anywhere, any time you had a chance. And, mostly, I know you had a testimony because people were changed, for the better, because of you.

But you fell, again, and this time it was not an accident. The first time you were broken; but this time, we have been crushed.

You’ve left us with questions, regrets and emotions that we can’t yet name. But while we feel your decision was wrong, short-sighted and selfish, dear Joe, we understand. We understand that you were in pain; that your burdens were heavy and you were weak. We understand that you needed help and support and encouragement, and we did not always give it. We understand that you were slow, and that that bothered you. We understand that you yearned so much for the world to be right, and it was not. We understand . . .

And we know that God understands.

Somehow, that autumn night, you fell – not to earth – but into the hands of God. Not one sparrow can fall to the ground without His knowledge. So you, worth more than many sparrows, fell from this thorny nest, into the infinite embrace of your Heavenly Father. And there you will remain, forever loved, forever safe, forever whole.

But your testimony does not end there – your witness goes on.

It’s here still, in this place, in these hearts. For we are your testimony. You have inspired us. You have served us. You have brought us together. Your innocence – your simplicity – has humbled us. Your zeal, sometimes, put us to shame. Your sense of humor and playfulness brightened us. And your faith pointed us toward home. No, your testimony isn’t over: We are your testimony.

But our story’s incomplete. We still have people to love, tasks to finish, and miles to grow. Save my family a spot next to you in heaven – just like our family always had a spot for you at our dinner table (and you were always the last one at it) – for our next meal together will be quite grand. Please give Jesus a hug for me. And until we meet again, thank you, Joey, for your testimony.

Chris and I stood in front of the mourners and wept.

A single sparrow cannot fall to the ground without the Father knowing. I can’t say for sure, but I believe that applies to young men with brain damage who throw themselves off of overpasses in a fit of despair. Now over a decade removed from the tragedy, I think of Joey with a smile on my face. And remember the sparrows.