Brandt's Funeral - From Tommy

 I am thankful to Tommy for leading Brandt's funeral last Sunday.  His thoughts are worth sharing as I feel they can be helpful to so many others in our country that are hurting right now.

We are gathered today to say our good byes to Brandt Ray Wilks.

On behalf of the family, I want to say thank you to those who are here to share in this suffering.  Your prayers, thoughts, and acts of kindness are so very much appreciated.

Brandt was born December, 2 1982 in Bryan, Texas and died in Toyah, Texas at the age of 30 on May 11, 2013.

Father God….I pray that you would be here with us today and the days to follow.  I ask for a special portion of your spirit, your comforter.  I pray for your protection—that your spirit would envelope and surround our hearts.

I pray for your spirit’s guidance. I pray that you would draw us to you, that you would draw us away from our sadness, from our regrets, from our anger, from our questions, from the past—draw us father to you.  Father I pray against Satan’s influence.  Give us wisdom and vision to recognize Satan’s attacks in our own lives….open our eyes to see your angels of mercy around us.  I thank you for your mercy and grace.  Thank you for your power to restore and to redeem—for your power over death.  For your desire to rescue and to resurrect.

I thank you for Brandt and for the gift of his life—for the time we had with him.  I thank you for the love that he had for each of us, for his sweet smile. In Jesus name, Amen.

Over the past few weeks we have had a chance to see tragedy upon tragedy.  Tornadoes destroy homes and lives, bombers wreak havoc on innocent victims, kidnappers hold victims hostage for years, and for those of us here, the loss of Brandt’s life.  As I reflected on all the tragedy of the past few weeks, I was reminded that this world we live in is really a war zone.  It is a true battleground—with casualties all around.

As we look at the last year of Brandt’s life we are reminded that Brandt himself was in the middle of this battleground.--the physical pain with his back, the emotional pain of the loss of his brother Aaron.

Life is hard!

Ephesians 6:12tells us…..

….our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

Sounds like a war to me. A war many times we don’t want to acknowledge.

For many here, the hardness of life may bring us to a point of numbness.  A numbness that helps us survive the pain buried inside.  Times such as today may allow us to purge those emotions-to release the pain we keep trapped inside.  Sometimes that pain is released with the sobbing in our closets or bedrooms.  Grieving itself just plan hurts.

Brandt’s death for those closest to him is tragedy upon tragedy.  I have no answers—no explanation.  I have no ability to take away the difficult days ahead.

I would suggest to you that two gifts from God can keep us going—hope and purpose.  Satan would have us believe today that hope is lost. Our God tells us there is hope in the midst of suffering…
     The God of the Israelites…held captive for hundreds of years

·        The God of Daniel thrown in the lion’s den

·        The God of Joseph in a well and in prison

·        The God of Noah trapped on a boat in the midst of a flood

·        The God of Moses wandering in the wilderness

·        The God of Paul stoned, imprisoned, beaten

·        The God of Jesus-betrayed, hanging on a cross, buried in a tomb

·        That same God—well aware of suffering wants us to hope in him.

    Hope that there will be a day when sorrow is no more.

Hope for the day when all of our mistakes and shortcomings no longer bear consequences

Hope for a tomorrow that can be less painful than today.

In addition to hope, we all need a sense of purpose in our lives.

Brandt’s death causes me to have a heightened sense of purpose for me to be a better uncle to a niece who has lost two brothers—a better Uncle to Jamie than I was to Brandt.  Jamie recently posted a picture of Brandt on Facebook holding his new nephew.  When I see that picture, I see purpose.  Aaron Jenkins and his cousins and their parents provide purpose.  They have needs.  They deserve what all of us can offer.  They deserve us to be family to them.

We will not find purpose in the past.  We can find purpose as we look to the future. 

In Phillipians 4, Paul says…

This one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, ¹⁴ I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. 

Not a single one of us should leave today without a sense of purpose.  I pray that we would all accept it.

One of my favorite country western videos of all time is set to a Garth Brooks song, The Dance.  Lines of the song read: 

I’m glad I didn’t know,

The way it all would end

the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance

I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance 

In the song we are reminded that when we embark on this journey of life--this dance with friends and family—brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, cousins, and spouses-- we could avoid a lot of pain, but to do so would come at a high cost.  We would miss the joy that comes from relationships.

So conjure up your fondest memories of Brandt….happy times or funny times, embrace those memories, hold those memories in your mind:

Playing catch, fishing, hunting, playing video games, hanging out, giving him a bottle, rocking him to sleep, opening Christmas presents, seeing the smile that would light up his eyes.

Enjoy those memories, rejoice in those memories, dance with those memories, keep hold of them and carry them with you….be thankful for those memories.  They are truly a gift.

If you would, please stand as we close with prayer.

Father we again thank you for Brandt and for the opportunity to dance the dance of life with him. We ask for your comfort, your peace, your grace.  Fill the voids in our hearts with your holy presence.  Remind us of our hope and purpose in you.  Restore our souls Father.  In Jesus name, Amen.

Love Is...Often Too Late ~ In Memory of Brandt

Brandt Ray Wilks

 There's a soulful, ghost of a line between hope and despair, between clinging to a tattered shred of faith, and releasing a grieving, broken heart to rest in peace.  It’s a blurry line that I, and others in my family, have come teeter tottering to the brink of, out of inconsolable disappointment with life. This morning, I wailed in agony for the loss of my nephew Brandt, for my own regrets that can never be undone, and for the never-ending stream of multi-generational consequences that have stalked our family.

If only I could have been there to help them through…if I’d taken them in to live with Tommy and me…if I’d muddied up my young, twenty-something life to make more of a difference. ‘If only’ echoed stone cold empty in my head as I sobbed uncontrollably in my friend’s arms this morning.  ‘If only’ didn’t help Aaron 14 months ago, and now, like a sickening déjà vu, I hear my mind screaming the same useless words for his brother Brandt.

Oh Brandt, little Brandt. I know you cherished Aaron who was so much more than your big brother, but a father, a mother, your protector, and your best friend.  He’s always watched over you and loved you, until last year when he broke your heart with his death.  I’m so sorry sweet boy, I’m so sorry for your pain. I’m sorry I failed to reach out more and that I didn’t help you find a way around the internal hell you endured.  If only...

Thank you, Brandt, for the compassion you always showed, for the way you bravely ministered back to Aaron the last year of his life. Thank you for your quiet attentiveness to help others sort through the memories after he died.  Thank you my precious nephew, for the comfort and hope you gave me last year…for the kisses on my head and the huge hugs you encircled me with when I cried.

Your strength and efforts to keep going while helping others through the chaos made such a difference to so many, and I never even told you.   And now I find myself speaking too late, when your life is no more, and my words sound more to me like a resounding gong, or a clanging symbol.  Love is…often too late.

To those of us grieving over the death of our dear Brandt, and to those who are reading these words in sympathy for our family. Please don’t wait one single moment more to show compassion and grace to family, friends, and strangers. Forgive those who have hurt you. Quit preaching, pointing fingers, and arguing about meaningless religious and doctrinal “issues.”  Release your regrets and embrace the present now, to make an eternal impact in the life of someone through love. Open the eyes of your heart to see another hurting soul teeter-tottering along that blurry line between life and death. Its time to simply, Be Jesus.

Aaron and Brandt

1 Corinthians 13: 1-7 If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge, and if I had such faith that I could move mountains, but didn’t love others, I would be nothing. ³ If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it;^[a] but if I didn’t love others, I would have gained nothing.

⁴ Love is...patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud ⁵ or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. ⁶ It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. ⁷ Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.

Duty Calls

This evening I walked out to the trash can to empty the vacuum cleaner canister.  The chilly wind gusted around me while bits of rain hung in the air, suspended as if contemplating crying, just like me.  The tears hid beneath a thin veneer, artfully masked by my daily life.  I try not to go “there,” ‘cause “there” is a scary place where I think too hard and catch a brief glimpse into the deeper thoughts that hover among the tears.  And tonight like the rain, I can’t decide if I’m gonna release the sadness and embrace that desire to finally be where I belong. Like salt in a wound, part of me burns with disappointment for what was and for what is to come. And I feel a tugging on my soul to forever join Him.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt totally connected to this life.  Maybe I’m an oddity, a genetic mishap 'cause I don’t fully participate in this world. A current of expectations has led me along from one year to the next, though.  I’m busy, yes, doing lots of mommy duties and Christian deeds.  I’m mostly present and accounted for, usually.  Tonight, though, not so much.  I feel the pull and sense His presence in a way that makes my soul ache to leave this earth.

Its not that I’ve not had joy along the way, glimpses of smiles, and contentment that sneak past my longing to be finished. I do, and I’m thankful for those spontaneous blessings…Lydia’s hugs and Andrew’s talk of miracles. Tommy fixed coffee for me this morning when I over slept, and last night I watched as Luke danced, uninhibited, back to his room. Mom brought me a roast tonight that I know she’d really cooked for Daddy.  Its not that I don’t see and appreciate those precious joys, they make me smile.

But it doesn’t fill me up for long.  Some days more than others I hear myself telling Him that I’m ready. I often tilt my face upward to scan the dark skies as though somehow if I gaze long enough, I’ll see him “up there” in the pitch blackness hiding among the stars. I don’t. Even so, I'm comforted by His intimate presence, knowing that He hears my heart's cry.

Tonight, I felt the chill of wind and rain along with an indescribable need to finally rest in my Lord’s arms. Duty called me back, though, from the edge of eternity, the edge of pure joy, to rejoin my family who still needed me. Regretfully, I walked back through the door to my temporary home.  But not without whispering out into the cold now raining night, “I love you Lord, with all my heart I love you…”

The Good Life Lie

This morning, or rather in the wee hours of this not so fine day, I tossed around with the beginnings of another headache.  Not a good time of course, with three little girls sleeping in the living room, needing to get ready and off to worship this morning. ‘Oh God, please no, not another one,’ I thought. 'This pain in my head and neck won't fit into today's schedule. Tommy will have to function on his own again…'

I slept off and on with the dreaded pain escalating to a full throttled migraine ‘till my alarm rang out its signal for me to get up. ‘No, this won’t do at all.’ I thought as I rolled over moaning with the need to vomit.  Old fears of ending up like my daddy, encapsulated within a body that won’t move, slithered back into my thoughts.  He’d had migraines too, most of my life, ‘till a massive stroke silenced the pain with a paralyzing blow to his brain.  And now I, feeling the throbbing in my head several times a month, worry that I’ll end up just like him.  No one really ever knew what happened that awful day, but suspected that recent migraines had been severe enough to cause spasms in his neck, temporarily blocking the blood flow through the vessels to his brain.

The phrase “the good life,” whatever that unattainable concept meant, rolled around in my head a few minutes ago, mocking me for my faith in God.  Where is this “good life,” Lord?  This life isn’t good.  The circumstances around me and the world are not good today.  Even with my complaining, I felt the Lord’s comfort resting there alongside my bruised faith and rumpled covers.  Prayers for my own pain relief soon led into prayers for so many others that have most likely been betrayed by the world’s advertisements for a “good life.”  Slide like pictures of them filed through my mind like movie clips without sound.  And so I prayed as they appeared, as if they were waiting in line with unanswered questions similar to mine.

Monique’s family…God please…minister to those remaining in absolute agony following her death only a week ago. Cancer and chemo had ripped away the last bits of her young life without mercy or thought to those left grieving. Now her husband, who had begged you for healing, is left to care for three young ones, all alone.

For Matt’s dad, who miraculously was brought back to life after weeks of existing in a state somewhere between the living and the dead. After a tremendous tug of war, the living won out and he was brought home. But not without sacrifice, and no where near completely healed.  Though thankful for his spared life, fear and anxiety remain behind as they face an unknown future.

Father God, for the families of our Kaufman County DA, his wife, and his assistant, gunned down just weeks ago…they are left with fear, anger, and unimaginable, heart- rending grief.  It sears clear through the children and friends, to the community left to seek justice from this senseless nightmare.

For my mom, Lord, who has gotten up each morning and gone to bed each night the last 28 years, feeling the full weight of responsibility for Daddy’s life within her hands.  Lord, her body and spirit are aching with fatigue from the load.

On and on the faces needing prayer came to mind till I believe God spoke clearly to my heart about some things.  I believe He let me know that the good life is not going to show itself within a trouble free existence.  It’s not a mirage of carefree, problem free, politically perfect, “I have everything I need to make me happy,” world. Somehow I need to reconcile the false belief that goodness and joy only follow after circumstances have adjusted to my liking. Believing in God and loving Jesus, don't provide stress free living, or steer me clear of the evil in this world.  "Goodness, or rather I," He said, "am found within the pain." 

Goodness was shown within the loving words spoken publicly by my heartbroken friends Karen and Merilee  during Monique’s funeral service yesterday. It bloomed within the ICU room of Matt’s dad, as many people praised God regardless of outcomes for his life. Goodness was found recently at the Kaufman court house  as people gathered around to pray not only for justice, but for salvation for those that killed Mark Hasse and the McClelland's.  And I too, experienced the good life just yesterday while pushing a grocery basket for my mom up and down the aisles of Brookshires, as she slowly filled her basket with items needed for the week. 

Yes, I believe God is telling me that the good life is possible. There's goodness in knowing Jesus is lying down beside me during a migraine, or even paralysis should that happen later on.  There was goodness in Tommy’s quiet service this morning as he got the kids ready for church without my help. It was shown while Andrew played his guitar during worship last Sunday morning. Instead of giving up, he’s graciously allowed God to lead him around his disease, without bitterness for what was lost. The “experience of goodness” that we all seek, is an intangible attitude about life that will allow Monique’s husband, with God’s help, to raise his young family without their mom. It will allow Matt’s dad to thrive in spirit and his mom to provide needed care no matter what level of health he achieves.

I’m thinking that having a “good life” isn’t going to just appear after things in life have gone my way. It’s not something to hope for with job promotions, retirement plans, or even healing of those I love.  It’s not meant to wait ‘till after the funeral is over, or when the killer is brought to justice, or after my abusers have confessed their sins against me. It isn’t something to anticipate in the future when such and so happens.  It's born in the present, from an attitude of acceptance of life as we know it.  It entails “seeing” the beauty of God’s spirit living, breathing, and reproducing unexplained joy, peace, and hope around, through, and in spite of the present circumstances we now find ourselves in.  

On Strike Till Further Notice

I need to write so badly Lord…please give me words so that I can empty my soul of the emotional turmoil that binds me like a strait jacket.  My world is a blur such that I think I just numbed out yesterday.  My body is still doing all the motions, my mouth speaks words that make the outside appear to be functioning.   But inside is reality. Inside there is chaos and fear.  Inside my mind is a whirl wind, no, more like a tornado, of thoughts that are exploding.

It’s odd how you start your week with a plan or at least an inkling of what is or should be.  I ask my Father for direction, courage, and strength to do what He’d have me to do, with grace. But this body and mind He’s provided to “do”, has done give out.

The list of needs for Tommy’s mom and my parents multiplies with each passing year…but so do the needs of our children.  I’ve long given up on “me time” or “Tommy time.”  That’s not even an option this week or even this year.  I waved my white flag, surrendering non-existing rights to God and said, “use me.”  But today I’m at a loss of how to continue.  It seems that by the end of each day, Tommy and I’ve patched up as many leaky holes as we can, but waking up today I can’t face any more. Even with each child and parent seemingly waiting patiently, there is only so long one can push back a building flood behind the dam.  Until something or someone, cracks.

Despite getting dad a home physician, he has four specialist visits planned over the next few weeks, colostomy surgeon, urologist, ear nose and throat doctor, kidney doctor, Mom can no longer take him on her own. Her aide can help some, but that costs more money, which mom wisely tries to conserve. Plus my pride and need to be there for her, kicks and screams in tantrum at the reality that the aide now spends more time now with my parents than I.  She has become a part of their daily life and their dependence on her grows equal to my increasing absence to physically help them.  That in itself has pierced me clean through.

Mom has her own waiting list of things that need attention that will likely not happen.  But it’s not just the physical time required to take care of my parents, but the decision making, planning, and tremendous emotional support that they need. It feels like they're within inches of having everything we’ve juggled since daddy’s stroke nearly 30 years ago, come crashing into a big heap at the door of the local nursing home. And no one wants that.  It would be the end of both of them.

Tommy’s mom who has managed this last year with such beauty and grace, has a lot of needs too.  I’ve wanted to step in and help with the last years of her life. We promised to take care of her after his dad died last year.  Her eye surgery this week and the care she needed afterwards required a sacrifice of time, love, and physical help.  I was thrilled to be able to finally do something for her after all these years.  But in getting closer to her emotionally, I saw so much more that could be done to make her life better. There is only so much Tommy’s brother can do on his own.  She has spent her entire life serving others and its time to give back.

After being allowed to patch a few leaky holes this week for her, I turned around and saw many more within my children’s lives that were begging attention. Home schooling,  two doctor visits for Andrew plus getting Endocrine lab work that was five weeks late, STARR Testing trips to Dallas, camp counselor with Lydia next week, Luke’s upcoming musical in May, costumes for the Hunger Games senior banquet at church....its only the beginning. Schedules dance in my head long after bedtime screaming for attention from my brain and leaving migraines to deal with in the morning.  Add in my hot flashes, irritability, and poor sleeping that signal menopause and OMG, I’m forgetting bits and pieces of nearly everything, leaving puddle-like trails of half-fulfilled results that please no one.

And money, always money, there isn’t enough to cover anything.  So we throw a little in too many directions and cover the rest with plastic credit and prayers.  Yesterday, after I’d mistakenly left some of Tommy’s mom’s luggage back at our house, I thought I couldn’t handle one more crisis.  But alas, we weren’t finished yet.  An angry outburst from one member of the family resulted in the destruction of Andrew’s school lap top.  What do you do?  We used it as a teaching lesson on anger management and forgiveness…a very expensive lesson. I was proud of all involved after the flames died out.  Satan’s schemes got turned into a priceless picture of grace.  Though love and forgiveness may have fixed feelings, we were still left with another leaking hole.

Feeling a sensation of drowning, I crashed into bed with a couple of Benadryl for sleep; hearing in my head that regardless of all my efforts to make a difference, nothing had been done well, wrapped up neatly, and finished.  After crying a bit, I swore I was going to stay in bed today, on strike till further notice.

Monotonous Monday Treasure

Monday morning monotony taunted me from the kitchen counters littered with dishes.  Where did they come from?  I cleaned late last night and still they multiplied while I slept as if mocking my efforts to bring order to our home. Laundry piles were permanently scattered along the length of my bathroom floor, becoming the last pit stop, a loading dock of sorts, prior to entry into the waiting machines.

This morning I kicked aside an anonymous pair of dirty socks and jeans pealed off inside out and left in the floor.  Who cares that “someone” would have to turn them prior to washing. Next I moved aside my "Midnight Muncher’s" crusting dishes left in the living room, and began the task of making breakfast and school lunches…once again. “Lord, show me the beauty in all of this, please.”

I stole a few inopportune moments to flee the ever waiting mess in exchange for a walk.  The grey, drizzling rain matched my mood.  Wondering how I’d manage to face the day ahead, I prayed, or rather mumbled my complaints out loud to whoever might be listening. “I know there is beauty beneath the rubble; I just can’t see it clearly, God."  Then I remembered Friday’s adventure with Lydia.

She’d wanted to begin reading a new book series so I’d suggested an ancient set of books I’d loved as a child, Cherry Ames.  There must have been 20 or so books written about a 1950’s nurse carrying out her  duties and amateur sleuthing escapades all over the world.  I became convinced this collection was stuffed away in some corner of my mom’s attic.  After saying as much to Lydia, she became obsessed with going on a treasure hunt of her own to solve our mystery of the missing books.  Friday finally arrived, and with it, her much anticipated chance to canvas Mom’s old attic.  I’ll admit, I too had visions of finding priceless treasures from my past.

Step, step, step the three of us ascended the attic stairs; my 75 year old mom first with Lydia following close behind.  We put on dust masks at her insistence, and carried a little lamp to light our way.  The dirt was everywhere, literally layers of it settled into boxes rising up like smoke when disturbed.  We must have opened seven to eight boxes, but sadly, never found the lost books.

There were containers full of old rat eaten teddy bears, dirt smudged dolls with homemade clothes, an old Barbie styling head, and broken bits of who knows what…but nothing that resembled anything of value, at least not to me. I could tell Lydia was disappointed too, but not Mom.  She came to life, dropping years off her tired face as she rummaged through old “keepsakes”.  Climbing over ancient suitcases, stacked boxes, and air vent tubing, she was persistent to keep going while making the comment, “Oh, you’d be surprised what I can do!”  She made me smile.  Poking and prodding, I heard her explaining the history of many things to Lydia… a table Daddy had made, a suit case I’d taken to camp as a child…

A little mouse with a long tail scurried away in the corner.  It had nothing to do with the past and was distracting me enough that I edged us back out of the creepy crevices toward the stairs.  I was more than ready to leave.  Yuck!  Covered in dirt, I’d found nothing of value.  That is until I looked up to see Mom taking one last longing glance at a box of dried miscellaneous flower corsages left over from my special occasions. I saw her eyes come to life and perhaps even a smile on her face.  She was…happy?

I hadn’t seen any treasure amidst the dirt and rat infested old boxes.  I hadn’t found what I’d come for, the books.  But mother…seeing her made me think.  She’d looked beyond the years of accumulated dirt and disorganized piling of their old junk, to see something much more valuable than order, cleanliness and belongings.  She’d climbed into the attic back in time to an older life.  Opening a window into her past, she’d glimpsed a memory of joy.

I believe it was this that the Lord showed me in and around my mutterings of dread for today. Blow off the dust, Kerrie, like your mom was able to do.  Look past the piles of dirty clothes and ignore the daunting stacks of dishes.  Perhaps then you’ll see an abundance of Monotonous Monday, attic full of messy memories, now in the making.