The Texas Flood, the Blame, and the Ache for Eden

Hi Friends,

This week’s podcast looks at tragedy, blame, and how we process life in a broken world. It hit close to home this week so I thought I would share a story about my brother. I hope it encourages you, especially if you have a loved one struggling with addiction.

My brother would have turned 48 on the 4th of July. We're coming up on the anniversary of his death too. July 15th. 9 years ago hard to believe. I wonder what he’d be like now. 

I’ll never forget when my husband met him for the first time on a trip to Cali. He said, “John’s coming to pick me up at the hotel. Oh, look, there he is now in this convertible BMW."

I was confused. “He is? In what?

John doesn’t have a BMW.

John doesn’t have a car… John doesn’t even have a driver’s license..."

And yet, there he was, pulling up in this convertible, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Oh yes, the many adventures.

That was life with John.

He was affectionately known as the Bobcat—elusive, unpredictable, quick to disappear, and even quicker to stir things up in the best (and sometimes most complicated) ways.

His funeral was no different.

Everyone was in their seats, the graveside service about to begin. At the front of the tent sat the table where his ashes were supposed to be. But there was nothing there.

"Umm... where's John?"

We looked over and saw the funeral director in the distance looking pale and panicked.

He came over to us, whispering, “I can’t find John. He's missing."

As in, they couldn’t find the ashes.

The wooden box—gone. Missing.

Surrounded by solemn faces under the tent, my mom and I just burst out laughing.

Because of course. Only John could pull off disappearing from his own funeral.

It was classic John.

Eventually, yes, they “found him.”

But honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted him to show up any other way:

The Bobcat.

Disappearing, reappearing, and making people laugh when they least expected it.

That twist of chaos, humor, and heart was the most "John ending" possible.

Despite his struggles with addiction, we stayed close.

Life with someone in addiction is a rollercoaster of absurd moments, half-believable stories, and emotional whiplash. You find yourself crying, then laughing. Loving deeply, while also losing your mind.

You call ERs, track him down across cities, and untangle the wildest messes. And everywhere you go, there’s a trail of people saying how amazing your brother is…followed by a pause.

Because they know addiction has its grip on him.

It’s exhausting. And strangely beautiful.

Many of us live it quietly.

Though it’s hard to see, our friends and family battling addiction are more than their struggle.

Each one is made in the image of Christ.

In all the chaos, I pray your loved one meets the Lord who walks this road with them.

He’s in it and hasn’t let go.

It won’t be without the bumps and the potholes, but it’s sacred. 

And we'll see that what feels like chaos is actually laced with something holy. There's a powerful light coming through those cracks.

Even the messiest moments are touched by His grace. A grace that sometimes has to pick us up out of the wreckage and carry us home. 

Have a blessed week,

Devin