🕊️ What I Have Learned — And What I Believe (A Sunday Morning Tribute)
🕊️ What I Have Learned — And What I Believe (A Sunday Morning Tribute)
📖 Why I’m writing this now
Life nudged me off the golf course and into a quieter place — mornings with scripture, long prayers, and this little notebook of a blog. The Lord has been near in a way that’s almost giddy: healing, comforting, and asking me to speak plainly about what matters most. Today I want to say thank you, to remember a faithful brother, and to share how hope wins over sorrow.
💔 For Charlie — a short, honest song of grief and gratitude
We lost a brother who fought for truth and for the weak. The silence after him is heavy — not the kind that just fills space, but the kind that echoes with every laugh we’ll never hear again. Yet even in that silence there are signs: sunsets that seem to speak his name, rain that washes the sharp edges of the day, sunlight that feels like a small benediction. He’s gone from sight, but not from the story we carry.
🕯️ Memory and Nature — how the living keep the dead alive
When a friend dies, the earth becomes a chapel. I see Charlie in the slow light of morning, in a bird that won’t stop singing, in a quiet corner where the heart finally breathes. Those little things are not magic — they’re mercy. They teach us the loving truth that the soul lingers with us in the places we least expect.
🛡️ The life he lived
Charlie was a fighter — not for fame, but for people. He stood for the weak, spoke for the lost, and took a truth that cost him. That matters. Legacy isn’t just the speeches or hashtags — it’s the courage we remember and the mercy we choose afterward. I will carry his name by living what he lived for: kindness, clarity, and courage.
I believe in reunion. I believe love is stronger than absence. The grief is sharp now, but it is not final. There is a morning beyond this midnight where love reassembles what loss has scattered. That hope keeps me steady.
A personal family note (from my heart to yours)
I feel so much of His grace in the mornings. I raise my hands to Him and remember: we’ve always talked about morning what the Savior has done for me. I feel that physical healing is almost here. With a tear, I think of what the Savior went through to be here and suffer my pain. Love you guys. ❤️
I want everyone reading this to feel that: the Savior is nearer than you think. He is the true physician of our souls and bodies. If you’re hurting, lift your hands. He will meet you there.
🎶 Listen — remember — sing
If you’d like to hear the song that helped me write this, click :
🤝 What I vow to do
I will carry his name. I will walk a little braver. I will serve a little kinder. And I will point, always, to the Savior — because it is He who heals, holds, and promises reunion.
🔗 SIMILAR POSTS TO READ NEXT:
- Don’t Follow the White Robe — Follow the Voice — Why the Savior’s living voice matters more than institutional appearance.
- The Test of Our Day — Will We Hear Him? — A look at choice and conviction in trying times.
- Borrowed Light vs. Your Own Lamp — Why testimony borrowed from others won’t hold us in the final day.
I’m home this Sunday morning, full of gratitude and a little giddy that healing is coming. Thank you for traveling with me — through pains, joys, and all the small mercies. I love you all. And God bless Charlie; may his memory be a blessing and his courage a lamp for the rest of us.
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