From Pain to Passion

April 25th, 2002.

The day that date represents is one like I've never experienced before or since. A day that would change many lives due to unbelievable and unforeseen circumstances.

This day began like any ordinary day. I took my usual morning run, drank my usual morning coffee, showered, dressed, and took my usual route to my office at our church building. I did my usual study, returned calls, and performed my usual functions. For my family it was simply a Thursday.

I left my office before noon for a usual lunch with whom I cannot recall, but I am sure that it was filled with the usual conversation. After lunch I called my secretary and told her I was going to make the rounds to the hospitals to visit any of our members who were in the hospital at the time, one of the usual duties of a pastor. I parked my truck in the parking lot and began my visits with members and friends who were hospitalized. Then a usual thing happened. My cellular phone rang. I looked and saw that it was the church office and knowing it was probably my secretary relaying a message to me while I was out of the office I ignored the call and continued my conversation in the hospital room on the seventh floor of the hospital. Why I remember it was the seventh floor, I'll never know.

Then the unusual began. My cellular phone immediately rang again. It was once again from the church office. I knew that unless there was an emergency, my secretary Kay would simply leave me a message. An immediate call back meant the call was urgent. I excused myself from the room and returned the call in the hallway. The conversation is still crystal clear in my memory.

Ring...Ring...Ring.

"Good afternoon, Westmont Christian Church," came the answer from Kay on the other end of the line.

"Kay, it's Clint. What's going on?"

"Your Mother called and said she needed you to call her immediately. It is an emergency," Kay replied.

"What kind of emergency?" I asked as I felt my heart began to race a bit.

"She just said to call her right away. Let me know what you need after you call her."

I sensed Kay knew something, but such news should come from my Mom. I stuck my head back in the door of the hospital room and said goodbye to those gathered and began my quick walk to the elevator. I pushed the button and waited for what seemed an eternity. The elevator door opened and I entered while dialing my Mom's number to find out what was wrong. Names, faces, situations, tragedies, all things bad were flooding my mind, and as luck would have it there was terrible reception on the elevator. I could hear my Mom answer the phone, but she couldn't hear me.

I decided to wait until I reached the lobby to call her back, and along with the theme of the day it was the slowest ride to the lobby I had ever remembered. We stopped at each floor.

Sixth floor...ding. People departed while others waited their turn to get into the elevator. Fifth floor...ding. Same as the sixth floor. Doors opened, doors closed. Fourth floor...ding. Third Floor...ding. Second floor...ding.

It was at the second floor I was so anxious, confused, and already in a panic I thought to myself, "This is the second floor!!! You can't walk down one damned flight of stairs?!?!"

Finally the doors opened and I exited quickly, walking through the lobby I called my Mom's number again. This time she answered and we could hear each other.

"Clint, where are you?" I could hear the distress in her voice.

"I'm at the hospital walking to my truck. What's wrong. What's going on?" I asked, already feeling beads of sweat welling up within me.

"You need to start praying. Your brother called a few minutes ago and said they have taken Jon to the hospital. He was at the baby-sitter's house and when she went to check on him, he wasn't breathing. Your brother and Melissa are on their way to the hospital."

I could hear that my Mom was crying. Jon was my three month old nephew. I was his uncle and Godparent. I began to pray aloud as I jogged to my truck. I started the truck and began to make a few calls while I drove. The first was to my wife Chrissy. She didn't answer her phone, so I left a message for her to call me as soon as possible.

I then called my brother's cellular phone number to find out what was happening. Again, there was no answer. I was sure he was already at the hospital and probably unable to answer his phone for a variety of reasons. I left another message for him to call me as soon as he could and let me know what was going on with Jon.

I finally pulled into the driveway of my home, no one was home because Chrissy had gone to pick up our Connor from pre-school and Caitlin from Kindergarten. Paced back and forth in our drive way and up and down our sidewalk, calling Chrissy over and over with the same results. I kept getting her voice mail. For a moment I stopped dialing, loosened my tie, and began praying again.

"Father, you can do ANYTHING. Whatever is happening give strength to Jon's little body. You can do ANYTHING. Please Father, You can do all things!"

It was then that my phone finally rang. I looked and saw that it was my brother. I answered hopefully, bracing myself for whatever he might say to me.

"Hey Dave, what's happening."

There was a short pause and my brother's voice, breaking with emotion uttered two words in my ear. "He died." I didn't have words like I usually did as a pastor, this was my brother, calling about my nephew, our newest member of the family. I was speechless. Tears came and I literally fell to my knees in the driveway in front of my house. Then David had one request.

"Will you go to Mom and Dad's house and let them know. I don't think they need to hear this on the phone. Please just go there and let them know we don't know now what happened, they worked on Jon for an hour and they just couldn't revive him," Dave said. "And please call me after you let them know."

"I'll go right now. I'll call you as soon as possible. I love you I said as I ended the call.

It was at that moment Chrissy pulled into the driveway with both kids in the backseat in their car seats. She could tell something was wrong immediately and opened her car door asking me what was going on. I told her the news and shock and sadness shrouded her face. I told her that I was heading to my parents house where they were waiting to hear something, and I knew praying for good news. I was the bearer of the news they didn't want to hear. I was the bearer of a message I didn't want to deliver. I pulled into their driveway and sat silently for a minute asking God to give me the strength to be a comforter. God did give me that strength.

I walked into their house and looked at my parents and my aunt as they looked back at me with painfully expectant faces. They didn't know if I knew anything, but probably sensed by my expression I had news they didn't want to hear.

"Dave called me a few minutes ago. The doctor's did everything they could, but they could not revive Jon. He died." Message delivered. I then saw a sight I had never seen, my parents and aunt melted into tears and grief beyond belief. I knew immediately that I would have to take control for the rest of the day, and even the days ahead.

I got on the phone and booked flights that evening for our entire family to fly to San Antonio. We packed quickly and met at the airport. We boarded the flight, a flight none of us knew we would be making that day. The usual day was now tragic. The flight attendant came by and I ordered a Heineken and stared out the window of the plane wondering what was waiting for us when we landed in San Antonio.

While we were still in flight my little princess of a daughter, seated in the center seat between Chrissy and me, said in her angelic voice, "How did baby Jon die? He couldn't die. He was brand new."

Brand new, yes he was. Three months old, smiling and laughing that morning while his mother drove him to the baby-sitter, was now gone. Although he was brand new.

We arrived at my brother and sister-in-law's home already filled with friends and family of both David and Melissa. Others were on their way. Arrangements were made. Graveside services were held. A funeral was held at Jon's church, where he was brand new to his church family as well. Their Lutheran pastor delivered a comforting message, a few family members spoke. Then we left the church where I had been a short time before standing at the front during his baptism as his Godfather.

In the days following, most everyone returned home. David asked me to stay for a few extra days, and Melissa asked her sister to stay as well. We spent time together to share grief. David and I emptied the nursery and took all of it to a storage facility. We went for a couple of mountain bike rides. We talked, we cried, we went out for dinner. Then it was time for me to go home.

I was reluctant as I boarded the flight. What was next? How would Dave and Melissa continue living what some would call a normal life, and we all know that a, "normal life," is a relative term. How would they do this. My biggest frustration is that I couldn't do anything more. I packed my own pain in my bag and flew to Lubbock to see my own family. I received the best, sweetest, and most coveted hugs from my family that I could remember up to that point in my life.

What was next?

My Brother and Sister-In-Law then did something amazing. The only answer they ever received about Jon's death is that it was SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). They turned immense pain into passion. They became involved with a support group through the Center for Infant and Child Loss. In their grief they leaned on one another and their families and their faith. In the midst of all of this pain, passion developed. An idea came to Melissa to honor the memory of their first-born son. The one who left us even though he was, "brand new." The idea was a benefit run in the name of Jon Carl Stephenson, to benefit the Center for Infant and Child Loss.

Plans were made. A team was organized to figure out all of the logistics. So much hard work went into the first of what has become an annual event named, "Jon's 5K Run/Walk/and Stroll." It was decided that the event would be held each year on the Saturday before Mother's Day. It would be a day that all of those same family and friends would gather again for a different event. No less emotional, but certainly more victorious.

I was honored to voice the first invocation prayer that was followed by a moment of silence. Following the moment of silence was a balloon launch. Attached to each balloon was a message or a prayer to the child that left their families too soon. Brand new babies, infants and toddlers, and children alike. We looked into the sky as the balloons floated heavenward with messages attached. Mine said simply, "I love you Jon, I'm going to run this race as fast as I can for you! Love, Uncle Clint." I watched my balloon until I could no longer distinguish it from the rest.

The event was a success with a few hundred runners participating and raising money for the center. From the tragic came triumph. Something amazing was named for a three-month-old, and was in the honor of all babies and children whose parent's endured the grief of living without their irreplaceable treasures. The passion of an idea was as powerful as a keg of dynamite, moving grief toward healing.

I couldn't believe it, but this weekend I participated in the 9th Annual Jon's 5K Run/Walk/and Stroll. When we arrived at the event at seven o'clock in Saturday morning I was amazed to see how many people had come to participate. Families, friends, and supporters had come together to run or walk 3.1 miles to raise funds for the center while honoring their loved ones. The National Anthem started the event, followed by the kid's fun run, which Jon's little brother Sam won. Jon had two little brothers there for him, along with his grandparents, uncles, and cousins. My prayer that I wrote to Jon was different this time, "Jon, I'll probably be a little slower this time, but I still miss you. You left us when you were brand new, but you're forever in hearts. Love, Uncle Clint. P.S. Your little brothers are faster than me now."

When the event was over we learned that a new record was set with over one thousand runners participating in this year's event. It was the combination of pain and passion that put together something beautiful in what had been ugly. And I have to believe that many eyes from heaven looked down at the parade of Moms and Dads, younger and older siblings, grandparents, families and friends lined up to run or walk. There were seasoned runners, couch potatoes, strollers being pushed, families wearing shirts in honor of their loved one stretched along the route of the course.

I'm so proud of my Sister-in_Law and my brother for the strength boiling from their faith that made so much happen. In those eyes, watching from heaven, there were no tears. Because of pain that fueled passion that planted the seed to honor our little one who was brand new when we said good bye. There were no tears, but, along with their Father in heaven, there were smiles.