Origin Story

I knew I was right the minute I opened the front door.  

I was returning from an afternoon of helping my father-in-law move some tools into his new woodworking shop.  A simple Saturday afternoon.  No different than any other . . . but as I walked up the steps to our front door, something was different.  I had an uneasy feeling.

I opened the door to find Bobbi, our black lab, waiting for me, but not as her usual, cheerful self.  No tail wagging or excitable hopping.  No rear end swinging wildly from side to side.  Instead, she was trying to get my attention . . . looking from me to our bedroom as if to say “hurry, dad, something is wrong.”  

She was right.

My instincts kicked into high gear. The hairs on my arms and neck bristled as I entered full-on protective mode. Every man is familiar with that sensation. I sensed trouble looming in my realm, and I was prepared to defend it at all costs.

A realization sucked the breath out of me.  I knew what was happening. Call it an intuition if you like, but, looking back on it, I now know it was God readying me for what was I was about to encounter. 

I rushed into our bedroom to find the covers thrown chaotically to the side.  My heart started to beat harder.  My pulse began to race.  I was trying to keep the panic under control.  This wasn’t right.  She should be there.

A sound from the bathroom brought me back to reality.  I hurried to our bathroom to find my wife, the love of my life, sitting there, tears flowing mercilessly.  She looked up.  Her eyes were red and swollen.  The sobs uncontrollable.  Then, through the pain she uttered words I will never forget . . .

“I’m sorry.”

My realization was confirmed.

We had lost our baby.

As I put these words on the page, tears stream down my cheeks. It’s a moment that will remain etched in my memory forever. Witnessing my wife so vulnerable and feeling utterly powerless to assist her… is there anything more frustrating and disheartening? I’m the one who should be strong. It’s my duty to keep her safe. How can I possibly shield her now?

I did the only thing I could. I rushed to her, hit my knees, and held her closer than ever.  She kept saying she was sorry. She was blaming herself.  I was choking back my own sobs but I couldn’t break down.  Not now. I had to be strong for her.  I had to the man.  It would only cause her more suffering to see me hurt because of this, and I would never add to that hurt.

I held her tight and told her that this was no one’s fault . . . it just happens . . . and I wasn’t going anywhere.  I’m not sure she heard me.  Maybe I was saying the words for my own sake.  But it was all I knew to do. 

Then my “fixer” instinct kicked in. I had to take action. If I could do something, it would help me regain a sense of control. A plan was essential. I reached for my phone, knowing there was only one person to call. My wife’s best friend is a delivery nurse; she’d know how to manage the situation. I also know my wife. Ashley would want clarity on what steps to take next and the medical procedures needed. Lynds would certainly have that knowledge, and given that she and her husband, Chris, had faced this same loss twice before, she could empathize with Ashley’s experience in a way that I never could as a man.

She picked up and I told her what happened, trying to hold back my emotions.  “We’re headed out the door” was all she said.

Ten minutes later they were walking through the front door.  Lynds headed straight to the bathroom to Ashley.  I looked at Chris and, with tears in his eyes, he just opened his arms.  I fell into them and when I did, I lost it.  My emotions broke through the floodgates.  He held me as I cried.  He cried with me.  No words spoken.  He knew what I was experiencing.    He’d been there, and he was doing the only thing he could do.

Why do I tell you this story?  Because this was the birthplace for all of this . . . the site, blog, the future podcast, the brotherhood that I hope grows to allow for men to find other men to lean on, to inspire, to do life with.  This, the most painful experience I have ever had to go through, was the catalyst for me to look for a place where I could find other men who could give me some insight.  

We need that as men . . . that community.  We all like to brag about being self-sufficient, a “lone wolf,” but within the heart of every man is the yearning for a pack that can push us, that can challenge us, that can fight with us, that can fight for us, and that can keep us accountable.  That is how God created us. Paul, in his letter to the churches in Galatia, said as much.  

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2, NIV)

Even Solomon stressed the importance of companionship:

“Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed.  If one person falls, the other can reach out and help.  But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.”  (Ecclesiastes 4:  9-10, NLT).

I like the way the New International Version words the latter half of that:  “But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.”    

As men, we weren’t meant to live solitary lives.  We were meant to be part of a larger community.  That is how we were made.  

I wanted to start this community because I realized that that there is a need.  I was unaware of it before we experienced our miscarriage.  When I was at my lowest, I took a long look at my the men who I considered friends.  There were some good guys in this group, but I wasn’t willing to share this loss with most of them.  Most of them were not even aware we were pregnant.  If they weren’t close enough for me to tell of the pregnancy then I certainly wouldn’t go to them to tell them of our loss.  

After looking at my circle of friends, I discovered that most of my friendships were shallow and often based off common interests, but that is where the engagement ended.  I am not saying that it is a bad thing to have things in common with people, and for these commonalities to be arenas of fellowship, but what I was not finding were those relationships in my life that were pushing me to be the best version of myself.  I had guys I could go grab a drink with or watch a game with, but how many of them cared about my walk with God and my path for discovering what He wants from me?  

The answer?  

Not many, if at all.  

But I should also make note that this is not necessarily the fault of these guys.  It’s not as if I was filling that same role for them.  If I wanted that kind of relationship with other guys, then I needed to be willing to be that for them.  

I began to seek out men who had qualities I wanted in myself.  What I discovered is that they, in turn, were looking for the same.  And even better, I was able to provide some of those for them!

After the miscarriage, I looked for a place where I could be with other men who were experiencing loss.  I could find any number of support groups and sites for women who have experienced miscarriages.  And rightly so.  My wife experienced the loss in ways I can never imagine.   But I had to allow myself to accept that I was grieving too.  I lost a baby as well.  And my wife is the one who helped me accept that.  We lost a baby.  Not just one of us.  She knew I needed to grieve as well.  She had her girlfriends, many of whom had experienced that same loss.  Who did I have?  

In my search for a community of men, I also noticed the plight of men in this day.  It is becoming harder and harder to be a man.  Heck, even the term “man” is trying to be redefined.  Masculinity is under attack from all sides.  

I am here to fight with you and for you.  We all are.  You are not alone.  You have found a brotherhood.

So let me say to you, “Welcome, Brother!”