I’m strolling this corridor at Tristar Centennial, a place I never thought I’d see or walk again. Yesterday’s arrival of Jori Grace, our Little Bag Fry, our second rainbow, reminding us that the surprises of God, regardless of how we initially interpret them, are nevertheless extensions of His faithfulness.
Unbeknownst to Lys and I coming into Jori’s birthday was the fact she would arrive the exact place in the same room where Jubilee debuted.
December 17, 2025
August 21, 2021
As you might suspect, this entrance was deeply and multi-emotional. Practically impossible to not think where things were four years ago. So much has changed, so much has progressed, so much new, so much next.
As I’ve considered the time warp, I’ve latched onto a single word that has a precedence of peace. That word is ‘closure’.
What does the Bible say about closure, closed loops, closing the gap, etc.?
When we talk about closure, we’re often discussing what it means to find God’s grace and strength to endure, to discover His power in the context of forgiveness, perseverance, receiving help, ultimately turning and realigning to Jesus.
It’s a word that merits a Christian worldview, since the world frames peace and good tidings primarily as functions of comfort, self-preservation, even open doors to better opportunities. However, in Scripture, we find similar evidence in God guiding us not only through new doors but closed doors
For example, I know it’s highly likely I will never be a guest patient at Centennial again. A somber thought since Lys and I have experienced so much life here. ‘Tis been a place where we’ve always felt vertically anchored, even if we were compelled into the posture. Understandably, there’s a bit of melancholia in this birthing episode as redemption arches, past and present, meet a local farewell.
Still, I’m encouraging by a certain notion. Anytime new life is given, we’re not just obliged into exuberant gratitude but to commit/recommit ourselves to the call we have to nurture that life in the ways of God, in the likeness of Christ. We may not feel like we have what need to navigate the struggle we encounter, as this season reminds us, we still have Jesus, with us and for us.
So, whether I reference scars with onsite origin or those fresh within Lys who fielded her third c-section in four years, we recognize this renewed race as part of God’s work of restoration. And as this special time of year reminds us, where there’s restoration, there can be anticipation for what is good, given the source and omni-nature of Immanuel, in loss and pain, to life as fresh gain.
To Centennial, it’s been real to the sweetest effect. I bid you all the fondest adieu and to the rest of you…
It’s been three years to the day since Juju’s death.
For better and worse, Lys and I haven’t been the same since that fateful day. While grief intensity has lessened, life still feels like a tightrope. One false step and we’re praying for a safety net, just trying to survive – like when Juju was alive only without the hope of tomorrow. If only I were better at patience, maybe this whole waiting thing would be easier.
As Juju proved during her NICU tenure, progression and regression aren’t always mutually exclusive. At times within her fragile body, one element was improving while another was degrading. Her recovery and, at times, lack thereof, was anything but a linear wave. Like life itself, her journey was a winding roller coaster with unexpected turns and unprecedented breakthroughs. Her butterfly tattoo on my heart, not a day goes by that I don’t think of her and consider the glory of what she constantly experiences.
Yet, though the tears have remained mostly at bay the past year, there’s still a temptation to anger. God, why didn’t you somehow, someway cap her suffering? If you knew she was going to barely make it past a year, why defer the inevitable?
In most cases, I can convert those ‘whys’ into ‘look what God did’ and carry on. Where I stumble is the next level down: God, why aren’t people more naturally geared towards the broken-hearted? Why does the silence sometimes increase when it needs to decrease? In the shadows, you were there after Juju’s death. What about those who may not even be able to find you at all? What about them?
These questions have been raised before, and they’ll be raised again. Until the answers come, I, along with the rest of us, must settle in Christ (1 Peter 5:10; Colossians 2:6-7). For those who have lost a child, we don’t have any other option. At day’s end, everyone has a call to embrace their suffering and ditch their baggage. No exceptions. I know for me, sometimes I get into trouble tolerating the baggage while trying to ditch the suffering in a quest to find meaning in pain; however, in times of reset, I catch myself in the striving and commit my ways to God whether I feel like it. It’s hard as heck, don’t get me wrong. I just know as low as I feel sometimes, I’m only hindering my perspective when I punt prayer and vertical reliance.
I love how Paul opens Colossians 3:1: “Therefore if you have been raised with Christ, keep seeking the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.”
For starters, the chapter unpacks our ‘new self’ identity as a garment we can wear regardless of the day. But even more promising, we’re reminded in the intro how we’ve been raised with Christ to a new life, sharing in His resurrection from the dead. In a weird way, this hits home even more so these days. Even when I feel dead on the inside, somehow, I know I’m that much closer to the type of life I crave. Among all the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God is also my daughter. Your son. His grandson. Her granddaughter. Their mother, their father, our friend, etc.
The way God’s lap is designed, there is always a comfort and rest to draw from, even if it’s simply His presence and nothing more.
The problem is we’re not often content with the safety of God’s nearness because we’re dissatisfied with the security of it. Our kid passed away, so we doubt if God is who says He is. If God is a God of love, then why didn’t His sovereignty meet my faith in the middle? If God has the capability, why didn’t His power take pity on a soul that could have done wonders for Him if given the opportunity?
While I’m not condoning this as the correct posture to take, admittingly, this is a popular contention bereaved parents wrestle through. We desire the improbable; we believe in the impossible. We just wish it could have looked a certain way. And that’s okay…assuming we regularly surrender our grief, anxiety, fear, and anger. As Juju reminds us, there’s beauty to be found in the ashes of our sorrow, especially when we reframe our perspective to see a life well fought as an altar pointing people to Jesus. Our lives may always sound like a sad song, but that doesn’t mean what other people hear is the same tenor.
Trust me, life has been brutal, dare I say, savage, this decade. Despite the positive turn in recent years, my debates with God are still on the regular.
Dear Lord, thank you for what you did during Juju’s life and gifting my family with this incredible light, this testimony unfolding, but surely you know what it’s like to grieve. You know what it’s like to be separated from your only begotten Son. If you’re stripping me of anything my life could cling to other than you, so be it. I don’t have to know how you’re exalted in those moments as long you’re exalted at all. And with a daughter dancing in your courts, I dare not lose sight of the new life I have in Christ, knowing that’s exactly what she has.
For all you readers and co-sufferers out there, ask yourself: Will I be too stubborn in my grief to don new garments of praise? To serve and think within new wineskins? Or am I too scared to endure because I don’t want God to let me down again? I know for me, I don’t have the margin, nor do I want to give that question room to manifest. Thus, I will keep looking up and pressing on one step at a time, with Juju’s rays forever on the horizon. The victory’s been won. Let’s choose to walk it in. God, show us the way…
In Luke 13:10-17, Jesus is teaching in the synagogue on the Sabbath when he notices a woman with a disabling spirit. As she totters through the temple gates, Jesus calls the woman over, confirms her restoration, and heals her condition. No longer crooked, she glorifies God and prompts Jesus to criticize the religious leaders for their lack of compassion.
Digging into this summary, we find meaningful implications, especially where sickness and infirmity dwell. For starters, we must not deny those around us who are poor in spirit and health, desperate for Jesus in a way that extends past their margins.
As a NICU alum, I can boldly testify to this. Every day during Juju’s life, Lys and I entered a larger-than-life mystery box, a stream of unknowns where anything could happen. From what we experienced, the emotional highways were unending from dead-end hopelessness to confounding crossroads. In each situation, parents, like the crooked woman, were searching for anything their hope could cling to – comfort, healing, answers, you name it!
Yet, as challenging as that season was, the contrast in processing helped us understand the power within the presence of God. While there were moments when we sought the Lord because there was no other way, there were other times we sensed his call and responded accordingly. So, it was with our protagonist in Luke 13, who not only personified what it meant to be in the right place at the right time but saw her affliction as a catalyst for intervention.
Examining the woman’s transformation, we find some notable takeaways, particularly in v. 10-13, during which Jesus orchestrates his miracle:
1. In v. 10, Jesus sees the woman even though he was already teaching in the synagogue. 2. At the start of v. 12, he calls her over instead of continuing with his message. 3. By the end of v. 12, he declares her freedom before healing her disability.
While circumstantial at the surface, we can behold the intentionality within this order when we assess similar healings in the Gospels. Like the bent woman, Jesus repeatedly modeled his heart alongside his power, relating to the context of suffering even before his presence was recognized. This poses a powerful thought:
To the extent our faith activates when we sense God’s presence, it also stirs when we hear His voice. Like gravity, His Word summons the innermost part of our being in a way that compels us to move in his direction.
No wonder the woman had no issue journeying to Jesus. the joy set before her resonating with the joy set before him.
Upon her arrival, note how Jesus reacts: He doesn’t immediately remove the woman’s iniquity but proclaims her victory! Again, this subtle progression is profound. Though some might question why Jesus would call his shot, the purpose behind his declaration wasn’t to simply highlight his divinity but to deliver salvation while proving his love. Had the purity behind the action lacked, the woman’s response may have reflected differently. But like many before her who battled long-lasting crippling ailments, the outflow of praise rode on the heels of the expectancy. In the end, it was all about Jesus, religious and wishful sentiments be da*rned.
For the griever and/or loved one stuck in the hospital, while our prayers have power and purpose, what we voice as expressions of hope yields the truth of who God is and what he wills from his nature. Ultimately, God is going to finish the good work he started in you (Philippians 1:6) as heaven meets earth in wonder-working fashion (Matthew 6:10). True, we will never have all the answers as to why we must endure in specific ways; however, when we remember how Jesus made space to heal a woman in the middle of a sermon on a day His Father set apart for rest, we can draw encouragement knowing God is always for us, even during the darkest and craziest of days.
Prayer: “Jesus, you told your followers, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God, so believe in Me as well. Peace, I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives,’ (John 14:1, 27). We confess we need your peace, the peace of God, which transcends all understanding’ (Philippians 4:7) to guard our hearts and minds. We humbly come before you with our weary hearts and pray that you continue to show us fresh levels of love and grace as we go through this season of sorrow and transition. Help us to find peace in your presence. Wipe our tears, Lord, and carry us through this season of mourning and deep sadness. Help us to trust in your unfailing love and to fix our eyes on you, Jesus. As we lift our worries to you, we humbly ask that you lift up our hearts from what may overwhelm us. May your presence bring us joy and comfort as we embark on this journey of healing with you. In your most holy name, we pray. Amen.”
I’m taking in a familiar scene, a road once trudged 1,934 times over 7 years, give or take a few. By all means, I should be feeling nauseous, frail like the cracks on the sidewalk below.
But not this day. Not on this quest back to the desert where once upon a time, I punched in a rare card. Oh, to be a youth pastor with a full-time governmental job on the side. Those were the days, the former, I miss fondly.
In the air is the smell of victory as I trek this iconic incline disguised as an inverted hourglass. An interview? With the State? No way you could have convinced me a year ago I would be in that situation. Then again, as they say, expect the unexpected and you’ll never be surprised or disappointed. Tell that to a desperate hunter living on a prayer wondering how the heck it came to this.
Indeed, to tell the tale of 2023, you must go back to the beginning, a point when red flags were yellow and the hope for a better year was still alive. A promotion to a new department at work. Check. A fresh slate post-Jubilee. Check. Hot off a fruitful Christmas NICU outreach. Check. Certainly, some anticipations were well founded.
Yet, despite those hopeful prospects, there were apprehensions as the new year rang, the biggest one being our final small Fry in the oven with no one aware except Lys’ parents. In a vacuum, there was excitement, a recognition of God’s restoration at work. Still, we knew despite my promotion at work, it wasn’t going to be enough to make ends meet based on a poorly reshuffled financial deck and a lack of quality benefits. TennCare, the system is helpful but doesn’t cover everything. Somehow, some way, God was going to have to do what only He could.
Freshly commissioned by my former team of three years, early expectations were high the year ahead could be both a collective step up. Unfortunately, the writing on the wall would start to show in light of questionable corporate decisions, enough to know what was now becoming clear: 2023 was going to be my last year at Foundation Group, shades of four years prior when God guided me out of TDOT. I didn’t know how the transition would occur. All I knew is like the ending scene from Mary Poppins, the weather vane within had completed turned. Slowly but surely, a piece of me was starting to fade.
With the kids in school to start the year (shout out to Greater Things), Lys and I had to pull out all the stops to make ends meet. We started with one freelancing side hustle (lost to AI in May) and a few ministerial endeavors on the board; however, they were not enough to offset the support cutoff that took place following Jubilee’s passing. For the first time in our married life, we had to find creative means from the bottom of the barrel to stitch paychecks together. This included eight BioLife Plasma appointments between December 8, 2022 and January 19, 2023, the latter of which prompted my donation retirement having almost passed out due to blood loss. Freak plasma accidents, they can be a bear in a [matter] of speaking. 😉
The following week, I started an eBay store to offload sports cards, memorabilia, and apparel I didn’t need. While gross sales were much higher than expected the first 4-5 months, the operation only served to connect weekly financial dots and did little to help us pull equity out of our home. On the verge of bankruptcy only months before Aili’s arrival, Lys and I had no choice but to pray and pray often for open doors. In our hearts, we knew provision would come. We just didn’t know how the details and timelines would shape out.
As winter gave way to spring, our family received a generous offer to visit Port Saint Joe, Florida for our first full family vacation. During our time away, Lys and I were able to celebrate our 10-year wedding anniversary while the kids enjoyed their inaugural beach debut.
In terms of broader stretches, the late March to early May time frame was notable for two occurrences:
1) On March 27, The Gate Church hosted my dad’s 50 Years of Ministry Celebration in what was truly a special night for our family.
2) From March 21 – May 9, Lys and I participated in a grief support group at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital in what would become a defining sequence for the rest of the year. Despite the proximity to where Jubilee died, we felt at home with our new friends, some of whom we still keep in contact with. As only the second bereaved parent support group in Vanderbilt’s history, our cohort proved to be an enlightening experience for several nurses on staff. From what we understand, more support groups are expected to launch in 2024 for those who endured Jubilee journeys of their own.
Like April, June was a meaningful month, albeit for different reasons. In a top three memory of the year, Lys and I took a weekend away to Moscow, Tennessee, to participate in a While We’re Waiting Retreat for bereaved parents. Like the Vanderbilt support group, the event would feature a balanced blend of community, healing, and direct support, essentials we desperately needed and weren’t finding anywhere else at the time. The empowerment and activation from the weekend would not only result in more friends but a guest appearance on the While We’re Waiting podcast in October and eventual board approval to start the first middle Tennessee chapter for the 2024 calendar year.
Apart from support groups, the dominant storylines heading into July were Lyssah’s pregnancy (by far the smoothest of all five kids), leading more Zoom calls with the Circuit Riders, and the job hunt reaching a fever pitch. Among the 200 applications sent on Indeed and LinkedIn between July-October 2023, roughly 8-10 resulted in fruitful networking including a pipeline for Foundation Group that specialized in not-for-profits.
Of course, the ultimate Fry-light would occur Friday, July 28, the day on which Aili was born. Although her earthly entrance doesn’t offset the incompleteness Lys and I feel, the wonder of God’s faithfulness as evident through the moment struck a victorious nerve in the context of God’s sovereignty and our testimony unfolding. Literal beauty from ashes (Isaiah 61:3), Aili’s arrival was more than cathartic but a sweet reminder to praise God for the way He ministers encouragement and comfort to the brokenhearted. Like a gift that keeps on giving, Aili continues to warm our hearts through smiles and reflections of divine providence. Even in the wake of last year’s tragedy, the surrealness of her presence has, no question, bonded our family together in greater measure.
Fast-forward to November 7 and the job search finally concluded after five months of persistent effort. Honestly, I will never forget the call I received from Mercy Multiplied during which they confirmed an offer for me to become their Accounting Manager, instantly justifying God’s call from January and the many closed doors that preceded in the months following. To think my application came in one day before the position was pulled from online job boards blows my mind – just another example of how God is faithful to guide and provide especially in the clutch. Since then, I’ve been able to find footing in a healthier environment working for Nancy Alcorn and her Finance team. No doubt, the experience, highlighted by the Merry Mercy 40th Anniversary Celebration earlier this month, has been a breath of fresh air.
And so, as the sun sets on 2023, I bid it adieu and relish the opportunity to start afresh and anew. Occasionally, I think back to that day in January, the one BioLife missed the vein, and how it triggered a resonating desire for the look of life to change in every facet outside immediate family and friends; however, I also remember praying, ‘Lord, even if these changes don’t happen, even if I feel like I’m sinking at the end of the year, give me healthy wife/healthy baby and I will gladly take it‘. Safe to say that request accrued dividend and interest as Aili, and her older sibling trio continue to mature in stature with Lys making progress towards 2020 levels of health.
Still, even with the advances of late, the hurts linger. Moving on is hard; adjusting to life post-Juby (while we’re gettin’ there) is hard; learning your youngest son is auti..ahem…neurodivergent…is hard; employing financial wisdom is hard; not feeling seeded in crucial areas…you guessed it…is hard. Then again, life was never meant to be easy and I’m quickly reminded how we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us even when we feel alone, disappointed, unheard, misunderstood, even neglected. Hence, why Lys and I are not discouraged to the point of wavering despite 2023 going down as the roughest year since 2011. For as 2021 and 2022 taught us…
…clinging to hope at the end of your rope is not just a hell to pass through but a hotspot to discover God’s love amidst the endurance.
Thus, while 2023 felt like navigating a pothole-laden highway, we can give testament to God as a solid foundation amidst the voids. Despite the adversities, I give Him all the praise for how he’s helped me put the family on my back and carry them through streams of troubled water this year.
To new faces and friendly spaces, we thank you for being valued connections in life and as part of our support network. To those on the other side, we thank you as well for your part in making us stronger. Just as without suffering and chaos, there cannot be compassion and peace, so too we cannot grow stronger without deficits and prompts to overcome. Accordingly, we can be grateful for the situations that awaken us to draw closer to Jesus regardless of the specifics involved. Granted, we understand many of you reading this have sowed refreshment and have extended goodwill to many during the past few years. For that, we share our warmest regards and wish you nothing but God’s best this holiday season.
May you all be blessed and enriched with the grandeur of His highest,
~ Cameron (and Lyssah) Fry
Prayer Points (in no particular order)
Favor with Cameron’s new job at Mercy Multiplied
Favor with the launch of the While We’re Waiting Nashville small group
Ministerial direction (i.e. knowing where God wants to plant us in 2024)
Mentoring/networking opportunities (i.e. knowing who we’re to team with/invest relationally)
New work opportunities for Lyssah (remote or hybrid)
Family health/Milo’s occupational therapy
Progress with Cameron’s Jubilee Journey book and a jumpstart of the His Girl Fryday podcast
For the first time in this series’ history, I’m writing a post to compliment parts 1 and 2 linked above. After encountering a revelation deluge during a sultry late summer run last weekend, I figured integrating these points into this episode made sense.
If you’re checking in for the first time, our goal with ‘Mourning Glory’ is to learn what the Bible says about grief and how to channel mourning into giving God all the glory. In many ways, these posts capture the journey Lys and I have been on this year. We hope these truths minister to your heart regardless of your circumstances.
1) Finding grief in the account of the 12 spies (Numbers 13)
Whether or not we realize it, there’s a piece of us internally during seasons of healing, recovery, and intense grieving looking to scout and assess where we are. Since we almost always need something to anticipate, our idea of ‘Promised Land’ generally becomes the ultimate source of hope (on earth edition). The million-dollar question is: What is our ‘Promised Land’ and how are we getting there?
To answer this question, we have to know what constitutes the giants in our life – what constitutes the Nephilim, and God’s role in the entire operation. For most, we’ve misappropriated our grief within the analogy. We think the giant in the room is the heartbreak, depression, whatever is causing us pain/hurt, etc. However, I submit…
Your pain isn’t the giant in the room. Perhaps an elephant but not a giant. The giant in the room is any toleration or stronghold that keeps us from pressing through…by faith– anything that keeps us stagnant as we walk through hell and/or keeps us from wrestling with God the way Jacob did with the man in Genesis 32.
Put another way, the giants in our lives are tolerated strongholds/sins and negative behavior patterns we use as coping mechanisms and bartering tools to maintain any sense of satisfaction. Tangentially, wrestling with God is how we conquer them and should not be considered optional in our journey to the Promised Land.
Speaking of Promised Land, what is it in the grand scheme of grieving, mourning, and journeying through pain/suffering? I think for most, we assume this represents a graduation, the proof of having healed and moved on. The problem is: If we abide by this perspective, then we limit victory as only realized once we’ve crossed a ‘finish line’, even if it’s one we can’t define it.
If we’re to correct from this mindset, we have to adjust the past vs. participle dichotomy within our thinking. For instance, while many view breakthrough as a binary function (I.e. you’re healed or not healed, moved on or haven’t moved on), the truth is:
We’ve already been set free and as such, can discover our new creation identity on top of our ‘loved by God’ identity day by day.
While the Word says we’ve been purchased at a price, this doesn’t mean we’re going to hit a point in this life when we’re officially complete. In the context of fullness, we’re never going to be complete. We’re never going to be perfect; however, we can still pursue it as being perfected (Matthew 5:48).
Why does this matter? Because we can live and heal without the burden of feeling far from an end goal when the goal is Jesus and He’s never far away!
God is everything and as such, can’t be detached from the Promised Land we’re seeking. Accordingly, don’t forsake or undermine His oasis presence as you journey but receive Who is He as what sustains you and maintains momentum. Walking with us through the valleys and shadows of life implies motion; however, we can’t self-effort that motion (and e-motion for that matter) in a way that leads to where we want to go. This is one of the main reasons why it took the Israelites 40 years to journey through the wilderness.
The Promised Land is multi-dimensional. Although you can experience a part of it through Christ alone, you may still feel far from victory, or should I say the evidence of victory (I.e. being around a group of people that have historically misunderstood you, being in the same space where at one point you experienced trauma in some capacity). Certainly, we can’t embrace strength and courage without abiding by the Spirit and trusting in God’s sovereignty.
For now, I encourage you not to make certain people and circumstances the enemy, as the giants in the room. They are not worth the negative empowerment at the cost of your distrust. Rather, if you want to view your grief as a race, bring God into every leg of it. If it’s a journey, bring Him along as if He’s in your backpack, fanny pack, whatever. The joy in walking with Jesus is you’re being changed, perfected, and nurtured day-by-day. God isn’t just at the finish line waiting for you. He’s with you through the grieving/mourning process ready to share fresh facets of His nature you couldn’t have known had you not gone through the pain, hardship, etc. Hence, why we should see suffering as a gift more than anything else.
2) Finding grief in the account of Jacob’s wrestling with God (Genesis 32)
In this chapter, Jacob is looking for favor in the heat of stress and anxiety. Not only does he feel the betrayal from Laban, but the wrath from Esau, caught up in a bizarre series of deceptions with his life on the line. Like the griever, he’s desperate for assurance and blessing, the realization of comfort and God being for him, not against him. This sets the stage for the wrestling with ‘the man’ (v. 24 ), a beautiful picture of how we should cling to Jesus when we’re suffering and in some cases, grieving on the backend of loss.
Think about it: Jacob had everything to gain tackling His Lord. The cost set before him, he was determined to be take hold of his inheritance relative to his identity despite a side effect in the most literal sense. And it’s here where my imagination has been captured of late.
In the heat of the moment, despite his mourning and discomfort, Jacob never let go…not only to the glory of God but for the sake of never walking the same way again.
As Jacob portrays, wrestling with God is an intimate experience. While it can be uncomfortable, the reality of pain being a gift can triumph through rest knowing we have a default way to react when something goes wrong. I’m telling you, my friends, this is the power and significance of the limp and why we should embrace it as we journey in unity, contend in hope, and help others in need.
Just as we limp when a bone is out of joint to protect us from further damage, we limp when we lose a beloved person and/or experience a significant life change. While limps come in various shapes, sizes, and severities, when we grieve the right way, our inner man is declaring ‘I need Jesus’/’I need my brokenness aligned amidst a broken world‘ . Conversely, when we grieve the wrong way, we declare the injustice is with God Himself and/or the specific people and strongholds involved in the situation that may be fueling the grief.
Therefore, we can take joy when we consider our grief/mourning in the construct of Genesis 32 knowing pain can help us not only reach for Jesus, but see Him reflected in what we’re going through, our limp an always present reality keeping us humble and hopeful along the way.
In closing, I charge you, brothers and sisters, to grieve in hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13) knowing…
And even if you feel you can’t, that’s okay. For in your weakness, He is strong and in your vulnerability shine all the more brightly through saints and providence alike. While more content on this topic will eventually follow, for now, as I always say in bidding adieu…
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