Tag: writing

Year in Review: A Look Back at 2025

Leave a comment

Normally, I savor the opportunity to recap a year, to recount 12 months’ worth of Fry-lights. But this December, much has been hitting differently, granted I still believe in the practice.

On paper, there’s not much to highlight, at least personally. While last year starred as a bounce-back with arrows pointing up, this year saw more of the opposite. Support systems faded, turnstiles were active, and a few painful narratives met their farewell. Like any annual review, there’s much I could say about what went right and what went wrong. For now, I’m still standing, hopeful in how I’m postured heading into 2026 and by faith, declare it to be a banner year during which three and a half years of net spiraling will cease. A new Refuge Center odyssey awaits; heavenly Father, open up the floodgates!

For Lys and the kids, 2025 was a step-in-the-right-direction kind of year, especially on the education front. After completing a strong three-semester run at Arrows Academy Tutorial in May, we applied for scholarships to return Caeden and Everly to Greater Things Christian School. By God’s grace, we not only enrolled Caeden and Everly at Greater Things but also found the right school and accommodations for Milo to begin at Kingston Springs Elementary. A huge set of wins for our family at large!

With the older three in a Monday-Friday routine, Lys has been able to find new rhythms of her own. Despite an unexpected pregnancy, she stayed on board as a teacher at Arrows Academy while starting a TikTok affiliate marketing business in August and assisting me with the communications at our local church. As a mom, she continues to amaze me with how she enhances family morale. Like me, the bereavement grief is still active; however, her progression in recent years has benefited many who have engaged her story.  No question, her life continues to touch and inspire many.

Among the year’s milestones, two stand out: 

  1. In April, we dedicated Everly, Milo, and Aili at The Gate Church after years of pushback thanks to COVID-19 and our year at the NICU. We are grateful to see how our kids have responded spiritually, despite the trauma they’ve faced. Much appreciation to Greater Things and The Gate’s Children Ministry for investing so much life and truth into them.
  2. On December 17, we welcomed the arrival of Jori Grace who now completes our family circle. As our second rainbow baby, we’re eager to nurture this life while watching God move through her as she grows and develops. 

Concerning passion projects, there are several big news items on the board, though currently on hold. Currently, Lys and I anticipate the launch of Jubilee’s Hope as an incorporated non-profit by this time next year. With three NICU outreaches under our belt, raising a total of almost $8,000 combined, we plan to ‘umbrella’ future endeavors by providing NICU families with resources, spiritual support, and even household support during their respective journeys. As for Jubilee’s book, I’m happy to report that after months of searching, I’ve found an editor who will help take my manuscript to the next level. A promising development to complement the nonprofit dream!

In addition, Lys and I agreed to pause our virtual While We’re Waiting support group in November to pursue greater healing. With a lead on land, we hope to transition this into an on-site group during the second half of next year. As for His Girl Fryday, we hit 13,000 views in 2025 and hope to build upon that momentum with more consistent podcasts in 2026.

As always, to you and yours, we wish you a very Merry Christmas a Happy New Year!

~ Cameron, Lyssah, Caeden, Everly, Milo, Jubilee, Aili, and Jori Fry

Cover graphic creds: Advent Transportation

Autside Looking In: Dealing with the Spectrum and Grief at Work

Leave a comment

So, this isn’t a newsflash, but I’ll go ahead and say it anyway.

I’m an autistic adult who’s lost a kid yet believes in his story. While there’s a lot I don’t know, I know a lot about things I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, from holding a child taking her last breath to being unfairly labeled in school for lacking social cues, and at past jobs for having neurodivergent tendencies.

Not to suggest I’m a victim or anything. I’m just different, perhaps a little anomalous, and that’s okay. Honestly, the world needs more people who are content and confident in their uniqueness, in how they see and understand the world around them.

Yet, as for why I’m writing this, consider it a call for corporate introspection, from churches and counseling centers to employers across the country. No matter what organizational structure is employed, there must be support for spectrum people as well as those who are struggling with trauma and loss. In our interactions with colleagues, providers, subordinates, and those in our household, we must not only prioritize grace, compassion, and understanding in our dealings but also make additional room for them with certain people in specific situations.

The reason is simple: While every day is a gift, it can also feel like a burden for the one walking through complexities they can’t understand. Are we actively thinking of ways to steward psychological safety in our workplaces, to share requests and concerns? Are we screening people at strategic junctures to know what their accommodations should be? Are we seeking to understand the ‘why’ behind select needs, tools, and outputs? Are we willing to learn more about what doesn’t directly apply to us but applies to those on our team, from the cubicle peer next door to the prospect who could be the missing link to our company’s next big thing?

Again, I’m not looking to force conviction, but stir some questions for thought. Are we, as influencers and leaders with varying degrees of authority, considering ways we can facilitate healthy environments for those who may struggle to regulate on overwhelming, high-pressure days? Are we contributing our availability and wisdom to potentially detrimental dynamics? Are we being bold to sow life while being emotionally sensitive to those who could use a piece of our positivity, perspective, or direction?

Whatever your answers are, I’m not entitled to know, though I will say this in closing. Dare to care enough to know when an unjust tag is applied, when bias is infiltrating a pride-centric culture where hurting and/or neurodiverse people are somehow inferior. In all we say and do, let’s keep our hearts intact, our protocols fine-tuned, and our attitudes open to adjustments.

I Am Sam: Sometimes Love is All You Need

Leave a comment

Written 9/10/09; revised 11/13/24

Last Saturday, as I waited to board a flight to Seattle, a heartbreaking scene unfolded outside my gate entrance. Taking a last-minute call, my eyes beheld a young boy sobbing profusely as he clenched his father’s jacket. Processing the scene, it wasn’t long before the situation became clear.

The dad, slightly greasy and decorated with tattoos, emanated the type of vibe a father shows when lacking relational depth – his emotional aroma more melancholy than anguish, as if time and circumstances had numbed the grief. Watching tears stream down his son’s face, I couldn’t help but crack. The pure yet raw emotion of the instant captured a snapshot I will never forget.

Moments later, as I searched for a window seat, I saw the boy a few rows in front of me. I heard a flight attendant utter his name, “Sam” with a tender tone. Apparently, she was not only aware of his flying status but also the distress he was in.

Passing Sam by, he appeared stunned, glued to the back of his seat with eyes still bloodshot.

“God, I hate divorce. I hate it, I hate it, hate it,” was all I could internalize.

Overwhelmed by the visual, I pushed my seat back and began to drift.

An hour later, I woke up to find an astonishing sight. Cruising by the aisles was Sam, who had decided to assist one of the flight attendants in serving snacks to the rest of the passengers. Once subdued, Sam’s demeanor had completely transformed. Perhaps he was reminded of something positive or received an encouraging word. Whatever the case, Sam’s rapid conversion was nothing short of inspiring.

Sensing Jesus in the moment, my perspective started to change. While my disdain for divorce was still fresh in my periphery, I couldn’t help but voice gratitude for how God was using the love of strangers to multiply the sentiment. Often, we simmer when we emotionally attach to the victim of a tragic situation. We consider the sufferer and misappropriate our feet in their shoes assuming our anger is somehow a function of advocacy. But when an innocent child like Sam cheers up in the purest sense, you realize even a great tragedy like divorce pales in the face of what God can do to redeem the hurt of something He hates.

Deplaning the aircraft hours later, I kept a few paces behind Sam walking out of the tunnel. Unlike his boarding, I noted a skip in his step as he scampered to his mother. The real Sam had arrived.

Fast-forward 15 years later, and Sam occasionally pops into my mind, each time a prompt to pray for minors in the middle to become mighty men and women of God. How many little kids struggling with their parent’s divorce think they are the reason their mommy and daddy are no longer together? How many still bear shame because they weren’t taught how to deal with it? While only heaven knows, it’s that Kingdom I want to extend on earth as far as it be with me.

As for the rest of us, whether we’re mentors or bystanders in similar situations, we all have a part in sowing compassion to bridge divides in broken families. Regardless of our role, let’s pursue it with excellence.

God bless you, Sam, for cementing the reminder.