Stories about hope

May 23, 2025

Last night, I got word that you, dear precious saint, had left the earth to be with Jesus.

I was at work, dealing with the usual things of my day when the news came. It was not unexpected, but yet it hurts so much.  My friend, her sweet mom and brothers were hurting. I was hurting. But at my job there is an unwritten rule “no crying aloud”. It was the time of my workday when I get to be outside – my sunglasses on and I was meeting drivers at the “air dock”. The tears were pretty easy to hide. I wouldn’t have a good cry until later. But I knew a good cry was coming.

I hurt for my friend. And yet I am so thankful for the HOPE of heaven. All our tears, all our sorrow will one day be wiped away.

I decided I would write a letter to my “extra Dad” so here it is.

My heart is filled with gratitude for the long and impactful life that you led. I’m so thankful for you Mr. Layton,  so thankful. 

What a precious man you were, a shining example of unconditional love toward this girl. 

When My house was a hurricane your house was a safe Harbor. 

You knew that this crazy teenage redhead girl needed to find a place where she felt safe and loved. 

I felt equally terrified of you and seen by you. 

Did you know, Mr. Layton? 

Did you know the impact you and your wife truly had? 

What it meant to me when you would greet me and your eyes would light up and you would flash your big toothy smile? It meant the world to me.

I think however it’s time to confess a few things. I have some things to apologize for. 

So I’m sorry. 

I’m sorry about the time when you put mileage restrictions on Julie and we drove her Mustang to the drive in anyway. We watched Rocky and then drove in reverse on the way home in the wee hours of the morning, because the mileage ticker doesn’t count miles driven in reverse.

I’m sorry about writing all over that classic Mustang in a pencil that would not erase. I do believe it eventually came out after some serious waxing. 

I’m sorry about the time we thought it would be funny to smoke cigars in your living room. It was, in fact, NOT funny. It stank to high heaven and don’t think I’ve ever felt sicker. 

I’m sorry we would often ditch school to go to the beach. 

I’m sorry for taking our mustangs off-roading in the hills. 

I’m sorry for all the noise when we would have slumber parties at your house. I wonder if you ever got any sleep? 

I’m sorry for the mess we made in your home. Your kitchen, your living room was often filled with us teenagers, if there was every a place we needed to go, it seemed like your house was the destination. The entire Youth Group would pack in for birthdays, fellowship, after prom parties, slumber parties. Your daughter was often the planner behind all the events but you always willingly (or not) gave her your blessing.

I’m sorry for destroying your pool and back yard with cannon balls, and potato chips

I’m sorry for the grocery bills you had to pay because you fed the entire youth group.

I’m sorry for stealing your toilet paper so we could T-pee other kids homes. 

I’m sorry for all the times you spoke to me and I could only nod and smile because I, a mere mortal, couldn’t comprehend a word as you were speaking as you spoke at genius level. 

I’m sure we did other things that were annoying- but you never let on. You seemed to know how to let us be crazy teenagers in your home. 

I’m sure you weren’t perfect- but to me, you were. 

You’ve lived quite a life Mr. Layton. And I’m thankful to have been a small part of it. 

“Precious in the sight of the Lord Is the death of His godly ones.”

Psalms 116:15