On my birthday, Friday, June 10, the judge told me to go home! I now have full access to my children with no restrictions.

It's over.

Thank you all for your continued prayers, love, and support throughout the past year. It's been an unbelievably difficult year, but God has sustained us with every breath. We truly are in the palm of His hands.

I talked to someone last night who has grown up in a Christian context (though not evangelical), but seems to have no biblical knowledge whatsoever and no understanding of the gospel. By exterior appearances this person could be considered deeply religious, yet still lacking even a rudimentary understanding of the basic tenets of the Christian faith.

The encounter reminded me of my time in the BC jail, where everyone is a "Christian" but most don't have a minimal grasp of what that actually means. Most inmates kept a Bible by their bunk as a sort of talisman to ward off evil spirits, give their court cases a favorable outcome, and to sidestep an eternity in hell -- but if you asked them to look up John 3:16, they'd probably have trouble finding it.

The fact is the scales do not fall from anyone's eyes unless God makes them fall. The reason we choose Him is because He chooses us (Ephesians 1:4). During this season of life especially, that gives me great comfort. My heart is warmed by the fact that not even insignificant little birds fall to the ground apart from His will (Matthew 10:29).

So I'm left with a thankful heart. I'm thankful that it pleased God to separate me from my mother's womb and to call me by His grace (Galatians 1:15). And I'm thankful that, as the old hymn goes, "Jesus sought me while a stranger, wandering from the fold of God." As the psalmist says, our God is in heaven, and He does whatever He pleases.

So when I see blank stares from people whose minds are apparently "blinded, who do not believe, lest the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine on them" (2 Cor. 4:4), I'm often times filled with hope and awe, knowing that even someone's stubborn will -- or obstinacy -- is no match for the will of Yahweh. As Romans 8:28 says, "All things work together for good to those who love God, for those who are called according to His purpose."

My children are without their father right now -- He knows that, and He's using it for His glory. It's working out for good. I believe that with all my heart, because the light of the gospel shines brighter in dark places.

Nathan, Daniel, Abigail, and Evangeline, I love you all so much. I think about all of you, literally, every hour of every day. JESUS is with you, my babies.

Yes.

And that's what makes suffering so intolerable at times. There's nowhere to go. There's no eject button. No way to abort. All I can do is sit here and take it.

Isn't this what theologians have written about for centuries? Our classic understanding of hell: Eternal Conscious Torment. Sure, this isn't eternal, but it feels that way, so it may as well be. I'm certainly conscious. And this is definitely torment.

The real difference is I believe there is an end. I do hope, and I do see this as a "light affliction," knowing that "the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to compared to the glory that will be revealed in us." I hope in JESUS while I miss my children.

I don't just miss them, I see them. I see my children everywhere. Not in a literal sense, of course, but I feel them like they're with me, even though they're not. I feel them in the cold breeze, and I think about them running around in their winter jackets, laughing. I see them when the sun goes down, and I think about what it used to be like to drive home after work to my beautiful wife cooking dinner, and my treasures telling me all about their day. I see them in familiar places, places I've been to a million times over with them. I feel Evangeline's tiny little hand touching my arm. I feel Abigail riding on my back as I carry her up to bed. I feel Nathan jumping around as I hug him. I feel Daniel sitting in my office chair with me while I send an email. I hear their voices; their voices never go away.

I went to Wendy's the other day. I sat at the same table Daniel and I sat at on May 9. I sat on the side of the table that Daniel was on, and I glided my hand across the table and thought about him. I haven't seen him since May 26.

In the darkest times, I feel like maybe I stole those years of joy with my children. Maybe I never deserved them to begin with? Maybe that afternoon with Daniel at Wendy's was the sort of life I forfeited years ago without even realizing it? Thankfully the darkest times aren't the most common times. I have to hope, or life really isn't worth living. I was once without Christ, having no hope and without God in this world. "But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ" (Ephesians 2:13).

Is life worth living? Absolutely. Because I'm one day closer to being with my children, and one day closer to being with Christ for eternity. It's also worth living because He's meeting me right here, right now. His right hand offers pleasures forevermore -- and forevermore begins this very second.
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If you're reading this and you have children, go hug them and tell them you love them.

I have a deeper understanding of the impermanence of life these days. I never would have thought -- ever -- that I would lose my children. Yes, I knew my sins were great, and that I would have to suffer consequences for them, but in my naivete I had never dreamed that I would be taken away from my children in such a way. The thought simply never crossed my mind. After my repentance in January 2008, I thought the hard part of life was over.

Last Sunday Brandi and I went to Dayton Black's funeral -- he was only 32. Dayton is the son of Richard and Cathy Black; those two have been exceptionally good and close friends to Brandi and me for more than 10 years.

On July 23, Richard and Cathy had me over to their home for a meal. It was refreshing to eat a home-cooked meal on a real plate with non-plastic utensils. After the meal Richard and I sat in his living room while I tried to express the pain and anguish I was presently going through. Richard's warm encouragement left me with a sense of well-being that night, and I walked away from his place a slightly better person. I was sharpened.

Only two months later, Brandi and I found ourselves at Dayton's funeral. How does that happen? How does someone go from life to death in such a short space of time? Dayton even joined Richard and I for a bit of conversation on that July night. I remember thinking back then, Man, this guy is huge! He could kill me if he wanted to. And it was true. He was a semi-pro football player, full of life and health -- the exact opposite of physical death. Now he's gone.

My problems seem so small in comparison to literal, physical death. How do you look a friend in the eye, a friend who just lost his only son, and say anything that makes any sense? "I understand your pain." No, I don't. "I'm feeling similar feelings, Richard." No, I'm not. "I know what it's like to lose touch with a child." No, I don't -- not in that way. My sons are still breathing. His is dead. Big difference.

Life truly is a vapor, and nothing is permanent. Only JESUS.

"He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?" (Romans 8:32)

This U2 song about familial relationships -- fathers, sons, and daughters -- makes me think about my family, alone on our little farm. I know we'll all be together again soon. JESUS is all you all need.

This live version of "Kite" was recorded on the day of Bob Hewson's funeral. Bob Hewson was Bono's father.

I want you to know
That you don't need me anymore
I want you to know
You don't need anyone, or anything at all

In summer I can taste the salt in the sea
There's a kite blowing out of control on a breeze
I wonder what's gonna happen to you
You wonder what has happened to me

The reports I get from home are always positive: The kids are joyful, things are going well, everyone is keeping up with the chores, and life is happening just as it always has. I'm thankful for those things, and I'm thankful for little bumps of joy that Brandi sends my way via text messages and emails every day. (For example, she texted me today: "Right now I'm watching one of our chickens eat a baby snake. :-)" That was a good thing! Protein for our chickens and a baby snake that will never grow into an adult snake.)

On the challenging side of things, Brandi's still sans her Suburban (it's in the shop), so she's still stranded at home. I think her and the kids must be getting cabin fever by now (it's been about a week). We're also finding that getting time together can be an arduous endeavor, and we're praying for God to open some doors for us to spend more time together.

In other matters, there are no real updates at this time. Please, brothers and sisters, keep praying for Brandi, Nathan, Daniel, Abigail, and Evangeline. They are my favorite people in the world, and I miss them deeply.

I just got back from my aunt's funeral in Houston. It was good to celebrate her life and to know that she died in the Faith, and that now she's standing before the Lord.

During the eulogy my mind started to drift, and I began thinking about being at that funeral with Brandi and the kids (they were back in Waco), and how happy I would be to have the "responsibility" of watching my four little children during the funeral service. I imagined Daniel leaning his little head against my shoulder, whispering in my ear to ask me when the service would end. It was a good daydream.

Just to reiterate, as of right now, I'm not supposed to have have any communication whatsoever with my children. The past few days have been difficult, being separated from them completely as if they don't exist. But they do exist, and the force of the love I feel for them is truly stronger, I think, than anything I've ever felt in my life. It feels weighty, like intense pressure on my heart.

Don't misunderstand me, I love my wife more than anyone on earth, but the force of that love has never had to endure complete separation. When I repented of my sins two-and-a-half years ago (what a happy day), Brandi and I began a process of reconciliation that eventually built a love-wall, if you will, brick by brick, around our relationship. We still work on that wall. We still add bricks and fix patches, but it's a strong edifice now compared to what it was back then.

With my children, I loved them from the moment I saw them. And even when I lived a life of duplicity, I loved them -- despite the depths of my depravity. Still, back then, pre-January 2008, my love for them was still in many ways a shallow love. When I finally breathed the free air of repentance, my relationship with my children began to blossom. Abigail, who was previously indifferent to me, began to fall in love with me, and I with her. (Now I think she's the sweetest, most beautiful little girl I've ever seen. No, I know that. And the interesting contradiction here is I also know that's true about Evangeline as well.)

So I'll say it again, the force of my love for my children is strong: Too strong to forget about them; too strong to not pray for them; and too strong to not long for the day when I will see them again, and hold them again. I've often thought that that day will be the happiest day of my life, and with no exaggeration, I can say that is true. It's almost overwhelming to think about.

Nathan. Daniel. Abigail. Evangeline. I love them more than anyone or anything in creation.

If you only have time to pray for one thing with regard to our trial, please pray for Brandi. She's incredibly strong in the Lord, but she needs JESUS' grace as much as any of us. She is raising our four children, taking care of chores around our little farm, homeschooling, spending as much time with me as possible, and doing a billion other things that demand her attention ... and she's doing all of that alone. I wish I could help her. Please, pray for her.