It's All Grace

a journey with the Thomason family

  • Our Year in Czech
  • Christmas Trees
  • Bookshelf
Illustration of a bird flying.
  • Thanks, Kershaw

    Baseball is a grace of God. Not because it’s perfect, or that everything about it is holy, but because it brings enjoyment. And since enjoyment is a gift from God (Ecclesiastes 2:24-25), it must be a grace. This is especially true when your team is winning, but even when they’re not.

    In baseball, like all sports, there are always those athletes who have something special. That is to say somehow they have talent that separates them from the many other incredible athletes out there on the field. For my Los Angeles Dodgers, that someone for the past 18 seasons has been left-handed pitcher, Clayton Kershaw. Watching him pitch has been one of the joys of being a baseball fan, especially of the Dodgers–the only team Kershaw has ever played for. And on Sunday afternoon, my son Titus and I got to watch him throw the ball one more time. It was special, or dare I say romantic? Something only Billy Beane and baseball fans truly grasp.

    Clayton Kershaw walking to the dugout in Seattle after his final career start of the regular season.

    I remember the first time I went to a Dodgers game. I was young. Maybe 7 or 8. My dad was given tickets and we drove to Dodgers Stadium for a night game. I don’t remember the baseball, just the stadium. It was huge, the grass was an otherworldly green, and the lights stood as tall as the skyscrapers my dad worked at in downtown L.A. I don’t know why, but after the game we got to walk on the field. Standing there, looking at the huge stadium that surrounded me was unforgettable. It was a grace of God, even just for a moment. From then on, I was a Dodgers fan.

    Following the Dodgers didn’t really kick in until after Bethany and I got married. That was 2005. We would watch a few games on the local KCAL 9 station and listen in as Vin Scully explained baseball and life to us. We only lived about 45 minutes from the stadium and tickets were often gifted from my work, so getting to games became more frequent even as we began to start a family. Sometimes I would even call my dad who had since moved to Kentucky and talk to him about the Dodgers (and Vin). Even after many years he hadn’t forgiven them for the 1994 players strike, but somehow he knew about the most recent game. “I see your Dodgers won again,” he’d say. Maybe they weren’t just my Dodgers?

    Titus and me just pumped to be in the stadium watching Kershaw pitch one more time.

    The more we watched and went to games, the more we got to know the young pitcher, Clayton Kershaw. With his signature slow curve ball that Vin Scully famously called “Public Enemy #1,” and his incredible ability to paint the edges of the strike zone, it was like watching a master craftsman at work. Season after season, with minimal injuries, no matter how the team was doing, we could count on Kershaw for a least a few beautiful strikeouts. Now he has 3,052 of them, and today we got to watch him get 7 of those. In a stadium filled with 45,000 other people, we all enjoyed the sweet grace of watching an artist work his magic. In the end he would walk off the mound to a roaring applause, everyone on their feet cheering for the amazing career of the southpaw from Texas and the beauty of this great game.

    Our view from the “cheap” seats at T-Mobile park in Seattle for the final game of the regular season.

    In Ecclesiastes 5:18-20 we get a glimpse of God’s heart for us. In it, the “Preacher,” as the writer calls himself, says this:

    Behold, what I have seen to be good and fitting is to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of his life that God has given him, for this is his lot. Everyone also to whom God has given wealth and possessions and power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil—this is the gift of God. For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart.

    Just a few days ago Kershaw announced his retirement effective at the end of the season. As the Dodgers move on to the post season we don’t know if he’ll pitch again or not. Maybe he’ll get another start, maybe he’ll come in as a reliever, or maybe he’ll just be in the dugout showing the young guys how to hold his slider. All of us Dodgers fans hope he’ll also be holding another ring at the end of October! But whether he slings that baseball again or not, I can say that I’m thankful to have been alive while he did. It has been a gift from God to find enjoyment in baseball, especially ones thrown by number 22. Thanks, Kershaw. And thanks be to God who gave our family the enjoyment of a few incredible years watching one of the greatest pitchers of his generation. It’s all grace.

    September 28, 2025
  • When Joy and Sorrow Collide or Calling 9-1-1…Again

    “Shay…Shay…wake up!”

    Huh? What? What’s going on?

    It was just a little after 10:30 am and my head was buried under my pillow. I had been napping because I’ve been battling some kind of sickness all week, not to mention just overall tiredness from helping with late night feedings and diaper changes for baby Levi who was just 11 days old.

    “I’ve got chest pain!…I think you need to call 9-1-1.”

    Oh, no. Not again.

    As I scrambled to wake up and make sense of what was happening, I got my phone and the fire department arrived no more than ninety seconds later. By this point Bethany was on the ground, looked pale, and the medics began taking her vitals. Even though Bethany could answer basic questions, it didn’t take them long to order an ambulance and other personnel to run more tests before getting her off the floor of our bedroom and out the door. I grabbed Levi who had been hanging out in a jumper in the kitchen where Bethany was making food for herself before her chest started hurting. He and I got in the van and off we were to the hospital, following the ambulance in what felt eerily like deja-vu from everything that happened back in late 2021.

    That was Friday. Today is Sunday. After two CT scans, countless EKGs, bloodwork and I’m sure some other stuff, it has become very clear that Bethany has experienced another SCAD (spontaneous coronary artery dissection)–exactly what happened in 2021. Praise the Lord she is OK and recovering! In fact, she’s recovering faster than she did before even though this was technically even more serious than her previous one. We are extremely grateful she is OK, that we got her to a hospital quickly, and for the many trained people who helped. In God’s incredible kindness, he once again protected Bethany. The “could-haves” could have been very bad, but that wasn’t God’s plan and we can’t help but praise Him for his mercy.

    Bethany has been in the hospital all weekend (3 days now) and they have been monitoring everything closely. Because of the heart medicine they were using she had to stop breastfeeding Levi for now so we switched him to a bottle which he took easily (praise the Lord). With the help of my in-laws at home I’ve been doing the nightly bottle feedings for Levi while Bethany remains at the hospital. Sadly she’s had to “pump and dump” her milk at the hospital, but as a few hours ago she was off the meds and will be able to breastfeed again this evening for the first time since Friday morning. Lord willing, she might even be able to come home on Monday (tomorrow).

    Bethany with the kids this weekend in her hospital room.

    “Dad, why does this always happen to our family? Why does this keep happening to Mommy?” Those are hard questions from my daughter who just so happened to be turning nine this weekend (June 1). I would be lying if the same questions didn’t pop through my head a time or two this weekend. But my best answer in that moment was that we truly live in a broken world and our bodies don’t always work exactly like they should. Even though God is good and He’s kind and He’s gracious, we still live in a broken world, one in which we long to be made right and whole again. I don’t know exactly what truth got through, if any, but I know I was preaching that to myself as much as I was to her.

    As I was parking the car in the hospital garage for the umpteenth time this weekend a song we sing at church came on and I finally broke down in tears and just sat in the car and listened. The first two verses are simply about God being everlasting, timeless, and a reminder of who He is. But it was the third verse and subsequent chorus that hit me:

    Verse 3

    O God, when joy and tragedy collide
    And loss reminds us life is but a sigh
    From everlasting, You are God

    Chorus

    And all our days are held within Your hands
    Your perfect love and favor have no end
    We rest within the wisdom of Your plan
    Everlasting God

    Joy and tragedy felt like they collided a bit the past two weeks. We have gone from the joy of celebrating the birth of our fifth child, little baby Levi, to the pain of watching Bethany grab her chest as blood couldn’t flow properly to her heart. Praise the Lord this didn’t turn into a full loss or a full tragedy! They literally call the artery where Bethany’s dissection happened the “widow maker”–praise the Lord it didn’t lead to that! But we are reminded that “life is but a sigh.” While I believe fully that all our days are held within the perfect Hands and plan of God, and I affirm that his love and favor have no end, can I rest within the wisdom of His plan? That’s the challenge before Bethany and I as we lead our family through these trials. That’s the challenge of the Christian life in general. Do I trust the everlasting God?

    Bethany is feeling great at this moment, but we have some decisions going forward that require some prayer. Would you pray with us? Pray that God would continue to heal Bethany’s artery and protect her heart from any damage. Additionally, in the midst of all this we’ve learned that Bethany’s cholesterol levels are “through the roof” which the doctor’s believe to be genetic. The cardiologist said, “This isn’t about your diet. In fact, you couldn’t eat bad enough to have cholesterol like this.” We have a decision of whether to put Bethany on meds to help with that, but she can’t breastfeed if she’s on it. Pray for wisdom and good counsel. Thank you to everyone for walking with us and loving us and praying for us. We are grateful to you and to our good, everlasting God who has all of our days held tight within His hands.

    June 2, 2024
  • Christmas Tree 2023

    It’s truly hard for us to believe that 15 years now we’ve been making Christmas tree videos, but here we are. Bethany and I have both been pretty sick with something lately, but we still found the energy to walk over to our local nursery and have the kids carry back the Christmas tree! So from our family to yours, merry Christmas!

    December 5, 2023
  • Thanks, Papa. And Happy Father’s Day.

    It’s Father’s Day–the first one without my (Shay) dad. I felt it more keenly this week because it was also my birthday a few days ago and I didn’t get his annual phone call. It’s always strange how the smallest things can hurt. But while playing with my kids this weekend I realized I had a few things on my mind about Father’s Day.

    Back in January I wrote about missing my dad who died in December. At the time I didn’t have the emotional space to speak of my father-in-law, but there was a whole lot more going on with our family than just the loss of my dad.

    It was a Wednesday, December 21 when my dad passed away in Kentucky. In the middle of trying to figure out funeral arrangements and flights back to Kentucky to bury my dad, two days later on the 23rd we got a phone call from Bethany’s parents…her dad, Daryl, was taken to the hospital by ambulance. He had fainted multiple times during the night and they weren’t sure what was going on or even what was wrong. Multiple tests were done and it looked like his kidneys weren’t functioning right. But one of the tests showed something else: cancer. When we heard we actually tried to jump in our car and make the normally easy two-hour drive to their town, but the mountain passes were closed due to snow. My kids still still remember us sitting in The Habit Burger waiting to see if the roads would open. They didn’t. We couldn’t get there before having to fly back to Kentucky for the funeral the day after Christmas, all the while waiting for text message or phone calls on Daryl’s health.

    Papa, Nana, and the Thomason clan hanging out in Seattle.

    It wasn’t super clear back in December what kind of cancer or just how bad it was, but six months later we now know he has multiple myeloma. Without going into too much detail here, this kind of cancer attacks the plasma cells in the bones. It produces a high level of M proteins which is really rough on the kidneys, weakens your immune system, and makes it easy to break a bone. Daryl has been receiving treatments in multiple cities in Washington, some of which have taken place in Seattle just fifteen minutes from where we live. While the circumstances aren’t our favorite, it’s been incredible to live close and be able to help when and where we can.

    Tomorrow is a big day for Daryl (we would covet your prayers). After all the cancer treatments he’s technically in remission, but they are going to begin a stem cell transplant at 8:00 am on Father’s Day (of all days). We went tonight to visit him one last time as this next phase will force him into a quarantine since his immune system will be wiped out completely. Until that returns, our contact will be limited as infection risks are really high during this time. Looks like it’s going to be at least 5 weeks, maybe longer, we just don’t know. We had fun bringing Father’s Day cards from the kids and a little dessert that we enjoyed out on the street since we can’t go inside the medical facility. We also walked over to a local Starbucks and grabbed tea and coffee. I got the photo below of Daryl (aka: “Papa”) with my boys.

    Papa and the Boys at Starbucks in Seattle

    I asked Daryl tonight about the state of his soul. I’ve asked this a number of tons over the past few months and we’ve wept, prayed, and wept some more as we’ve talked about how’s he’s processing this trial. Tonight he said, “It is well with my soul… but there are ups and downs.” He went on to say that this has truly caused him to understand the brevity of life. While he once thought about his own genes and the length of the lives of his family, this has changed that for him. Facing cancer has forced him to see that life is momentary, but worth living.

    I’m sure this hasn’t been an easy realization, but I am grateful for those words tonight because that’s what father’s do. Fathers don’t shy away from hard truths and hard realities. In fact, good fathers, like good leaders, help define reality for us. They teach us what the world is like and how we are to respond to it. They teach us about the God who made it and the God who rules it. They understand that hard things happen, totally under the control of God, but still hard.

    Papa teaching Avery how to make French toast a few years back.

    Papa continues to help my kids understand the world. Every time he and Nana are here he’s helping build a Lego set, or studying Math, or reading, or working in the yard. There’s always something to learn from Papa. I too continue to be blessed by his skill and wisdom. But tonight I realized that he’s also teaching me how to live while we die. I don’t mean to say that I think he’s going to die soon, only the Lord knows that, but rather to say that I know we are all going to. The wise will number their days and live them out with joy (see Psalm 90). Papa is doing that. His ups and down are just part of life, but he’s still living. And I don’t just mean breathing, I mean continuing to show us what it means to enjoy life even when it’s hard. He’s still kissing my daughters and hugging them. He’s still talking with Titus about Indiana Jones, and listening to Micah share how he got a scar on his chest when he fell down today. He’s still giving them Starbursts every single time we see him. He’s still living… truly living. Or in the words of John Piper, he hasn’t wasted his cancer by retreating into himself. He continues to have a deeply affectionate heart, caring for people.

    Papa, Nana, and Karis taking in a Mariners game

    So thanks, Papa. While we both don’t know what the future holds, I know that you have shown us what it means to enjoy life while you hurt. You continue to show us what it means to live by faith and not by sight. You have shown us the character of our God, our loving Father, by being a loving father. Thank you for that. Happy Father’s Day.

    June 17, 2023
  • The Longest Shadow

    It’s almost poetic that my dad would die on the day of the winter solstice, or sometimes called “the longest night of the year.” Only he and I would likely find it so. Because for years he has called me, almost without fail, to remind me that the days are either getting longer or shorter. I’ve come to expect the calls from him telling me that “from now on the sun will stay up a little longer every day” or “well, now the days are getting shorter.” He always like the longer days. I’m gonna miss those phone calls.

    December 21–that is the date in which the winter solstice usually lands–will now be for me not only the day when I can cast my longest shadow of the year because of the sun’s low height in the sky, but a day that casts a longer shadow in my mind because it’s the day my dad died.

    My boys with my dad, August 2021

    I shared at his funeral a few weeks ago that I had thought about that day often. For some reason, especially over the last few years, I’ve thought a lot about my dad’s death. Part of the reason, I suppose, is that I’ve been trying to prepare myself for it. But anyone who’s lost a loved one knows that’s pretty tough to do. Yet I still tried. Sometimes I found myself just sitting at my desk imagining myself speaking in front of my family with eloquent words, sharing how much my dad impacted me, and why I thought he and I had a special relationship–even different than his many other children. And while I did get to speak at his funeral, it wasn’t what I imagined. Is it ever?

    My dad used to call me his shadow. He commuted to Los Angeles every day when I was a kid and often this meant long hours of which I didn’t get to see him. That’s why he would sometimes take me to work with him, just so we could spend time together. Those were some of my favorite days growing up. I loved the Big City. I loved the hustle and bustle, the traffic on the freeways (I usually slept through it), and watching the sun rise as we came into the San Fernando Valley. Almost always people at my dad’s “buildings” as we called them (he was a maintenance engineer on the skyscrapers)–almost always they would ask, “Is this your son?” Without hesitation he would say yes, and add something like, “He’s my little shadow today.”

    My dad talking to Bethany and me at our wedding, December 2005

    Shadow him I did. For years I tried to be like him in so many ways, even going so far as asking for a pager (yes, that little thing people used to wear on the belts before cell phones) for my 9th birthday. Somehow I got one. You should’ve seen how proud I was with my lime green see through pager case just like dad’s red one. I would page him and he would page me and man it was the best. We even had a code system: it was 54. It meant, “Car 54 where are you?” Dad said it was from an old show, but I didn’t care. It just meant that I could page dad and ask him where he was. When would he be home from L.A.? Is he coming to my game tonight? Car 54, where are you!?

    A farmer friend of mine says the best thing a farmer can do is cast his shadow. All he means is that he’s gotta be on his fields checking things, or looking for problems, and making sure it’s going well. Simply put: he’s gotta show up. My dad always showed up. Often he was late, but he got there as much as he could. I have one distinct memory of pitching from the mound in a Little League game and seeing him walk up probably around the 3rd of 4th inning. Something in me just wanted to throw a little hard and little straighter after he arrived. Then when the inning ended he usually he would slide something through the fence for me–a Gatorade or some seeds from the snack bar. Sometimes he would give me a little scouting report on the next hitters, and always he would encourage me. If it wasn’t at the baseball diamond it was at the soccer field (and even at the bowling alley for a time!). He always cast his shadow. I wish he still could. How am I casting mine?

    The Bible compares our lives to shadows. A number of verses talk about life as a shadow, but here’s a few:

    Man is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow.

    Psalm 144:4

    For who knows what is good for man while he lives the few days of his vain life, which he passes like a shadow? For who can tell man what will be after him under the sun?

    Ecclesiastes 6:12

    We get the point: our lives are just passing shadows because they pass by so quickly. They are as the Psalmist says, “like a breath.” On January 28 my dad would’ve been 79 years old. But even then, Psalm 90:10 says

    The years of our life are seventy,
    or even by reason of strength eighty;
    yet their span is but toil and trouble;
    they are soon gone, and we fly away.

    Soon gone. That’s exactly it. Even if we get seventy or eighty years, they are still go by so fast. We know this to be our experience because we often hear people speak like this: “You blink and your kids are graduating college.” “You blink and…[fill in the blank].” Soon gone…like a breath…like a passing shadow. While the Biblical authors didn’t have advanced film technology, it’s as if they understood that life is like a time-lapse video where the shadows pass from one end to the other of the screen. A friend of mine one said he hates time-lapse videos because they remind him of the brevity of life. I think he was on to something.

    All I’m really trying to say is that I’m gonna miss my dad. I called him often in recent years to ask how to fix my car, how to install a light in the house, which aisle at Home Depot has the star bit for my drill that I need, or even FaceTimed him just to talk while only seeing the top of his head since he never seemed to know how to hold the phone. He was always so helpful. I see now I was just still tying to be his shadow all these years later, or maybe resting in his shadow? There was a definite ease and comfort in knowing I could call him any time and hear him ask,”What can I help you with now?” I’ll miss those calls too.

    January 27, 2023
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