Clay: My Friend, My Brother, My Reminder to Keep Fighting
May 29th, 2024
The day the wind left my lungs.
The day I stared at my phone and prayed it was a mistake. The day the timeline of my life divided into before and after.
That was the day I lost my best friend.
Clay.
A man I loved like a brother. A man who wasn’t just my friend—he was my compass. My anchor. My reminder that gentle strength still exists in this world.
He left too soon.
And the ache hasn’t left since.
He Was More Christ Than Most Christians I Know
Let me be clear—Clay didn’t walk around with a Bible under his arm. He didn’t quote scripture in every sentence. He didn’t attend church regularly or check all the boxes.
But he lived love.
And isn’t that what Jesus called us to?
1 John 4:7–8 says:
“Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.
Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”
Clay knew God—even if he didn’t always name Him.
He lived love. Quiet, steady, unwavering love.
He was the guy who could sit in silence with you and somehow say more than a thousand preachers.
He didn’t just give advice—he gave presence.
He looked into your eyes and somehow saw you. Not the mask. Not the image. You.
And he always knew what to say—or what not to.
He reminded me of Jesus with skin on.
He Made Me Want to Be a Better Man
Clay never made it about him.
He was the kind of man who made you feel taller just by standing beside him.
He listened when others talked over you. He laughed when you didn’t feel funny. He believed in you when you were ready to quit.
In many ways, he was Christ to me.
That’s what wrecks me.
That’s what still brings the tears.
He was the one reminding me of my value when I doubted it. The one whispering wisdom into my storm. The one holding up my arms when I was too tired to fight.
But on May 29th, he didn’t call.
He didn’t reach out.
And I still don’t fully understand why.
Depression Doesn’t Announce Itself
The thing about mental warfare is—it hides.
Clay smiled through pain I never fully saw.
He cheered others on while battling voices that told him he didn’t matter.
He showed up for the world… until he didn’t.
And that’s what I want to scream from the rooftops:
Don’t let the enemy take you out in silence.
He’s been using the same lie since Eden.
“You’re not enough.”
“You’ll never change.”
“No one cares.”
But the devil is a liar. Always has been. Always will be.
John 10:10 makes it plain:
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”
Clay had so much to give. So much love to live.
But the thief got to him first.
And now, every day I wake up and fight the guilt. The grief. The ghost of questions I can’t answer.
Every Day, I Miss Him
I miss his laugh.
I miss his quiet nods when I was over-explaining things.
I miss planning our future.
The things we said we’d do. The places we wanted to go. The conversations we never finished.
There’s not a day I don’t think of Clay.
Sometimes it’s a flash—he’d love this joke. Or he’d roll his eyes at this mess. Or he’d tell me exactly what I need to hear.
Other times it’s a wave that drowns me.
An empty seat at the table.
A text thread I can’t delete.
A birthday that never gets another candle.
But I Still Believe God Redeems This
I have to.
Because if God can’t redeem this kind of pain, then what kind of Savior is He?
But He can.
And He will.
Romans 8:28 reminds me:
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.”
Even this?
Yes.
Even this.
That doesn’t mean God wanted Clay gone.
It means God will use the pain that hell tried to weaponize.
He’ll turn it into comfort for someone else.
A warning for someone slipping.
A lifeline for someone who thinks they’re alone.
Don’t Let the Enemy Get You
If I could go back, I would grab Clay’s face in my hands and say:
“Don’t you dare believe that lie. Don’t you dare give the enemy what he wants. You matter. You’re seen. You’re loved. You have a future.”
But I can’t go back.
So I say it now—to you.
Don’t let the enemy get you.
You are not invisible.
You are not past repair.
You are not too broken to be used.
Depression is real. But it is not the end.
Darkness lies.
Jesus speaks light.
Hold on.
Three Ways to Fight Depression from Scripture
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Cry Out Honestly—Even If It’s Ugly
David was called a man after God’s own heart, and yet half of the Psalms are cries of desperation.
Psalm 13:1–2 says:
“How long, Lord? Will You forget me forever?
How long will You hide Your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?”
If David could bring that to God—you can too.
You don’t need polished prayers.
You need honest ones.
Tell God the truth. The raw, unfiltered, messy truth.
He can take it.
He already knows.
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Refuse Isolation—Even If It Feels Safer
Ecclesiastes 4:9–10:
“Two are better than one… If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.”
Depression wants to isolate you.
It wants to convince you no one gets it.
But healing starts when you let someone in.
Clay let me in… most of the way.
But not all the way.
And I’d give anything for one more chance to be his “other.”
If you’re reading this—don’t stay in the shadows.
Open up.
Pick up the phone.
Let someone love you.
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Cling to the Light—Even When You Can’t See It
John 1:5 says:
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
Even in the pitch-black night, light still exists.
Even when you don’t feel God, He’s there.
Cling.
Hold tight.
Whisper His name when you can’t pray.
Worship when it feels fake.
Keep showing up.
Light always wins.
I Still Talk to Him Sometimes
I know Clay can’t hear me now—not in the earthly sense.
But I talk to him anyway.
Sometimes I tell him what I’m working on. Sometimes I ask what he thinks. Sometimes I just sit in the silence and miss him.
I think if he were here, he’d say:
“Write this, Craig. Someone needs to hear it. Don’t waste my pain. Don’t waste yours.”
And so I write.
Not because I’ve healed completely.
But because the writing heals me.
What I Want You to Know If You’re Struggling
Clay was strong. Loving. Kind.
And he still struggled.
So if you’re struggling, it doesn’t make you weak.
It makes you human.
Don’t fight alone.
Don’t believe the lie that the world’s better without you.
It’s not.
We’re not better without you.
We need your laugh.
Your voice.
Your story.
We need you.
In Memory of Clay
You weren’t perfect. But you were powerful.
You weren’t loud. But you were wise.
You weren’t always certain. But you were always real.
I love you, brother.
I’ll carry your memory into every sunrise.
And when I see you again, we’ll finish the conversation.
Until then, I’ll keep fighting.
For me.
For others.
For the ones still here.
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