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The knights of old lived in fortresses and wore armor as protection from the enemy. Today, brave knights live among us and the armor they need is not made of metal. Today’s battles and wars have become more spiritual than physical, so our armor needs to be the stuff of strong belief and principles. Many have asked me why we call ourselves Brave Knight Writers. The term formed long ago deep within my heart. It came to me in a time of deep despair and loss. During the events of those times, I realized how precious our time is, and how blessed I was. Over the years I longed to share those days with others, not to bring pity or attention on me, but to put people in touch with their blessings.

The death of one’s child changes our view of life, the event brings one to an intersection. Many roads lead away to unknown destinations. Your head fills with voices, you find taking your next breath burdensome, but you also know you must go on. After my son’s death we joined a group called Bereaved Parents, a support group for those who had suffered the loss of a child. After several meetings I decided the group wasn’t the road I wanted to travel. Some parents had been attending for years. It was as if they had sat down at the intersection, instead of choosing a new path. This desire to not move on I fully understand, you want time to stop, the feeling of leaving your loved one behind is strong and no one wants to do such a thing.

My answers formed over time, no solution came easy, and I started down many wrong roads. I also realized I could return to the intersection. The road I finally chose was one of celebration and gratefulness for all my blessings. It wasn’t an easy road. The baggage proved heavy, I needed to discard most of it before I could continue. The first item I put in the knapsack was the five and a half years I was blessed to be with my son. Especially important were his final words in the months we spent together after he came out of his long coma. He spoke with wisdom, and not in the words of a five-year-old. He clung to a single toy; one I didn’t realize the significance of until I gained more knowledge. His toy of choice was what he called the brave knight, “the bravest knight of all” he would declare. He said it had more courage than anyone else in the hospital.

Courage filled the hospital, from the children who fought for their lives, to the staff who stood beside them in thick and thin. Here were the surgeons who dared to open the skulls of cancer patients to extract tumor tissues, the nurses who tended to the daily needs of the children and interacted with grieving parents. Staff burnout usually set in within five years. The brave knight my son embraced turned out to be the one described in Ephesians 6:10-18. This would be the armor I would need to travel the road I chose, but for someone who lacked great courage, it turned out to not fit so well. In many instances the armor irritated my flesh, itched, rubbed my skin raw, and felt heavy and burdensome. Many times, I laid bits of it aside which left me vulnerable to life-threatening wounds.

 You see, I’m not the brave knight I write about, I struggle to be one. Therefore, we write about other, more formidable knights and their spiritual battles. Our desire is to inspire. Every minute we are given is a blessing and blessings are meant for sharing.