The Wanderer (By Amy Jepsen)

A tribute to our son Joe as we near the 6th anniversary of his death

Joe was the baby we had prayed for for at least five years. Born on the day after our ninth wedding anniversary, he was a miracle who joined our family during a season of miracles. There’s no other way to look at it after experiencing many years of infertility. God decided the timing and didn’t let us know Joe was on the way until after He revealed that Rachel was on the way as a gift through adoption. Joe had been prayed for and prayed over long before we ever held or cuddled him.

During his early months we had him pegged as timid and fearful – at least when compared to his big sister who was 5 and a half months older. She seemingly had been born without fear and the ability to frown. Joe, however, often looked frightened and his mouth curved down as we wondered what the little guy was thinking.

The week Joe turned two, little sister Sarah was born very much resembling her big brother with his fair skin and blond hair almost white. At this point we asked our family to stop praying for miracles and start praying for strength!

Over the next twenty years we watched Joe grow from that timid baby to a fun-loving adventurous guy whose only fear seemed to be the fear of missing out. He was the Energizer Bunny and was always attracted to the extreme. He loved any sport that required aiming at a target. He loved jokes and joking around with his family and friends. He had a large vocabulary from an early age that often brought anxiety and laughter as we never knew what was going to come out of his mouth. He was intelligent and well read, especially about topics he was interested in.

He loved others and was generous with his time and funds, even with strangers who were walking along the road. He took many of them to their destination, if needed, and made sure they got a warm meal if they were in need.

It turns out that timid baby grew up to be quite an explorer. Between the ages of 19 and 25 he trekked on the Appalachian Trail for 6 weeks, lived and worked on Kibbutz Lotan in Israel for nine months, fell in love with a beautiful Israeli soldier-girl who was as adventurous as himself, trekked in Nepal, India, and Eastern Europe. He also traveled to New Zealand where he bought a camper van and waited tables at a seafood restaurant on the coast. The job came with lodging, but Joe simply asked for a parking spot and an extension cord for his van. When his 9-month visa expired he sold the van to pay for his plane ticket home.

He called himself a traveler, a wonderer, or a vagabond. He traveled alone but was always ready to make friends and join groups that were heading in his direction for a bit.

After his death, I received an online message from a young Czechoslovakian woman named Luka. It began, “I first met your son at a fire swallowing festival just outside of Prague.” Perhaps no other bereaved mother has ever received such a letter. It was comforting and made us smile through our tears knowing that his adventuresome personality had taken him to such unique events.

Thanks to cell phones and the internet, we have pictures of our happy wanderer pouring tea for others on a porch in Thailand, standing in a freezing and joyful huddle at the Everest Base Camp, with friends on a Moroccan Beach – complete with a nearby camel, camping somewhere in a European forest, standing with his bike next to a WW2 tank at Normandy, chatting with a young monk in Katmandu, and learning how to safely roll a kayak in Thailand.

Since I’m writing this piece to celebrate Joe and process my thoughts about his incredible and out of the box life, I am choosing not to focus on the way mental illness began paralyzing Joe, stealing his mind and eventually his life. Perhaps that’s for another essay. But gratitude swells as I reflect on his life and the impact he made on others. I’m so grateful for that baby God sent to end our barren years. Grateful for his laughter, joy, and high squeaky toddler voice. Grateful for the child who loved to laugh, argue, and prank his sisters. As the only boy between two girls, we dubbed him the cream in the Oreo.

I’m grateful for the travels he made with Daniel – backpacking in the Cherokee National Forest as a pre-teen, and after high school in the Sierra Nevada, the Sequoia National Forest, and even making their way to the top of Half Dome in Yosemite. Pushing his dad out of his comfort zone gave Joe much delight.

I’m grateful, too, for Joe’s sense of humor in our family, and the way his sisters loved and supported him even when baffled by his wanderlust. They showed this same level of support during his illness. He was always welcome in their homes where he was treated with TLC and respect.

One of our greatest consolations is that Joe made a commitment to Jesus early in his life. We watched as he grew in Christ after his salvation. Watched as he memorized scripture, as he worked as a camp counselor with inner city kids in Michigan. Watched as he spread joy to others. We still have his Bible from his teen years and take comfort from glimpsing into his relationship with God by reading his notes and underlined verses. We know that his wandering took him away from Christ for a bit, but we were deeply touched by his decisions and our prayer times with him during his illness.

Sometimes mental illness isn’t as obvious as cancer or other diseases, but it is an illness just the same. Casting Crowns says it so beautifully in their song, “Scars in Heaven”. “The only scars in Heaven won’t belong to me and you. They’ll be no such thing as broken, and all the old will be made new. And the thought that makes me smile now even as the tears fall down, is that the only scars in Heaven, are on the hands that hold you now.”

Though I’m still an earth-bound wanderer myself, the same scarred hands hold me as well, and I’m grateful that Joe’s travels have led him into the arms of Jesus where he is eternally whole, healed, and home.