September 11th, the Four Destroyers, and the Tree Planted by the Water

Today is September 11th, 2026. As I woke in the early hours of the morning before the sun rose to go out and sit on the porch for my first hour with the Lord, my mind inevitably drifted to loss.

September 11, 2001, was one of the most beautiful days I can ever remember. There was crisp air and zero humidity. Shannon and I had just moved from Florida up to Virginia. She was able to keep her job with IBM, and I had just launched the Laker magazine. The first issue was a massive success, turning a profit right out of the gate. We had just bought a house right next to her parents on Smith Mountain Lake and were busy spring cleaning. When we saw the terror and destruction unfold in New York, we were in total disbelief.

I was so glad we had moved to rural Virginia and weren't in a major city like Tampa. Who knew what the next target would be? Just like during COVID, a mass exodus from the cities into rural areas immediately followed.

Thinking about that national tragedy got me reflecting on the profound personal losses in my own life. The very first time I experienced grief was when my childhood poodle, Christie, died. I was the oldest of four kids, but my sister Sarah didn't come along until five years later, so I essentially lived like an only child with Christie. I remember going out to her grave in the yard almost every single day.

Then came the loss of my Grandmother Betty Cender. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. She lived on a family farm in Fisher, Illinois, and my parents would let me stay there in the summers. She loved her flowers, out early every morning tending her gardens, and she taught me how to draw during long talks on her couch. During my sophomore year at Liberty University, I remember holding her on Bradenton Beach. Cancer had ravaged her; she was so frail she maybe weighed 60 pounds. The wind was blowing and it was cold. While the rest of the family walked down the beach, I stayed behind, holding her frail body, trying to keep her warm with my own body heat. It was a precious moment. I often used the pain of losing her to push through my intense track workouts at Liberty that fall.

I never knew my paternal grandfather, Ron Gaudio. He was killed in an accident when he was 21. My step-grandfather, Ray Lantz, had his funeral on the same day as Cash's. Yes, can you believe it? And Shannon's father and grandfather both committed suicide.

Then my Grandfather Ken Cender passed. I was the firstborn grandson in a massive family—10 aunts and uncles, and last I counted, 100+ cousins. I was his favorite until the others came along. He suffered from Alzheimer's at the end, so he didn't remember me when I visited. He just kept thinking I was a televangelist preacher.

But the worst catastrophe of my life—other than losing Cash—hit in September 2021. Septembers have historically brought devastation to my door. In a single agonizing season, I lost the four women who mattered most in my life at the time other than my mother. First, my wife attempted to murder me in a Dubai hotel room. Then my dearest other Grandmother Oleta, passed away; I was headed to her funeral, but my flight was canceled, and I missed it. My sister completely cut me and the rest of the family off, and I was estranged from my daughter for a period of time. Four women, gone. I won't get into the painful details—I am sure they had their own good reasons for cutting me out—but it was an incredibly low time.

However, in that profound darkness, the only one who stayed by my side, every day, was my son, Cash. Because he was there for me, I made sure I was there for him. I drove four hours every single day to pick him up from Smith Mountain Lake Christian Academy his sophomore year so he could have a second shot at his grades and basketball. He maximized that opportunity. It makes me smile through the grief to realize that, up until that point, the only real loss Cash had ever experienced was when his pet fish died. It really hurt him.

Right as I recorded that sentence on my porch, my local osprey flew about 20 feet from my balcony, gliding right by. Thank you, Cash. Thank you, Lord, for that wonderful wink today.

Before Cash passed, I wasn't much for funerals, and I struggled with empathy. Now, I understand the weight of the Verse of the Day: "Carry each other's burdens".

Today's SOAP

S - Scripture

Galatians 6:2 (NIV): "Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ."

Jeremiah 15:3 (NIV): "I will send four kinds of destroyers against them,' declares the LORD, 'the sword to kill and the dogs to drag away and the birds and the wild animals to devour and destroy."

Jeremiah 17:7-8 (NIV): "But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit."

Jeremiah 17:18 (NIV): "...Bring on them the day of disaster; destroy them with double destruction."

Jeremiah 17:22 (NIV): "Do not bring a load out of your houses or do any work on the Sabbath, but keep the Sabbath day holy, as I commanded your ancestors."

O - Observation

The imagery in Jeremiah is intense. He speaks of "four kinds of destroyers" and literally asks God to bring "double destruction" upon the wicked. As someone who appreciates writing, the phrasing is incredible—"double destruction." But amidst this heavy judgment, Jeremiah provides the ultimate anchor in chapter 17: the person whose confidence is completely in the Lord is like a deeply rooted tree. Even in the brutal heat of trauma and the drought of loss, that tree stays green and continues to bear fruit. He immediately follows this by commanding the people to keep the Sabbath holy by not doing any work on it.

A - Application

The four destroyers in Jeremiah instantly reminded me of the simultaneous loss of the four women in my life. It was a season of absolute destruction. But through the loss of Cash, God has taught me how to bear the fruit of empathy—to truly carry the burdens of others as Galatians commands. I can honestly say I trust the Lord 100% with Cash's murder. I trust His greater purpose. My goal is to be that tree planted by the water. No matter what heat or drought comes along, I will remain rooted. Part of staying rooted means taking the Sabbath command seriously. I try not to work on my business on Sundays, focusing only on joyful things like the Bible, prayer, and pickleball. But the Lord is convicting me to actually take the true Sabbath (Saturday) off completely. That is a hard pivot for an entrepreneur, but true trust requires true rest.

P - Prayer

Heavenly Father, as the nation remembers the horrific loss of September 11th, my own heart aches with the memory of the personal losses I have endured. Thank You for being the water that sustains me in the deepest droughts. Thank You for the osprey this morning—a small, beautiful reminder that You see me. Give me the profound empathy required to carry the burdens of those around me. Help me to trust You enough to truly keep the Sabbath holy, laying down my work and resting in Your sovereignty. Keep my roots deep. In Jesus' name, Amen.

Today's Challenge

Identify someone in your life who is currently enduring a "year of drought" or a heavy season of loss. You don't need to fix their problem; you just need to carry their burden. Reach out to them today, offer your presence or a listening ear, and practically help carry the weight they are under.