Edge United Methodist Church
Jeremy's Stories
Connecting the Dots
These three collections of stories tell pieces of my journey: who I am, how the church shaped me, and how I learned to care for others.
I invite you to read them and connect the dots. Looking back, I can see how God used people, experiences, challenges, and unexpected moments to shape the person and caregiver I am today.
These are my stories. This is my journey. And the dots are still connecting.
My stories are shared free to encourage and inspire you. If they've made a difference for you, please consider donating to support Mighty Caregivers.
That Explains a Lot...I'm a Preacher's Kid is a collection of stories from growing up in church and the people who quietly shaped my life. Looking back, I can see how those experiences prepared me to care for others. Here is an excerpt:
When people find out that both of my parents were ministers, the conversation usually goes one of two ways. Someone will smile and say, "That must have been interesting," while someone else will ask, "So, what was it really like growing up as a preacher's kid?" I usually smile because there is no simple answer. I could tell a funny story about church dinners, youth trips, or growing up where everyone seemed to know my name before I knew theirs. I could talk about the expectations that came with being the preacher's kid or the unforgettable personalities who filled the churches where I grew up. Every one of those stories would be true, but none of them would tell the whole story. The real story is not simply about growing up in church. It is about how those experiences quietly shaped the person I would eventually become.
Caregivers in the Back Seat shares real stories inspired by caregivers I met while driving Uber. Here is an excerpt:
A woman slipped into the back seat of my car, her shoulders carrying more than the weight of the Florida heat. As the door closed and I pulled away from the curb, I sensed it almost immediately. Her silence was not peaceful. It was the kind of silence that comes from carrying too much for too long. The kind that settles in when exhaustion becomes a constant companion and strength begins to feel like something you perform instead of something you possess. "You doing okay back there?" I asked gently. I was not trying to pry or solve her problems. I wanted her to know that if she needed someone to listen, I was there. She offered a tired smile. "I'm taking care of my mom. She has Alzheimer's. It's been one of those weeks." She laughed softly, but there was no joy behind it. It was the sound of someone doing everything she could just to keep going. As the miles passed, her story unfolded. Sleepless nights blurred into mornings. Doctor appointments filled the calendar. Medications, reminders, and routines are shaped every day. Beneath it all was the quiet heartbreak of watching someone she loved slowly drift away from the person she had always known. She was not looking for sympathy or asking for answers. She simply needed a place where, for a few minutes, she did not have to be the strong one. "I feel like I'm failing," she finally admitted. Her voice cracked, and tears filled her eyes. I looked at her in the rearview mirror and quietly replied, "You're not failing. You're tired. There's a difference." Something shifted in that moment. There were no instant solutions, but I watched her shoulders relax just enough to tell me that someone had finally named what she had been carrying. Sometimes that is where healing begins. For the rest of the ride, we talked as two people who understood that caregiving is both beautiful and incredibly hard. I shared lessons from my years in healthcare and from the many caregivers who have trusted me with their stories from the back seat. She listened closely, nodding as though each word gave her permission to breathe again.
Jeremy's true stories from an Activity Director's journey in healthcare Here is an excerpt:
When people find out I have spent most of my career as an Activity Director, they usually respond the same way. "Oh, that sounds like fun." I always smile when I hear that because they are right and they are completely wrong at the same time. It is fun. It is also exhausting, unpredictable, challenging, rewarding, frustrating, and occasionally downright ridiculous. Most people have no idea what an Activity Director actually does. They imagine someone playing games, making crafts, singing songs, and organizing parties. Those things are certainly part of the job, but they only tell a small piece of the story. Imagine being an event planner, social worker, entertainer, counselor, travel guide, referee, decorator, problem solver, cheerleader, therapist, maintenance worker, and professional improviser all at the same time. Now imagine doing all of those jobs while trying to keep a calendar full of activities running smoothly. That is much closer to reality.
