Keep us Safe, Lord. Keep us Safe.

To know Sam Kitchin was to love him.

I was fortunate to work with Sam for many years at Midway High School and Midway Middle School. He was one of the two best In School Suspension teachers I’ve ever known (Diane Trott was the other). I’ve never known teachers who could make ISS a punishment and make kids love them at the same time… but Sam (and Mrs Trott) did.

Sam was always at school before anyone else. He made the coffee every morning, and if you were really sweet, he’d leave a tiny piece of chocolate in your mailbox on Fridays. Even after I left the middle school and moved to Midway Elementary, every once in a while an envelope would show up on my desk in the office mail. Inside would be a little Hershey’s Kiss, and I’d smile because I knew Sam was thinking of me.

Sam was a dear friend to me—and to everyone he came in contact with. I truly don’t think I ever heard anyone say they didn’t love him. He was kind and steady. He was firm but fair. He was funny. And he would coach just about any sport if you needed him.

Sam coached Midway sports while I worked there, and long after I was gone, including middle school football when Caegan played. 

Sam and I kept in touch when I moved from Spivey’s Corner to Seven Springs. Every few months, I’d get an update from him on friends from Midway, he’d get an update on my life and the boys, etc. 

And then one day he gave me an update I wasn’t ready to receive. 

Sam found out he was very sick no too long before Joe passed away. He knew his time was short. His breathing was labored, and it was difficult for him to speak. But I wasn’t one bit surprised when my phone rang after Joe went to heaven—and it was Sam.

Sam was fighting for his life, and still… he thought of me.

That’s just the kind of man he was.

Sam went to heaven one month after Joe. There were many tributes shared in the days after his passing, but one stopped me in my tracks. A sweet friend of Caegan’s posted a photo with Sam—arm and arm—taken moments after graduation, her cap and gown still on.

And in the background, a man was passing through.

It was Joe.

Joe and Sam didn’t know each other. Joe didn’t know he was in that picture. But there they were, frozen in time—two people who held such a big piece of my heart… two people who are now in Heaven together.

It felt like a sweet reminder of how God connects us all, both here on earth and up in Heaven.

Last week I spent a few minutes catching up with Caegan. I was on a work trip in Tennessee, and he was on a work trip in Boston. During our conversation, I mentioned that it was the anniversary of Sam’s passing. We reminisced about him for a few moments before our conversation ended.

That Saturday night, I lay in bed far past my bedtime, unable to fall asleep.

If you know me, you know how unusual that is. I’m usually gowned down and lost in peaceful dreams before 9:00 p.m. But that night, I couldn’t settle down. Caegan was catching a flight home, and Cameron was out of town, too. Even though my boys are mostly grown, I still don’t rest peacefully until I know they’re tucked safely in their beds.

So I was awake at 12:15 a.m. when my phone dinged.

It was a text from Caegan—sent just before the plane took off.

He told me that before every middle school game, Sam led the team in the Lord’s Prayer. And at the end of the prayer, Sam always added the same words:

“Keep us safe, Lord. Keep us safe.”

Caegan said that every time he sits in an airplane seat before takeoff, he prays that same prayer. And every time he does, he can vividly hear Sam’s voice.

You know… I honestly can’t remember if I ever heard Sam talk about church. I can’t remember if I ever heard him quote a line of scripture.

But I do know this:

Sam loved people the way I believe Jesus calls us to love. He met them where they were, gave them what he had, and served with a quiet compassion that drew others in and made them feel safe and special and loved. 

And I do know that he prayed over my middle school child—a simple prayer so steady and sincere that my son still carries it with him today.

And if that’s not living like Jesus would have us live… I don’t know what is.

Sometimes I think we forget the influence we have. Over young people. Over coworkers. Over strangers. Over anyone who crosses our path.

There was nothing showy about Sam. He was just… Sam. A worn out pair of shoes, a warm cup of coffee, and a willing heart.

And maybe loving people like Jesus does looks a little bit like that.

And maybe that’s the part we miss sometimes.

We think influence has to be loud to be lasting. We think faith has to be flashy to be real. We think service has to be seen to matter.

But Sam’s life reminds me that some of the holiest things happen in ordinary places—by ordinary people—doing ordinary things with extraordinary love.

A cup of coffee.
A Hershey’s Kiss.
A room full of kids who need discipline…and maybe a little dignity, too.
Whispered words through ragged breaths to comfort a broken hearted friend.                            

A simple prayer whispered over sweaty heads before a football game.

And somehow, years later, when my grown up child sits in an airplane seat, he prays the same words and hears Sam’s voice like an echo of love that never really left.

Maybe that’s what leaving a legacy looks like.

Some of us were made to preach. Some of us were made to teach. 
But some of us were made to show up early, make the coffee, and love on people.

Some of us were made to coach.
Or to comfort.
Or to tuck a tiny piece of chocolate into someone’s hard week. 

Maybe the greatest thing we’ll ever do is simply live in a way that someone hears our voice long after we’re gone.

A prayer that weaves a golden thread between what has been and what is yet to come.

Keep us safe, Lord. Keep us safe.💗

Love you all mighty much-

Ronda