Dear Family: (Thank you Lord for the gifts you have entrusted in me. I pray those who hear this message receive it as you intended and be blessed in your favor. AMEN.)

Dear Family,

I was thinking back this week about how far we've come.

Back to when I would sit in that room with the blue carpet on Victor and stare out the window.

I remember one time in particular.

I was "on punishment" for something I did—or didn't do. I can't quite remember, to tell the truth. Sometimes the consequences didn't exactly match the actions.

The head of the house was a lopsided voting system, so not all votes were cast fairly.

If you know what I mean.

Either way, this attempt to punish my heinous crimes turned into a few days that changed my life.

I remember looking out of that window onto the busy main road our house sat next to.

I wish I could make this up, but I can't.

One cop car flew down the street.

Five minutes later, another went the other way.

A while later, I saw a high-speed chase.

By the end of the night, I'd counted nearly six instances of cops, ambulances, and firetrucks flying down that road at different times.

I heard loud music.

Gunshots.

People cursing.

Helicopters.

I wish I could say it was an eventful night, but from what I remember, that may have been one of the quieter ones.

But the most insane part—and this is a true story—I looked across the street at a bus stop.

One of those concrete benches with a pole, surrounded by food wrappers and empty beer cans.

There was a couple sitting there, conversing.

I thought nothing of it, so I sat back down and looked through some books and magazines I'd stashed away.

Then I heard his voice get loud.

They began to argue.

Only certain parts of his words were louder, followed by a fade that seemed caused by pure exhaustion.

I rushed back to the window to see what was happening.

I watched for a second because I couldn't believe my own eyes.

I saw a man windmilling on a woman who seemed afraid, yelling about how sorry she was.

I didn't stop watching because it scared me.

I stopped because it hurt me.

At a young age, it nearly brought tears to my eyes.

Like it's doing now as I recount the memory.

Hours went by.

What looked like the same couple appeared on that bench again.

I was confused because most people who sat there looked as if they'd just completed a 16-hour shift changing oil and fixing tires.

Only most of these folks didn't have jobs.

I can't prove that.

But I'd bet money on it.

This couple looked a bit more pleasant to watch this time.

No arguing.

No fighting.

Just sitting there, patiently waiting for a bus.

And then I saw it.

He pulled a silver foil wrapper out of his pocket.

She looked left.

Then right.

Stuffed her head down into his crotch and came back up.

I was confused at first.

But I was close enough to see what appeared to be baby powder on her nose.

I wasn't oblivious to what was happening.

But I was flabbergasted.

The audacity to do it on that busy of a street. One of the main roads in our city.

I shook my head and went back to my book.

At that point in the night, I closed the windows and blinds completely.

And I focused on my books.

I'd been looking at Disney Channel magazines and books about families and kids with lives that were imaginary—and completely different from the reality I was experiencing.

I didn't know it at the time.

But I was escaping my reality for the first time in my life.

Every time I moved away from that window, I'd close my eyes and imagine my life as the people in those books.

Most of them were just drawings and paintings.

I don't think I ever actually read any of them.

And I'm not even sure my memory serves me correctly about what was inside.

But they were what I needed them to be.

I allowed my imagination to take me somewhere else.

To a place that, strangely enough, would later resemble the life I've been blessed to experience today.

And funny enough, I find myself doing the same thing now.

Closing my eyes in my adult life and reaching for tools that help me believe in the life God has for me tomorrow.

Prayer.

Meditation.

Visualization.

These letters.

Same skill. Different decade.

Maybe those punishments weren't just punishments.

Maybe they were teaching me something I didn't know I needed.

How to imagine.

How to believe in a life that doesn't exist yet.

How to see beyond what's happening outside my window.

And that skill?

That's become everything.

So here's the breadcrumb:

What are you imagining for yourself?

And more importantly:

Are you brave enough to believe in it?

Even when the chaos outside tells you to doubt?

Even when your circumstances tell you it's impossible?

Because that life you're imagining for yourself—that future you're closing your eyes to see—isn't necessarily fantasy.

It can be a blueprint.

It can be faith.

It can be the thing that survives the chaos outside your window long enough for you to build something different.

Close your eyes.

Imagine it.

Believe it.

Build it.

I love you.

TTYL.

— Cousin Earl