Event #5 - Chad Rogers Went for a Run
He never came home.
Not that evening. Not the next morning.
Monday evening, July 22, 2013 turned into Tuesday morning, July 23, 2013.
That is when I got the phone call. I was just finishing up morning cross country practice with the Liberty High School Cross Country team. The call came from Greg Rogers, Chad’s dad. I do not remember the specifics of the call. In fact, many of the details of the next four days exist in my mind in a blurry, sleep-deprived, emotionally-drained haze.
Chad had gone for a run the night before.
He never came back.
It was time to start looking for him.
I went straight to the Rogers’ house with Tim Nixon, the head Liberty Cross Country Coach.
Tuesday turned into Wednesday. Wednesday into Thursday. Thursday into Friday. The next phone call came. It was the one we were all dreading, but also knew was probably coming. The police had received a call from a construction worker. Chad’s body had been found. He passed away shortly after leaving home on Monday night. Just over a mile from his house. It would take some time, but word finally came back that he had passed of a heart defect.
Four of the longest days of my life. The ending none of us wanted when we started searching.
Chad loved running, loved people, loved his family, loved Jesus. For whatever reason, when I think of him, this is the image.
Some back story:
Chad was the older brother of my childhood best friend, Ryan. The Rogers were (and are to this day) more than friends. They were (and are) family.
Ryan and Chad’s parents, Greg and DeeDee, are essentially my second mom and dad.
Their little sister Malia was like my little sister.
Ryan and Chad were more like brothers than friends, Chad more than happy to fill all the typical duties of older brother to not just Ryan, but me too.
Chad and my older sister were in the same grade.
Ryan and I met in our kindergarten class. Played sports together. Were inseparable.
Our families have vacationed together.
My parents and the Rogers are going to renew their wedding vows alongside each other.
I still know the code to their garage door.
The connections run deep. Two families intertwined in a wonderful way.
The weight of Chad’s disappearance was crushing.
Crushing to the Rogers.
Crushing to his wife and young son.
Crushing to my family.
Crushing to me.
The news of his passing crushed us all again.
But for all the agony of the four days in between those two phone calls, something amazing happened. Using social media (maybe the most redemptive thing I have ever experienced on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram), we got the word out about Chad missing. I am not exaggerating when I say that the city of Liberty responded in overwhelming fashion.
We used my work, Liberty Christian Fellowship, as a gathering place because people started showing up immediately to help. Over four days, hundreds and hundreds of people of all ages showed up to volunteer. The majority of them had never met Chad or the Rogers family.
Help with what? No one knew for sure, but they were available and ready. Ready to walk the streets of Liberty. Ready to tromp through woods, fields, creeks. Ready to brave late July heat and humidity in order to bring Chad home. As soon as the police pointed us in a direction.
They waited for hours. They went and searched when asked. The police came and went. Detectives. Search dogs. You name it.
Reporters showed up daily from every news station. I did more interviews and answered more questions from media members than I ever expected to have to in a life time. My phone never stopped buzzing. The social media organizing turned me into an unofficial leader of the search and spokesperson for the family. I was happy to help, but had no clue what I was doing.
With all those people around, there were other needs. Food started to arrive from local restaurants. Bottles of water in bulk. Bug spray for those searching. Sun screen for managing the July sun. If we needed it, it was just there. If we did not need it, it was there too. It was wild.
This is the picture of Chad we used on social media as we encouraged people to keep an eye out for him and let us know if they had any information.
In four days I learned an invaluable lesson that has stuck with me to this day: It is ok to ask for help. Greg and DeeDee Rogers modeled that in a way that still resonates with me. They knew it was time to lean on their community (that ever-so-important community), and they did.
We do not like to ask for help in America.
We are a country of rugged individualists.
Pull yourself up by your boot straps.
Do-it-yourself everything.
Back patios instead of front porches.
Tinted car windows.
Leave-me-alone headphones (you know the ones).
Privacy fences.
And yet, we all need help. More of it than we are willing to admit. Far more of it than we are willing to ask for. Often, the only thing that stops us from asking for it is our pride. “I do not want to be seen as weak.” “I do not want to be a burden.” “I do not want them to think I am incapable.”
How many times has this played out in your life?
You get sick.
Have an unexpected crisis pop up.
Someone passes away in your family.
Life kind of falls apart.
You get a phone call from a friend, pastor, church member, family member, etc, “Let me know if you need any help. Anything, I am more than happy. We would love to help.”
You never call back.
At some point you absolutely needed help.
Could you get my kid from school or to practice?
Can someone just take care of dinner for us tonight?
The yard needs mowed.
The dog needs someone to watch her because we will not be home.
Whatever it is. We do not ask.
We all know the reality, though. There are times we need help. That is part of being human.
“We simply were not created to do, be, handle, or manage everything alone.”
God is the only one who is entirely self-sufficient.
We are just delusional enough to think we are too.
But we are not. And that is a good thing. We have limits. Gracious limits that weave us into an interdependence upon one another in way that ought to be celebrated for its beauty rather than avoided out of embarrassment.
The Rogers knew it was time for help.
So they asked.
They asked everyone they could think of.
No shame.
No embarrassment.
Loads of gratitude.
A masterclass in humility and grace.
And people responded, as is almost always the case.
Your situation right now or in the future likely will not be the same. I pray you never end up in a widely publicized search for a loved one. But whatever fall-apart does crash onto the shore of your life, here is your permission, an encouragement: Go ahead and ask. Toss out the lifeline.
“Will you help me?” Four words we could all stand to get more comfortable with.
