When I think of this family that our grandparents built for us, it makes me feel proud. The bond a family has is stronger than any one person can ever be. Sure, there will be occasional spats. That’s just family. But at the end of the day, our blood, our love for each other, and our appreciation for each other can overcome any problems we encounter.
We are all human. We all have the occasional hurt feelings. We all have selfish thoughts. We may all thoughtlessly utter an unkind word or even say something downright hurtful. But none of these things should ever be powerful enough to defeat a family that’s been forged by the generations before us.
We may not always agree. We may even sometimes drive our family members crazy with bad decisions and stupid mistakes. I’m certain I have. But the whole point of having this family behind you is to forgive each other and to support each other. It’s easy when everything is good. It’s what a family does when faced with difficulty and trials that shows their true character. It makes me proud to be a part of a family that’s been able to endure many of those difficult things and still can come together for a holiday and tell stories, laugh, play games, and just enjoy being around each other. It’s something I love being a part of. It’s something I love that I am able to give to my wife and daughters. It’s better than any material thing I could ever give them.
And once the day was over, I felt a little sad, just as I have been every year that I can remember. But then I looked around the cab of the truck at the family that my wife and I have made. And I prayed I am able to teach them the value of a family, just as I was taught, so that they can someday teach it to their children. So that someday, when I’m an old, worn-out cowboy sitting in my rocker, looking around the room at the legacy I’m leaving behind, I can feel happy and confident that the family will go on being a family when I’m gone.
I’m thankful for so many things in my crazy life. I try to thank God each and every day. But what I will always be most thankful for is simple. It’s family, always has been.
Epilogue
My lifelong dream has been to write a book. For most of my life, I’ve written just because I love to write. But it was always just for me. No one ever read anything I wrote until I created The Daddy Diaries on Facebook. Then I began to get a moderate following that seemed to enjoy my writing. It was exciting to have had a dream all my life of being a writer and then to find out that some folks actually liked my work. So when after four years of having the Facebook page I was approached by WaterBrook asking me if I would be interested in writing a book, I was absolutely elated. A dream come true. I was in a great place in my life. The best place I’d ever been, really. I had a beautiful, amazing wife who loved me, despite all my many faults. I had three daughters who believed there was nothing I couldn’t do, and the simple sight of them would send my heart leaping. I had a great job in Texas and provided well for my family. It was a wonderful time in our lives. So in the summer of 2017, work on my book began. I began writing and compiling stories and making my first pass at putting a book together. It was crude, but it began to take shape. All was well.
Then November 8, 2017, happened. It was the worst day of my life. It was the worst day of my family’s life. At about ten in the morning, I was driving to urgent care because I believed I was coming down with the flu. April was taking Gracee to school. I left shortly after and headed to town. It’s pretty crazy how quickly one’s life can go from perfect to possibly being over in just a split second. An Enterprise rental truck had pulled out into my lane at an intersection and come to a stop. The pickup in front of me had just a fraction of a second to get around it. I, however, wasn’t so lucky. With cars on my right side and lots of oncoming traffic on my left, I had no options. I was driving the speed limit of sixty miles per hour when I hit the big truck sitting in my lane. It was like hitting a brick wall. I had never had a wreck before. Never even had an insurance claim. So this was a first-time experience for me. Upon impact, I vaguely remember the airbag hitting me in the face. But everything happened so fast, I wasn’t sure if I was hurt. It turned out that I definitely was. I was pinned in the vehicle. A good Samaritan came running up to me and asked my name. I said, “My name is Stoney Stamper. Please tell my girls I love them.” And then I passed out.
I was in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the near hour of being pinned in the vehicle. Only a few minutes after the wreck, April pulled up on the scene. She knew nothing about the wreck at that time. She was just coming home from taking Gracee to school. I can’t even imagine the shock and horror of what she must have felt that rainy day in November—seeing my mangled body pinned in a truck, shaking, losing consciousness, screaming in pain. She got in the back seat behind the driver’s seat, wrapped her arms around me from behind, and began to pray. I don’t know all of what she said, but I remember this much: “Please don’t take him from us, Lord. We need him. Please cover him in your protection.” As she was praying, the firemen and emergency workers were trying to free me from the truck. My right arm was very clearly broken. My legs were pinned between the dash, which had completely caved in, and my seat. My left leg particularly was causing a great amount of pain. But because of the inability to actually see my legs, we didn’t know the extent of the damage. They told April they believed that both of my legs were broken, and my arm definitely was, but that nothing was certain at this time. Internal damage was a very real worry as well.
When the firemen finally got the truck cut apart with the Jaws of Life and pried the door open, my left leg was in a bind. It had actually been shoved beneath my front seat, if you can even imagine that. I was sitting in the seat, yet my left leg had been completely pushed underneath it. Obviously, that’s a problem. I remember one of the firemen saying, “Okay, buddy, we are going to get you out of this truck, but it’s going to hurt.” I said, “I don’t care. Just get me out of this truck.” So he and a few other workers grabbed me by my upper body, and they began to pull. They tried to gently remove my leg from under the seat, but it wasn’t having it. April says my screams still haunt her today. It was the greatest pain that I had ever felt in my life. Thankfully, a few moments into it, the pain became too great and I passed out. She said after that I was completely silent all the way to the hospital. I don’t remember the ride in the ambulance. I only remember waking up beneath bright lights, with dozens of men and women running around me, screaming blood pressures and pulse rates. Doctors yelling out instructions. At this point, I don’t recall feeling any pain. But I just recall being scared. All I wanted to do was hold April, Abby, Emma, and Gracee in my arms. Was I going to die?
I was born and raised in church, but I didn’t pray near as much as I should. Truth be known, I hadn’t been near the Christian I should have been for several years. But at that moment, I prayed. And I prayed hard. I asked God not to take me. Not now. I know heaven is amazing. I pray that someday I will walk the streets of gold and live in paradise for the rest of eternity, but not today. I want to watch my daughters grow. I want to see them graduate from school and start families of their own. I want to see what they become. I want to spend more time with my beautiful wife. I want her to know she is the best thing that has ever happened to an old bum like me. I prayed like my life depended on it. And I guess it did. God, please let me stay a little longer. Please don’t take me just yet.
I remember telling the doctor that we didn’t live anywhere near family and my wife needed someone to be with her in the waiting room. So they sent the chaplain out to sit with her. April immediately thought that meant I was going to die, or had already. But he prayed with her and sat with her until some of our friends and family could finally arrive. At this point, everything gets pretty foggy for me. My recollection is not great, but I know I had thousands of prayers go up for me in those days. Friends came and prayed for me, people I’d never met actually had heard about the wreck and came to pray for me, and thousands upon thousands of folks online who loved our famil
y prayed for me. And I believe wholeheartedly that those prayers are why I’ve been able to write this book. It wasn’t my time. God wanted me to be with my children. God wanted me to spend more time with my wife. I had more to add to my story. I wasn’t finished.
This year that’s coming to a close, 2018, was enormously difficult for me. I had many, many broken bones. I had many, many surgeries and would continue with a few more, a total of twelve once all was said and done, and honestly, I probably have more in my future. I walk with a cane and a very noticeable limp. I can no longer run five miles a day as I did before. I can’t build fence or break colts or even ride a horse at all, like I used to. Everyday tasks that were once simple are so difficult, or even impossible. I quickly found myself in a very dark place. I was so depressed, plus plain miserable to be around. I remember looking down at my leg and thinking, Just raise it, Stoney. Pick your leg up. But the body wouldn’t cooperate. At thirty-eight years old, I was bound to bed for twenty hours a day and was limited to riding a little scooter or being pushed in a wheelchair. I was simply not the man I’d been before.
This year was also enormously difficult on April and our kids. It was difficult on our marriage, because I wasn’t exactly easy to live with. April was exhausted for pretty much the entire year as she took care of me and our kids and every aspect of our lives. We struggled. We became somewhat distant with each other, which is a huge change from how we were before. And even though I had miraculously survived a horrible accident, I still hadn’t completely given myself and my problems over to God. I was still trying to steer the ship by myself. April sat me down one day and said, “You’re still trying to fix everything by yourself, and you can’t. Our problem cannot be fixed by you or anyone else. We have to give it to God. You have to give it to God. You’ve just got to trust that God is going to take care of us. He will take care of us. He will keep us safe. But you have to submit. You are our leader. You are our rock. And we need this from you.”
At first, I was angry at her for calling me out like that. But after some serious soul-searching, I realized she was right. That message really hit home. For a large part of my adult life, although I certainly considered myself a Christian, I didn’t live like one. Before April and the girls, I traveled so much with work, nearly three hundred days a year. So my days were spent in hotels and airports and train stations and rental cars. And my nights were generally spent in a bar somewhere in New York, Massachusetts, North Dakota, Florida, or California, and everywhere in between. I drank myself into oblivion most nights. I was lonely and sad on the inside. This went on for a dozen years, and I am certain I was the focus of many prayers from my parents and siblings. I was unhealthy. I drank too much, didn’t eat enough, didn’t sleep enough, and was generally unhappy. Then that fateful day when April and I reconnected, everything seemed to change. I felt a joy and a peace I hadn’t felt as an adult. Once we were married, I changed jobs and we moved to Texas, and it felt like it was right where God wanted us to be. And even though I knew what I believed, I had never completely given myself to God. Not completely. We went to church, we taught our kids about the Bible, and we raised them to act in a godly manner. But as their dad, I still wasn’t living all-in for God. I have read the Bible all the way through four times. I spent hours as a child memorizing Scripture. But knowing isn’t enough. You have to use the knowledge.
So that day April called me out, I rededicated myself to God. I prayed and asked forgiveness for all my sins. I apologized for how I have acted for years and for straying away from what I know is right. I believe I am a good person. And I know that I do good deeds and am generous to those in need. But good deeds will not get you into heaven. As Jesus says in John 14:6, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Just being a “good person” doesn’t cut it. I began praying more. I began to read my Bible every day. I am a work in progress, but I feel I am on the right track. God has worked in all our lives and brought us closer together. We are stronger and tighter than we have ever been.
I’ve always heard the saying “Everything happens for a reason.” So for most of my life, I’ve tried to understand the reasons behind something. But the truth is, I kept coming up short. I didn’t understand all the bad things in my life. I didn’t understand the unhappiness I felt before I found my girls. I didn’t understand why God would allow something like that wreck to happen. Why would he allow me to be hurt so bad? Why would he put my wife and kids through such a thing? I no longer believe everything happens for a reason because about all that does is leave you angry at God. I know that was true for me. God never promises us answers to all our questions, but he does promise to be right there with us during our trials and tribulations. And I’m here to tell you, he has been.
Why did I have to go all the way down to the bottom, where I felt I couldn’t sink any lower, before I would finally and completely surrender and let God steer my life rather than continuing to aimlessly try to steer it myself? Well, I don’t know. Sure, it could have something to do with the fact that I’m a stubborn man. But I’m not sure that’s the reason. I’m not angry at God any longer. What I am is grateful. He’s never given up on me, although I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. I now prefer the saying “Whatever happens, God’s right there with you.” I believe that with 100 percent certainty. Actually, make that 110 percent.
* * *
I hope you’ll understand,
That I was born a ramblin’ man.
Those are the timeless lyrics of the song “Ramblin’ Man,” written by the amazing Forrest Richard Betts, better known as Dickey Betts of the Allman Brothers Band. If you don’t know this song, I’m not sure we can be friends. It’s a classic. No, I’m just kidding. I’d still be your friend, but I’d definitely have to work on you and your taste in music.
Since I was just a small boy, I have been a ramblin’ man, always with someplace to go, but that meant always leaving too. As a child, I spent countless days and nights on the show circuit, showing everything from horses to cows to pigs. I was on the livestock- and horse-judging teams through my local FFA chapter and traveled extensively all over the United States. My high school had quite the formidable wrestling team, and I was pretty good myself, so I received invitations to wrestle in national tournaments all over the country—in Ohio, Nevada, Texas, and all over Oklahoma. When church camps rolled around every summer, I was ready to go. While my sister would cry because she didn’t want to leave home, I was only upset that the camps didn’t last longer. I love to travel. I love to see new things and to go to new places. I was never homesick. I always knew that ranch was sitting right there where it had been for more than a hundred years, waiting on me to return.
After I graduated high school, I traveled, and traveled, and kept traveling. I was the ramblin’ man with a capital RAMBLE. Following my wreck in November of 2017, it became very clear that we needed to be closer to family. Although our families came down and helped when they could, taking care of my crippled behind was a full-time job. April needed help. She couldn’t do it alone. After many discussions and prayers, we decided that moving back to Oklahoma was the answer. Abby had graduated high school and had decided on Oklahoma State University in Stillwater as her next step (which tickled me pink because that’s my alma mater too). My parents are in Chickasha, my sister’s family is in Yale, my brother’s family is in Broken Arrow, and all of April’s family is in Vinita. So we worked with my company and got a transfer to Oklahoma. Then began the fun stuff. I’d just had a total hip replacement, then got an infection that required another hip surgery just a week later. April was in an accident with a horse and tore all the ligaments in her right knee except the ACL. Here we are, two people with only two good legs between us, needing to move our entire household of things to Oklahoma. And let me tell you, we had a lot of, well, things. But that’s when family comes in awful handy.
My entire family came and moved us,
built my fence that was needed for my horses, and did any number of other things we needed for them to do to get us settled into our new house. We are here. Of course, we are still slowly unpacking some of our things, but we are here. Home. We can go eat dinner with my sister with just thirty minutes’ notice. We can drop the girls off at their grandparents for a weekend with just a quick phone call. I’ve never felt more at peace with where I am at in life. My job, the house we are in, my family moving us when we couldn’t do it ourselves—everything just fell into place, like puzzle pieces that God had made just for us. I can tell you right now, I don’t plan to move again. I am where I want to be. And I think I am where God wants me to be. Sure, to some extent I’ll always have that rowdy ramblin’ sense about me. That’s just who I am. But like Hank Jr. sings, “All my rowdy friends have settled down.” That would include me, and I’m more than okay with that. In fact, I’d say I’m downright happy.
* * *
P.S. One last story, okay?
He smelled strongly of Aqua Velva. The wind blew the familiar scent my way as I sat on the bench at the Quick-n-Easy Car Wash on Broadway. I’ve known that smell all my life. I remember as a little boy spending the night with my grandparents, I’d hear my papa wake up early and head to the shower. My granny would start breakfast, and a bit later my papa would come out freshly bathed and shaved, smelling exactly like the smell that currently filled my nostrils. I looked up to see a dapper old man walk up beside me and take a seat. He was small and frail, but that clearly didn’t affect the way he dressed. He wore a crisp light blue oxford shirt with the initials JLR stitched into the cuffs, the same polyester Wranglers that my grandpa preferred, and slick, pointy-toed, light orange ostrich Nocona boots. His silver hair was slicked down to his scalp with not a hair out of place. And then, of course, his face was freshly and cleanly shaven.
My First Rodeo Page 14