One Man Made a Difference
After a very emotional weekend back in Lubbock, I sat down wanting to write about me.
I wanted to have a pity party.
I wanted to write about how Matthew’s passing is going to affect my future. We won’t talk about the Tech football game anymore. He won’t text me back. I won’t ever meet Matthew’s wife. I won’t meet his children. I won’t get the chance to be the most amazing “Big K” to his kids.
Those thoughts hurt. Badly.
But as the day winds down and I reflect, I realize something: those are all things I wanted. They were part of my plan for Matthew’s life.
And then, while I was sitting here writing this tonight, something happened.
Jennifer and I started receiving several texts telling us the same thing:
“Go outside and look at the sunset.”
So we did.
And there it was.
Pink.
A beautiful pink sunset filling the sky.
If you’ve followed our journey, you already know what pink sunsets have come to mean to me—and you probably know exactly where my mind went.
Matthew.
Maybe it was simply another beautiful Texas sunset. Or maybe, in a moment when I was sitting here thinking about everything I wanted and everything I had planned, God knew I needed another reminder to look up.
Either way, I smiled.
Because once again, when I needed it, there were God’s fingerprints.
My plans were different. God’s plan was different.
And there is a difference.
When Our Plan Isn't God's Plan
Grief has a way of making us look backward and imagine all the things that should have been.
So, as I often do when I don't have the answers, I went to the Bible.
I was drawn to Isaiah 43:18–19:
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!”
That doesn't mean we forget the people we love. It doesn't mean the pain suddenly disappears.
To me, it means I cannot spend the rest of my life living inside the future I had planned but never got to experience.
God is telling me there is still a path forward.
Yes, this path is hard. Yes, I hate parts of it. And yes, there are days when I would gladly trade this path for the one I had planned.
But ultimately, it is God's plan—not Kevin's.
And I'm still learning how to accept that.
60,229 People
This past weekend, I found myself standing in the end zone of Jones AT&T Stadium—“Galaxy Stadium” to me—looking up at a sellout crowd of 60,229 people standing and applauding as the Matthew James Mitchell Red Raider Club Endowment was announced.
It was breathtaking.
For a moment, I just stood there and took it all in.
And apparently my allergies were really bad that day. Something kept getting in my eyes.
Wink.
But standing there, I felt something I desperately needed.
Peace.
I realized that a 22-year-old young man had made more of an impact in his short life than many people make in decades.
And selfishly, there is some satisfaction for Jennifer and me in knowing that we got to play a part in that.
We raised him. We helped shape the young man he became.
Matthew could have simply been one of thousands of employees at Texas Tech. He could have been one of more than 40,000 students walking across that campus.
But Matthew was never just a number.
Matthew made a difference.
And I keep coming back to two questions:
Why? How?
I think 1 Timothy 4:12 gives us part of the answer:
“Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example… in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity.”
Matthew was only 22.
He wasn’t famous or wealthy. He held no powerful position and had no massive social-media following.
He was simply Matthew.
And that was enough.
The Stories Weren't Just Stories
Since Matthew passed, we have heard hundreds of stories.
What's crazy is that Matthew never realized the impact he was having on many of these people.
How do I know?
Because Matthew told me everything.
And I mean everything.
Probably way too much.
I knew his circle, especially those closest to him. No one needed to explain his bond with Ethan and the Gunnip’s; I understood it then, still see it in action, and will until I join Matthew in Heaven.
With others, though, I only caught glimpses through Matthew's stories.
At the time, many of them were simply funny stories about school, baseball, work, fraternity, friends or life in Lubbock.
And Matthew was an amazing storyteller.
Wonder where he learned that...
But after hearing from so many of you these past few weeks, I've realized something.
They weren't simply stories.
They were examples of Christlike actions.
Taking someone under his wing. Making someone feel like part of the group. Helping someone who was struggling. Teaching a kid. Coaching a player. Standing beside a friend. Sharing his faith. Making sure someone knew they belonged.
Matthew wasn't trying to build a legacy.
He was simply living his life.
And in the process, he was making a difference.
Sometimes Making a Difference Is Simply Being a Friend
One story especially stands out to me.
Matthew had a classmate and friend named Haider—“Hadi”—a graduate student from India.
I knew Matthew's version of their friendship. I had heard the stories. But I didn't completely understand what Matthew had meant to Hadi until Matthew's final days.
Hadi altered his flight back from India so he could come through DFW and visit Matthew at our home.
That told me everything I needed to know.
Imagine coming from India to Lubbock, Texas, to attend graduate school knowing almost no one. That's a culture change for anybody.
But Hadi had something waiting for him in Lubbock.
He had a classmate and friend named Matthew.
Matthew welcomed him. Included him. Helped him adjust. Talked with him. Shared life with him.
And Matthew was never shy about talking about Jesus.
Over time, that friendship helped influence Hadi's faith as well.
Think about that for a minute.
Did Matthew wake up one morning and say, “Today I'm going to change this man's life”?
No.
He simply saw someone who needed a friend and became his friend.
There wasn't some complicated strategy. There wasn't a program. There wasn't a committee. There wasn't a social-media campaign.
One person needed a friend. Another person decided to be one.
And both lives—Hadi’s and Matthew’s—were changed.
Anyone reading this can do that.
You don't need money. You don't need a title. You don't need some extraordinary talent. You don't even need to know exactly what to say.
Sometimes you simply need to notice the person standing alone and walk over to them.
You Don't Have to Be Famous to Make a Difference
When we hear the phrase “one person can make a difference,” our minds naturally go to famous people.
Jesus, above all.
Then maybe Martin Luther King Jr., Jackie Robinson, Albert Einstein and countless other names from history—people whose impact can be measured in movements, discoveries and generations.
And now I'm going to add another name to my list:
Matthew James Mitchell.
I'm not comparing Matthew's accomplishments to theirs.
That's actually the point.
You don't have to be famous to make a difference.
You don't need the entire world to know your name.
You just need to change the part of the world God puts in front of you.
Matthew did that.
He didn't coach the Barons for money. He did it because he loved baseball and because he could help kids.
Maybe it was helping Luke.
Maybe it was teaching Kyle a lesson that had very little to do with baseball.
Maybe it was putting an arm around someone who needed it.
Maybe it was telling someone about Jesus.
Baseball was simply the vehicle.
What I now realize is that I wasn't just watching a young baseball coach.
I was watching a young man learning how to serve.
How Do You Measure a Life?
It is still hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that Matthew is gone.
But something else is becoming equally difficult for me to comprehend: the sheer number of stories we have heard about how Matthew served, loved, encouraged and led people simply through his actions.
How do you quantify someone's impact?
I don't know that you can.
But standing in the end zone a football stadium and watching 60,229 people rise to their feet and applaud while your son's name and picture are displayed on a 140’ Jumbotron is one heck of a place to start.
Maybe God knew this simple-minded, grieving dad needed a visual.
Something big enough that I couldn't miss it.
Look, Kevin.
His life mattered.
His work isn't finished.
Maybe that's part of what I'm supposed to understand now.
Matthew's earthly work ended at 22.
But his impact didn't.
And neither has mine.
I'm still learning how to completely trust God in all of this. I'm not going to lie and tell you I've figured it out.
I haven't.
Some days I lean completely into God's promises. Other days I question everything.
But I keep coming back.
Because no matter what we're going through, God is in the trial with us.
God was there when Matthew took his first breath.
God was there when Matthew took his last.
And God is here with Jennifer, Macie and I as we figure out how to take the next ones without him.
That is the God I believe in.
A God who stays.
Now It's Our Turn
I want to leave you with 1 Peter 4:10:
“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God's grace in its various forms.”
Notice two words:
Each of you.
Not some of you.
Not just pastors. Not celebrities. Not wealthy people. Not people with huge platforms.
You.
Matthew modeled three very simple things incredibly well:
Love others — Be kind.
Serve others — Help people.
Learn the Word — Share the Word.
That's it.
Start small.
Be a friend. Coach a child. Make the call. Sit with someone who is alone. Hold the door. Buy someone lunch. Listen. Volunteer. Share Jesus with someone.
You get the picture. These gifts don’t have to cost a dime. They come from your heart.
Do something for somebody simply because they need you, even when there is absolutely nothing in it for you.
Then do it again tomorrow.
Making a difference is a lot like planting a garden. You don't plant one seed today and expect to sit under a giant shade tree tomorrow.
You plant.
You water.
You nurture.
You keep showing up.
Eventually, something grows. (Ya’ll know I have to throw some Horticulture in here every now and then) 😊
God created the garden, but He asked Adam to tend it. God still gives each of us a garden to care for. Yours may be your family, your marriage, your children, your business, your employees, your church, your friendships, or your community. It may simply be the person God places in front of you today. We do not own any of it forever; we are stewards for the season God entrusts it to our care. Tend your garden.
Plant something good in someone else’s life. Water the seed another person planted. Nurture what God has entrusted to you.
And when we consistently help others, something remarkable happens we change too.
Kindness may lift us emotionally, but it is not meant to be a one-time act performed simply because it makes us feel good.
It becomes a practice.
A way of living.
A habit.
And for Christians, something even greater:
A way of serving.
Matthew never set out to become someone whose life would be celebrated in front of 60,229 people.
He simply kept planting seeds.
A teammate here. A fraternity brother there. A student. A coworker. A baseball player. A professor. A friend from India who arrived in Lubbock needing somebody to make him feel like he belonged.
One seed at a time.
Matthew probably never saw most of what grew from those seeds.
But Jennifer, Macie and I are seeing it now.
And maybe that's the lesson God is trying to teach me through all of this.
I started today thinking about everything I lost when Matthew died.
I ended today thinking about everything the world gained because Matthew lived.
And somewhere between those two thoughts...
God painted the sky pink.
That's a pretty big change in perspective.
Maybe tomorrow I'll struggle again.
That's grief.
But tonight, I have peace.
Twenty-two years.
One young man.
Countless lives touched.
One man made a difference.
Now it's our turn.
