I stopped counting somewhere after 100 posted videos, but in one after another, people of all kinds, veterans, men, women, mostly young people, recorded their life stories and hopes and fears.
By now, many of you have heard of the moving video of Ben Breedlove, the Texas teenager who suffered with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and died Christmas Day.
About a week before he passed away, Breedlove posted a simple YouTube video wherein he described his life story, the pain and frustrations of his condition and, most prominently, stories of near-death experiences he passed through. Once, he was 4 years old and suffered a life-threatening seizure. It led to a memorable peace unlike anything else in his life and serene light that hovered over him in the dark hospital hallway. "I can't even describe the peace. How peaceful it was."
Then, just a couple weeks before he died, he passed through another near-death experience. In his dream, he wore all white and felt an incredible satisfaction with his life. "I didn't want to leave that place. I wish I NEVER woke up."
Then he transitioned to his remarkable conclusion: "Do you believe in angels or God? I do."
Breedlove's presentation style was unusual. Rather than tell his story verbally, out loud, he sequentially showed his audience 5-by-7 index cards that wrote out his story, holding them in front of his handsome, often smiling face over seven memorable minutes in two back-to-back videos on YouTube.
His family found the video a day or so after he died. It was sort of his text message from the other side.
Breedlove's message, of course, went viral.
Scores of news outlets have shared his story, from People magazine to Austin TV, which reported that Breedlove's classmates at Westlake High School returned to their classes after the Christmas holiday wearing white — just as he had in one of his near-death dreams.
And, in a quiet tribute, possible only in this modern age, people began posting their stories on YouTube in the same index-card way — "My story," some have titled them, "inspired by Ben Breedlove."
One young girl calling herself Danielle Maestas1, in the vagaries of the YouTube world, got some quarter million views sharing her story of depressive illness — inspired by Breedlove. Another got more than 20,000 sharing her grief and loss of faith, and how Breedlove's inspiration had moved her back to a religious faith.
I stopped counting somewhere after 100 posted videos, but in one after another, people of all kinds, veterans, men, women, mostly young people, recorded their life stories and hopes and fears.
It is a remarkable set of videos. There was a newly composed song. One girl shared how she nearly lost her ability to walk when two disks blew in her lower back. One shared the pain of having few friends. Another talked of serious heart surgery.
I didn't know what to make of such sorrow on YouTube.
I wonder. Is there hope for real redemption in YouTube? Of course not.
So, what of this communication then? What power is in these media that might impel such stories to strangers? Whence the cry to a small handful of YouTube viewers? What would I say, if I could respond directly to these troubled souls, whose pain touched me?
Maybe their cries are the cries for the human in each of us to pray for one another, to stand as witnesses for one another and to show compassion.
Maybe they are a call to reach out and help another find redemption in the right places, to witness of the reality of a Savior.
They are cries and calls worth heeding.
So that's the message I choose from gentle Ben Breedlove's last video.
Do you believe in the possibility of redemption through faith and repentance and the generous love of a loving God? Would you believe on Jesus Christ?
I do.
We were bought at a very, very high price.
That is the message I would pass along to Danielle Maestas1 and others like her — inspired by Ben Breedlove.
Lane Williams teaches journalism and communication at BYU-Idaho. He is a former journalist whose scholarly interests include Mormon portrayals in the media, media and religion and religion and politics.