closer than a brother, Jesus
Chaos calls to chaos,
to the tune of whitewater rapids.
Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers
crash and crush me.
Then God promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night!
My life is God's prayer.
from Psalm 42, the message
A lot of people have been asking how my brother is, how I'm feeling. How do I answer that?
I'm angry. And I'm devastated. I'm sad, and I have hope. I miss him. And I'm angry again.
Angry that he has put my family through this, me through this, his own wife and kids through this. I worry about his 12-year-old son that may have to live without his dad for 4 years or longer. I pray his 9-year-old son is still making his mom laugh and still cheering on Max Lucado before he preaches. And I wish I could see my 6-year-old niece and hold her, but family relationships are strained right now. I haven't seen or talked to any of them in over a month, my brother longer than that.
I'm angry and want to say he deserves everything he's getting, which I hear includes 104 degree heat during the lockdown this week. That means no leaving your little 3-inch thick mattress bunk except to go to the bathroom. His bunk is stationed in front of a TV that is on from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. It means eating soggy peanut butter sandwiches at every meal. His bible study group was broken up after it grew to 9 men; the guards put an end to it out of fear they were planning something. Their circle prayer at 9 p.m. was interrupted as well; the guards decided this is the new recreation time, when they are forced to chain up and go outside. I know he is keeping the faith. Would I?
I miss him. I miss calling his cell phone when he comes to mind, and yelling "WASSUP!" I miss his stupid sense of humor; his letters have a humor that is running on little and a heart that is trying to sound hopeful. His letters to me are happier than the ones he writes to my parents, as if he could spare me the sadness. Or maybe he's just tired of writing about it all. I hope so. I write about coffee shops and Ben and Syd and our mom's love of David Crowder.
My family is going to Port Aransas for my mom's 70th birthday next month. He should be there. I feel the same as I did waking up in his house the morning after he was imprisoned (actually I wasn't waking up as I never went to sleep)... his red pick-up parked in the driveway, his big barbeque pit in the backyard. All I could do was stand in his kitchen as I tried to choose one of his 5 stupid flavored coffees out of the freezer and cry, and say "He should be here." It's like a death, but not a death, knowing hopefully he will be out safely in a few years and back where he belongs.
Last spring we were all at the beach together. Everytime we go together strange things happen. One year it was a woman's poodle jumping to it's death off a high condo balcony above us. Not the smartest dog in the building. That had Tim and I making up rhymes all day, our way of coping. "He was a sweet black lab named Matt, you probably heard him when he went splat." "I had a dachschund named Fred, but now I'm pretty sure he's dead." And on and on. We weren't very popular with the rest of the family.
Then there was the New Year's Eve that Steve and Tim decided we should light some firecrackers...not down on the beach but in the condo's breezeway. Those loud, spinning, colorful fire-spitting ones. After the police appeared at the doorway, they begged me to answer as I was pregnant with Syd and they thought he'd deal gently with me. Daviell and I told them they were idiots and they had to answer the door, which they did, in their matching sweaters my mom gave them for Christmas.
Last year Tim and I took our kids' boogie boards and went out to deeper water; all the while I'm praying to God to not let there be one shark in this murky water within 25 miles of my body. If I've ever prayed a hedge of protection for myself, it's in the ocean. I know if I voice this fear, Tim will be sure to spot a fin and my other brother Andy will be happy to pull me under. So I keep quiet and instead the only thing that happens is that I lose my sunglasses. We talk out in the waves about our hopes and dreams, I tell him how the Statesman is going to use something I wrote and he is so happy for me.
I miss my brother. There are other losses I'm grieving as well. Other anger I have towards God. But even when I want to ignore what I'm feeling, to find a way around it, I know I have to go through it.
I sit on the floor of my bedroom and talk up to Him through the sunset, the darkening clouds. My God knows the words before I can even speak them, sees the tears before they come. He knows my failures, my disappointments, my anger, my sorrow, and most of all He KNOWS the fighting RAY of HOPE I carry in my SOUL about all of it, because He put it there. Amen, forever and ever over and over.
What a friend I've found
Closer than a brother
I have felt your touch
More intimate than lovers
Jesus, Jesus,
Jesus, friend forever
What a hope I've found
More faithful than a mother
It would break my heart
To ever lose each other
lyrics from What A Friend I've Found, Delirious?
to the tune of whitewater rapids.
Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers
crash and crush me.
Then God promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night!
My life is God's prayer.
from Psalm 42, the message
A lot of people have been asking how my brother is, how I'm feeling. How do I answer that?
I'm angry. And I'm devastated. I'm sad, and I have hope. I miss him. And I'm angry again.
Angry that he has put my family through this, me through this, his own wife and kids through this. I worry about his 12-year-old son that may have to live without his dad for 4 years or longer. I pray his 9-year-old son is still making his mom laugh and still cheering on Max Lucado before he preaches. And I wish I could see my 6-year-old niece and hold her, but family relationships are strained right now. I haven't seen or talked to any of them in over a month, my brother longer than that.
I'm angry and want to say he deserves everything he's getting, which I hear includes 104 degree heat during the lockdown this week. That means no leaving your little 3-inch thick mattress bunk except to go to the bathroom. His bunk is stationed in front of a TV that is on from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. It means eating soggy peanut butter sandwiches at every meal. His bible study group was broken up after it grew to 9 men; the guards put an end to it out of fear they were planning something. Their circle prayer at 9 p.m. was interrupted as well; the guards decided this is the new recreation time, when they are forced to chain up and go outside. I know he is keeping the faith. Would I?
I miss him. I miss calling his cell phone when he comes to mind, and yelling "WASSUP!" I miss his stupid sense of humor; his letters have a humor that is running on little and a heart that is trying to sound hopeful. His letters to me are happier than the ones he writes to my parents, as if he could spare me the sadness. Or maybe he's just tired of writing about it all. I hope so. I write about coffee shops and Ben and Syd and our mom's love of David Crowder.
My family is going to Port Aransas for my mom's 70th birthday next month. He should be there. I feel the same as I did waking up in his house the morning after he was imprisoned (actually I wasn't waking up as I never went to sleep)... his red pick-up parked in the driveway, his big barbeque pit in the backyard. All I could do was stand in his kitchen as I tried to choose one of his 5 stupid flavored coffees out of the freezer and cry, and say "He should be here." It's like a death, but not a death, knowing hopefully he will be out safely in a few years and back where he belongs.
Last spring we were all at the beach together. Everytime we go together strange things happen. One year it was a woman's poodle jumping to it's death off a high condo balcony above us. Not the smartest dog in the building. That had Tim and I making up rhymes all day, our way of coping. "He was a sweet black lab named Matt, you probably heard him when he went splat." "I had a dachschund named Fred, but now I'm pretty sure he's dead." And on and on. We weren't very popular with the rest of the family.
Then there was the New Year's Eve that Steve and Tim decided we should light some firecrackers...not down on the beach but in the condo's breezeway. Those loud, spinning, colorful fire-spitting ones. After the police appeared at the doorway, they begged me to answer as I was pregnant with Syd and they thought he'd deal gently with me. Daviell and I told them they were idiots and they had to answer the door, which they did, in their matching sweaters my mom gave them for Christmas.
Last year Tim and I took our kids' boogie boards and went out to deeper water; all the while I'm praying to God to not let there be one shark in this murky water within 25 miles of my body. If I've ever prayed a hedge of protection for myself, it's in the ocean. I know if I voice this fear, Tim will be sure to spot a fin and my other brother Andy will be happy to pull me under. So I keep quiet and instead the only thing that happens is that I lose my sunglasses. We talk out in the waves about our hopes and dreams, I tell him how the Statesman is going to use something I wrote and he is so happy for me.
I miss my brother. There are other losses I'm grieving as well. Other anger I have towards God. But even when I want to ignore what I'm feeling, to find a way around it, I know I have to go through it.
I sit on the floor of my bedroom and talk up to Him through the sunset, the darkening clouds. My God knows the words before I can even speak them, sees the tears before they come. He knows my failures, my disappointments, my anger, my sorrow, and most of all He KNOWS the fighting RAY of HOPE I carry in my SOUL about all of it, because He put it there. Amen, forever and ever over and over.
What a friend I've found
Closer than a brother
I have felt your touch
More intimate than lovers
Jesus, Jesus,
Jesus, friend forever
What a hope I've found
More faithful than a mother
It would break my heart
To ever lose each other
lyrics from What A Friend I've Found, Delirious?