It had been many wagon loads of day since I talked to my brother. So on my drive to Memphis on a recent Friday, I called him. Actually, had I realized it was Friday, not Saturday, I would not have called because I would have known he was at work as most people are unless they are "retired" like me. When you are not going to work every day, you forget what day it is--not the DATE-the DAY!
Nevertheless, I called his house and he answered. He just happened to be home on Friday because his office was being painted. My good fortune.
I love my brother.
I've always looked up to him and rightfully so. He grew up being a hard worker. For example, he had a paper route when he was young--in his teens--a time when most teens would rather sleep than anything else. He would get up every morning before any wagon loads of day peeked into the sky--including Sundays--to deliver the morning paper.
My sister and I learned his route once so he could take a trip. My stars--even if there were nothing else to admire about him, that would be worthy.
He had drawn a map for us, pointed out the houses in person for us, and was very conscientious about trying to train us on his route. We were very sure we knew what to do. Honestly! We were not stupid.
But my oh my--all those houses looked alike at 4:30-5:00 in the morning. Which ones got papers? Which ones didn't? Anyway, my sister and I did it and I don't think he ever told us how many complaints he got afterwards.
And we just did it for maybe a day or two, but he would get up early every morning and roll the papers, throw them
(and got them on the porch, for heaven's sakes! My sister and I tried to throw them but, obviously we threw them like girls. So we would have to go get them--maybe even hunt for them and then walk them to the porches).
He was so good at this that he would arrive back home before the neighborhood even woke up. My sister and I did make it back home but well after a wagon load or two of sun had passed and well after most people in the neighborhood were having breakfast. And I'm sure well after many fights between us. ("It's that house." "No, it's that one!" "You go find it. But you threw it...")
Another memory of growing up with my brother: The junior high we attended was just across a overgrown field from our house. One could walk around the three blocks of paved streets to get to school, but Lane, energetic and clever as he was, mowed a straight path from our backyard to the street in front of our junior high. My sister and I walked that path over and over again after he had moved on to a motorcycle and high school.
Our parents taught us all about working hard, loving each other, and doing our best. We learned that lesson well. (I have the finest siblings ever.) However, it seemed to me back then that my brother did his work without complaining. Can you imagine? I wasn't always so cheerful and eager to do chores. But he just did his jobs and still does.
He is so outstanding in so many ways--as a leader--first in his schools, now in his church and community--as an excellent student, as a real friend, and as a great athlete. He played football from junior high through college--usually as quarterback or half back and I think I saw every game.
He played baseball as a kid (I learned to say, "Hey, batterbatterbatter" while watching him play); he plays golf; he runs (like miles at a time and with his daughters and their families, so it's not just his word for it:) He can wash dishes with the best of them, build bookshelves, labor in the yard, and teach an adult Sunday School class. (Maybe under his finely tailored clothes he really dons a Superman suit. I think I hit on his success right there! But I won't tell anyone. I promise)
I love my brother.
Obviously, I think highly of my sweet brother. He has accomplished so much. But above all, he is a really, really nice guy and a good person. He loves people and they love him. He does things I only wish I would be disciplined enough to do. He lives his life never forgetting to be a loving, Christian man. He doesn't judge, condemn, or criticize, but rather he accepts people as they are and thinks of them according to their strengths not their weaknesses.
I love my brother. All his sisters do.
Thank you, Lord, for blessing me with such a fine family that includes such a great brother.
And I will not wait as many wagon loads of day before I call him again.
