closer

i fall through membranes

of silken fire

horizons that blossom

to kiss my fingers

breathing warmth through me

as i plunge

into

the fragrant folds

of your many veils

I See You

I do not recall what the fight was over, only that our parents were gone and that it had escalated to where my little brother Daniel and I were furiously throwing small objects at each other. He was within my arms’ reach when he threw the eraser block and hit me just above the eye. My response was vicious. Before I could realize that I had picked my brother up, I had already slammed him onto the floor. I was terrified. As the haze of adrenaline melted away, I could not recall plucking him from the ground—but I my screaming senses could not help but recall the exertion with which I sent his prone body hurtling towards the floor. I collapsed to my knees next to him, crying his name. Daniel, Daniel…Daniel! Oh God why? As I turned him over, he moaned and began to regain consciousness, shivering from shock. I carried him to the couch, wrapped him in blankets, and called my parents. No, no, no! He had hit the thickly padded carpet with enough force to chip a tooth in half and cause minor head trauma. Minor, but I will always remember the terror. Later that day I walked out onto the deck with that eraser and threw it as hard as I could. I never saw it again.

How good and pleasant it is

when brothers live together in unity!

Psalm 133:1

I was probably around twelve or thirteen years old, which would have made him eight or nine, the day I challenged him to a long distance race. Needless to say, because of our age difference I always won sprints. However, physically outdoing my brother was not enough for me—I wanted to outsmart him as well. Already reveling in my victory, I challenged him to a race four times around our seven acre pasture. I added one stipulation: that we run in opposite directions. This way, I thought, he would not be able to tell exactly how far behind he was at any given time. I planned to alternate running and walking in order to conserve my energy, knowing that my brother—surely too young to grasp the concept of pacing—would be desperate to win and go all out. Once he lost wind in his valiant but naive effort, I would still have plenty in reserve and would be able to overlap him easily, dealing him a sound defeat. The race went well at first, but then things started to go wrong. He never stopped. Not once. By the second lap, I was falling far behind and my lungs were bursting in my chest, but when I looked across at him, watching desperately for any sign of tiring, all I could see was his thin little form jogging right along. I do not remember if he overlapped me or not, but my pride definitely suffered a most humiliating blow. I learned that day that my brother could run for a very, very long time, but I would not let go of my pride.

Be devoted to one another with brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Romans 12:10

Daniel and I started playing piano on the same day. Immediately, I shot ahead of him in the lesson books, devouring the songs one by one on the way to mastery while he plodded along slowly. I quickly got to the level that our teacher asked if I wanted to learn a real song—Für Elise. I was ecstatic. I proudly worked for months learning and perfecting that song, getting to the point where I could play it with such emotion and feeling that I sounded great. I then graduated from high school early and went straight into college, leaving my piano lessons by the wayside. I came back to our piano every once in a while to play my song, and critiqued (read criticized) my brother’s playing constantly. Somewhere along the line he had started to experiment with the piano, and it often sounded terrible. However, he continued plodding through his lessons and continued to experiment, spending hours and hours on the bench filling the house with music. He was terrible at practicing his assigned songs—he would begin the song, and then would invariably digress along a musical rabbit trail that would last for fifteen minutes, often driving me crazy. Then he started sounding good. He also started writing down his music. Not long after that, he graduated and began going to college, excelling in music and music composition classes.

Sitting in the college’s recital hall transfixed by my brother’s music coming from the mouths of piano, bass, viola, cello, violin, French horn, and trumpet, I cannot help but be awed. Every now and again I find myself on the piano bench when my brother is not around, looking at sheet music and trying to play it. It is futile. After a few petty attempts at Phantom of the Opera or a random hymn, I start to play my song, Für Elise. Something about watching my hands make music, dragging a nostalgic beauty from the past, from my muscles, from my mind, is soothing. It is a feeling that I never want to lose. Maybe one day I, too, will be able to create music like my little brother.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. I Corinthians 13:4- 7

I once let my “intelligence,” my high IQ, my ability to do well in an academic setting, my early graduation, and so many other things distance me from my brother. Much of it was subconscious, but I am coming to realize more and more that I liked seeing myself as better than him, and that part of me, after all these years, still wants to see myself as better than him. What really hurts is that I can see now how much this has hurt him. The comparisons I established still haunt both of our lives.

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Philippians 2:3

I am again the young teenager kneeling by his brother moaning on the carpet. It is too late to take back what has happened, but it is never too late to start healing wounds. Daniel, I am sorry. There is no need for me to compare myself to you or for you to compare yourself with me. I want to take that eraser and throw it as hard as I can, and I never want to see it again. I see you, my brother—I see you, respect you, and love you.

Praise be to the LORD my Rock,

who trains my hands for war,

my fingers for battle. Psalm 144:1

A month ago, when I would look up into the night sky and see the constellation of Orion, my spirit would ache inside me. A Chuisle mo Chroi, Kristina, has told me that when she looks up sees Orion she thinks of me, her warrior. A warrior--I have always been passionate about being a warrior for God. I yearn to put the same level of dedication and commitment into serving God as that Jonathan's unnamed armor-bearer put into serving his charge (I Samuel 14:1-14). I have always yearned to be the kind of man who would have climbed that cliff after Jonathan to face countless enemies.

In Christ, we can all be warriors in our everyday lives. I think that what made Jonathan and his armor-bearer consummate warriors was not their confidence in arms, but their confidence in God. There are countless incidents in the Bible in which ordinary men and women step up in unprecedented courage--take David, Hadassah, Paul, Deborah, Jeremiah, and Abigail for instance. These men and women saw what God called them to do and then did it, even if it may have seemed impossible. Think of what it would have taken to be a prophet like Jeremiah--to personally stand in the gap between God and an entire nation of hardened hearts. The prophets were often alone, one man set up by God to speak against an entire people. Can you imagine? Imagine yourself as Hadassah, placed into a situation in which not only your life and the lives of your closest friends, but the lives of an entire nation are all dependent on the success of one mission. No pressure, right? Sorta makes David and Goliath feel like a tea party. And yet she placed everything in the hands of God and laid her life and the lives of hundreds of thousands into God's hands. As immensely mind-boggling as her situation was, God is infinite in every way. If God is on our side, why should we be afraid? Especially when he has given us the promise of his presence? We are all called to be warriors, to be brave and undaunted in the face of the impossible. We are called to face the obscure mists of our futures with a resolute courage and faith, to stride into that 'huge' project that seems so impossibly daunting, to face the possibility of failure yet again. And we as warriors of God are promised victory.

The thing is, I have been struggling with an identity issue. When I would look up at Orion, I would not see myself--I would only see how far short I seemed to be of that ideal. My faith is so weak that I am overrun with fears of all kinds that wreak havoc in my life. But God never gives up. Ever. I had a terrible few months during which I could not remember what victory felt like. Can you relate? I had so many falls that I was losing hope completely. I felt so helpless--the Jars of Clay refrain "I have no fear of drowning; it's the breathing that's taking all this work" echoed in my head as I kept treading and spitting out water. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil...

This month has been great. Actually, I would go as far as saying it has been the greatest month of victories I have ever had. For Thou art with me... God is always there when you are ready to rely on him and place your faith in His ability to turn you, yes, even you, into a warrior. On an interesting note, Proverbs 16:32 says: "Better a patient man than a warrior." Sometimes we might feel like Moses... things sure happened pretty slowly for him, but the good news is we are in God's hands and he knows just what he is doing. Life started to get better for me when I started to trust that God has my back--yeah, I knew he did already, but if knowledge+belief =action, I was sorta missing the middle part of the equation. Do you believe in your identity as a treasured son or daughter of God? Do believe in your identity as a warrior?

One of my favorite scenes ever captured by film is from The Two Towers, when Gandalf releases Theoden from Grima's leechcraft. He advises Theoden, "perhaps your hands would remember their old strength better if they grasped you sword." When he grabbed hold of the sword, he became aware of the deceit that had sapped his strength and his identity as a warrior. He saw through the lies and found the truth. Grab hold of the Sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God, and break out of any lies that hold you captive--you are a warrior, a man or woman of action, a courageous fighter of valor. Fight the good fight today, and may the Lord be with you.

Forgetting who you are?

Psalm 23 Psalm 139 Romans 8:31-39 Galatians 5:1