My brother is gone.

Eccl. 3:3 there is a time to grieve, and I am in it.  My youngest brother died yesterday.  We weren't supposed to bury him first, he was only 48, but death is a part of life.  I wish that he had taken better care of himself, but these last several years had been his best yet.  He was finally living free from the life crippling addictions that had  haunted him for so long.  He had a job, a place to live with a wide screen tv, and he was smiling more than he had in a long time.  He was even looking for a good church and had found real hope in his relationship with God.  I had more hope for him than I had in a long time, but he is gone.  We laughed and hugged a lot during thanksgiving this year.  He flew down to Georgia from Pa. and we ate way too much great food.  My children took him into their hearts and loved him completely.  It was a great sight to behold.  My mother would have been proud of him, if she were still with us today, but we lost her when she was 48 for the same thing (heart attack).  It seems strange that they died at the same time, for the same reason.  I know that John is happy tonight because he is with his mommy once again, and little boys should grow up with their mommies, but he didn't get to do that because she died when he was just 12, and I don't think he ever recovered fully from that loss.  My children got to be with their mom  during those important years of childhood.  I don't know how they would have made it without her, and he certainly struggled.  Drug addiction stole a lot of important years from him, but he never got away from God's relentless love.  My fathers guilt drove him to overcompensate for John's loss, but what was his mistake?  He loved too much.  I wish we were all guilty of that sin.  My brother Michael and his whole family gave John chance after chance, always hoping for the miracle that finally came this year...sobriety.  For years we were afraid that we would get a call in the night that his life had ended in tragedy.  That call never came, but he is gone, and that is the tragedy.  I will miss you John.  We will never stop loving you, and we will love your son.  God's relentless love pursued you in many dark places and it will pursue him as well.  We love you so go see your momma.

I'm a huge fan of quitting.  If you quit something enough times, eventually it might stick.  Our culture celebrates winners, achievers and rain makers.  Those who try and succeed are inspirational.  They make us want to stretch further and see what we can do.  I love the stories of those who struggle against all odds and overcome.  I'm thrilled when someone, faced with an obstacle, kicks and screams and pushes their way through, coming out on the other side in full victory!

But what about those who try and fail?  Who cheers on the career quitters, those who want to stop overeating, smoking, drinking...whatevsies...but fall down time and time again?  I've raised 5 children and this I know.  As each one of them learned to walk they'd toddle a few steps and then plop down on their amply padded bottoms.  They fell over and over again, sometimes shedding tears bitterly, as they tried to master this new skill.  I always encouraged them.  I was proud of their efforts.  Not once did I tell my babies to stay down, since it was obvious they weren't experiencing the success we all longed for.

No way!  I clapped for them, encouraged them and knew that in due time they'd waddle their way across the room, unassisted.  They just had to keep practicing.  I love quitters because they stay engaged in the battle.  I love quitters because somehow, intrinsically, they know there's something better on their horizon and they keep reaching for it.  I love quitters because if they don't quit quitting they eventually win.

My younger brother, John, fought life long battles.  They haunted him, relentlessly pursued him and cost him years of brokenness and heartache.  But he kept quitting.  He'd get to the end of his tether, want more for himself and he'd determine to quit again.  He'd win a little and his addictions would win a little and then he'd suffer a downward slide.  After an excruciating amount of time he'd renew his commitment to sobriety and he'd quit again.

And he won!  He quit for the last time and he experienced a real life.  He accomplished things, felt proud of himself.  He treasured his son as well as those who helped him by loving him fiercely, held a responsible job and joined a gym.  He quit until he quit and he won. Whatever you're warring against, keep quitting.  Start over every Monday, the first of every month, the beginning of a new year, but don't stop in your efforts to quit.  If you won't you'll eventually win!  I believe in you...I believed in John and he did it!

An act of courage...

Yesterday was a groundbreaking day at the Rock.  Eight people planted their flag in the ground for life in a new kingdom.  They buried the old man in the waters of baptism, so that now they can live a new life both forgiven, and free.  It was incredible to watch and listen as one by one they proclaimed their allegiance to the invisible God.  No one could see this God, yet they spoke boldly of His love, and His power.  It's not cool to speak up for God, yet they spoke clearly.  They testified before family and friends about the life change they have already experienced and all they look forward to.  I could hear Jesus in the background speaking those words that He would confess us before the Father, if we would confess Him before men.  Well they did it.  They confessed Christ boldly, and without shame, or trepidation.  This was a public act of courage, and I salute them all.  This world needs more people of courage.