4.23.13

Confession is good for the soul, but hearing a confession can be hard work. I confessed what I thought was something dark and terrible to my friend, but his confession blew mine completely out of the water. I thought about it all day today at work, and I am still thinking about it now from my desk at home. Sin soils the imagination. It is difficult to play the balancing act of averting one’s gaze from the sin while still reaching out one’s hands in mercy to the sinner. Truly, we glimpse only the tip of the iceberg with regard to the brokenness most people bear within themselves. Nevertheless, Jesus still says, “You are clean because of the word I spoke to you.” The word that made the universe from nothing pronounces the guilty free for nothing. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.

4.22.13

Earth Day. I spent most of it inside, working my day job. The ongoing tension at work is not only how to tolerate my micromanaging boss, but also to like him enough to have a platform for sharing the Gospel with him. Today was not a good day in that regard. The flesh won out a majority of the time. One of the nice things about living with other people, though, is that they can pick you when you’re down. The housemate made me a drink when I got home and we watched a couple of episodes of Breaking Bad. Tomorrow will be another day.

4.21.13

Sunday is a good day to have off from work. Leah and Andrew came over after church and we shot the breeze against the background of a “Catch Me If You Can” rerun on TV. At around 3:00, Andrew left to attend his friend’s basketball game and Leah and I took a walk around the neighborhood. It was a nice day, if a little bit chilly. Afterwards, I walked down to the Battle Cat, a coffee shop around the corner I’ve never visited, to finish “The Great Gatsby.” Unfortunately, since they close at 8:00 like every other coffee shop in Asheville, I wasn’t able to stay. Instead, I came home to the recliner in my room I hadn’t yet used, made progress with my book, and then wrote this. Mad Men comes on at 10:00. Watching that ought to be the last act of my day.

4.4.13

Today is my brother’s birthday. He has been my best friend since I can remember understanding the concept. As a toddler, he delighted himself in knocking over my block towers and turning the lights off when I was in the bathroom. Thus were sown the seeds for our future blood rivalry, which blossomed into outright warfare on the basketball court during our middle school years. I was taller and stronger, but Gabe was quicker and had a better jumpshot. Once, he hit the game-winning shot and bolted for the house before he even saw it go in — he knew I was going to beat him up for winning if it did (it did, but he didn’t make it to the house).

My brother and I have always complemented one another in terms of personality and gifting. I learned how to read at 3 years old and was the more naturally gifted student, but I was also lazy and sporadic. When Gabe started school, he would get up early and start his schoolwork before breakfast (we were homeschooled) and keep plodding along until it was all done. That consistency is a character trait that has marked him ever since.

In high school, we both got into music and began learning to play instruments. Gabe picked up drums and then began to master bass. I decided to learn to play guitar, picking up a lot in a hurry. Gabe asked me to teach him, so I taught him a few chords and let him go. He ended up practicing every spare moment he had. By the end of high school, he had completely surpassed me and was recording his own music. He has kept right on going for the last eight years. Today, he is a professional-level guitarist who has recorded on studio albums.

In high school, another thing happened to my brother that has profoundly shaped his life. He contracted chronic fatigue that to this day has never been diagnosed. He has woken up every day since about age 15 as tired as most of us are right before we go to bed. His condition has never been diagnosed or cured. Some people pose the question, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” My brother inhabits that question. It hasn’t made him bitter, though. It has opened up deep wells of compassion within him instead. Since moving to the States, he has always been involved in underprivileged kids’ lives, first working at a Boys and Girls Club in North Carolina, then volunteering in a large urban youth group in Oregon, and most recently serving as a “Big Brother” to a fatherless 9-year-old boy. His pain has made him softer, not harder.

So here’s to my brother Gabe, who inspires me to live a life of consistency and compassion, of letting the question shape my life into an answer that could never be given only in words.