Flying Doves, Fallen Giants

He was a giant of a man, even back then in his 20’s. I was in my early teens, still reveling in the fact I was a ‘senior boy’ and no longer wore shorts to school. I met him when he accompanied my favorite uncle on a break from medical school.

Everyone has a favorite uncle/aunt, don’t they? Usually either one closest to their age and thus is the most relatable, or the one who brings the best gifts…

So, he and my uncle were classmates and spent a holiday with us, and that was the beginning. He very quickly became a member of the family in his own right, his quick wit and warm, genuine, hearty laughter endearing him to everybody. He exuded a sincerity that was rare and refreshing, without a hint of guile or subterfuge.

He quickly became the big brother I’d always wanted. Always seemed to know the right thing to say, laughed so hard at my jokes I wondered if I was actually that funny, lifted me up when I fell, held me down when I threatened to get too big for my own good, helped me convince my parents to get me the German shepherd I longed for, and the hugs, oh my, the hugs…

He would wrap those massive arms around me in a bear hug so intense, especially since he practically was a bear, he was so big!

As the years rolled by my brother became my mentor. He helped me see the authenticity of the miraculous, the validation of an unchanging, loving, faithful, powerful God. I remember our many talks on the subject of faith, none more vivid in my memory than the ‘dove incident’.

We were seated in the back yard, having one our long talks, when I asked him if miracles still happened. He replied in the affirmative, and I cocked a skeptical eyebrow in his direction before regarding a flock of doves flying overhead.

“so I could command one of those birds flying by to come land here?”, I asked.

“If you have faith, it will happen”, he replied. “with faith ALL things are possible”, he quoted.

So I did. And it did!

There I sat, mouth agape, staring at a dove that had landed a few feet away, regarding me with those deep, dark eyes, while he sat beside me, smiling that big, beautiful smile that turned his eyes to slits.

It was probably little surprise when he decided his calling was less in ministering to people's bodies than to their souls, as he dropped the stethoscope and picked up the bible, kneeling in my fathers house as he dedicated his life to the God he had told me so much about, and beginning a ministry that would span many years, many continents and many more souls. The testimonies of the miracles he had always been convinced of now convinced many. He believed, and “…ALL things were possible”.

When the time came for me to get married to my angel I could think of only ONE person to join us. My brother, my mentor, my friend.

And on that day, just as on many days before and very many since, he wrapped me up in his trademark bear hug and told me how proud he was of me.

And today, on what would have been your 53^rd birthday, I sit and fight to finally let you go. But let you go I must, hard as it is.

 I look at your wife and children, so strong and brave, so full of the essence of all you were that made you special, and I wonder how they do it, how they go on without you, knowing as I do that we will all be reunited in eternity, but having to endure the wait.

I look at my parents, knowing they lost a son that night almost 6 months ago, your ministry ending in the very place it began, and marvel at their strength.

Why am I so weak? Why do I struggle so, even still? Why does it still sting so raw, so fresh, so unrelenting, the thought of you?

I know you’re resting, at peace, free from the labor and toil and the sickness and wickedness of this world. I know you’re excited for us to finish our journeys and come join you, where you’ll probably welcome us in that great big bear hug and indefatigable smile that turns your eyes to slits.

I know all this, but my lip still quivers as I sit here and type, flooded by memories I don’t trust myself to try to share.

Thank you for the life you lived, for the legacy you left, for the lessons you taught that I need now more than ever as I fight battles I never thought I would.

I’m sitting in my parents backyard, staring up at the sky, watching for that dove to come down…