I find that the older I get and the more experienced I become in this thing called life; I find that I am blessed with a deepening comfort and joy that only my faith can bring to me.

It was only a little over a week ago, Thursday, February 28th, that I received a phone call in the morning that my brother, Randy, was now dead. Tears of great sadness welded up from my bowels, from that protected inner core of my being. Randy was my ‘little’ six-foot brother, he was what they used to call ‘a change of life baby’—mom was 45 when he was born. Randy was definitely not planned for. My older brother and I were almost to the point of leaving home; I was 15 and Larry was 18 and leaving for college when Randy was born. Dad was in the Air Force. Within two years of Randy’s birth, dad signed up to do a tour in Viet Nam. He came back and then signed up for the second tour. He was a ‘lifer’ in the military; he felt if his vast military experience could save one young person in that war situation then it was worth the trip. Mom went back to teaching school. So that left me each day to get Randy up, get him bathed, fed and off to the day-care before I went on to school. I would pick Randy up after school; take him home, play with him, cook him dinner, bathe him, help him to say his prayers and tuck him into bed. I loved Randy... a lot.

Perhaps it was because of the lack of prenatal care or for some other reason that only God knows, Randy was always breaking bones or getting sick but beginning about 7 years ago he started getting real, serious sick. It started with his gall bladder being removed, then his spleen, and then he started having more serious afflictions. He had 5 heart attacks and 2 strokes all of which left him diabetic and severely debilitated; at 42 years old he used a walker in the house and a wheel chair when they went out. Any one of these maladies could have killed him; but they didn’t—he fought to protect the gift of life that had been given to him.

Illness and death is no stranger to any of us—if you have not experienced it in your families yet—wait a while, they will come. Our faith does not mean that we will never get sick, or experience death of ones we love. What our faith does give us is the conviction that we are not alone in our struggles and that this life is not the end. We will see our loved ones again—healthy and whole. We are Resurrection People. We live in the sure foundation that though Jesus did die; he also arose and lives among us today. It is a great comfort for me knowing that this shell that I now inhabit, called my body, will one day be shed and that I will be reunited not only with Randy but with that whole cloud of witnesses that have gone before.

I often pray that I will be changed by the Holy Spirit. That was my prayer as I flew down to Atlanta last Saturday morning.

I had long ago given up on direct encouragement to Randy and his wife, Lynda, about going to church. I was aware that their two sons had started attending a church because their school friends had encouraged them. I was grateful to God for these young people. I prayed that this church would be a gift of the Spirit. But I ‘knew’ nothing about the church the children had selected; Meadow Baptist Church.

Friends, I can’t tell you how wonderfully overwhelmed I was by this little, caring, and concerned church. Meadow Baptist lovingly and compassionately wrapped its arms around my family. They were not putting on their best for just this weekend but they made promises and concrete provisions to continue loving and caring for Lynda and her two sons as time goes on. Marble has competition in North Atlanta!

One thing that the Holy Spirit taught and internalized in me over the course of this one weekend was that love, true generosity of spirit supersedes all matters of the head. I now include blessings for Meadow Baptist Church in my prayers. They were the Body of Christ for my family in our time of sadness.