I fell in love with him the first time I saw him. Not exactly true ... I loved him before I knew him. I met him for the first time when I was seven and he was newly born and home from the hospital. I couldn’t stop looking at my little baby brother. My parents had to eventually chase me out of their room so he could sleep without me disturbing him.
I remember one Sunday morning during the Christmas season my mom was pregnant with him that my Sunday School teacher had asked what the scene with Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus was called. I remember immediately answering, “It’s called the maternity scene!” I to this day confuse “nativity” with “maternity.” This little quirk of mine makes me smile.
With the exception of our very early years, I haven’t been very close with any of my brothers let alone my youngest brother.
He called me a couple of Saturdays ago. During our conversation, he lamented the fact that we haven’t ever really talked. While completely true, I tried to shrug it off. He didn’t want to. He really needed me to understand that he would do a better job of keeping in touch. I remember thinking, “He deploys in two weeks. How are we going to do this?”
Today is “d” day. He’s in the process of deploying to one of the world’s hot spots. I remember him telling me that despite the fact that he is highly trained and knows how to lead his men, he was scared. I remember telling him I’d be more worried if he said he wasn’t.
I’m scared for him. And his troops. I want all of them to come home safely. I want this to be the dullest deployment in the history of military deployments.
I’m not a fool, I know he’s going into a war zone. But I want him to be safe.
He’s my baby brother. And I love him.
Come home safe, bro. I’m praying for you.