Day Twelve: A Tale Of Two Brothers

Before the official rewrite began, there were lots of emails back and forth about the restructuring of what I'd already written.  Brian had read through all of it (probably a thousand times) and was getting to know Rick in the process.  Part of the preparation for the official rewrite was Brian sending emails along the way, asking for "a story about your childhood that sort of sums things up- 1000 words-ish," or "tell me about the fish tank." That part will make sense if you read the book. He stealthily gathered these little narratives that would join the ranks of the already written material, and then we started work on actually figuring out the flow of the book.

At the same time he was getting to know my brother on paper, Brian was learning new- and unwanted- information about his own kid brother.

In September of 2008 I received an email from Brian asking for my prayers.  They had just learned that his brother had cancer, the exact "flavor" as yet undiagnosed.  His exact words were, "What a strange providence that in my meditation on your words and your experience with your brother, my own brother comes into view."

When I read his words, I burst into tears.  Not because I knew Brian's brother.  I didn't have to know him.  I cried because I was flooded with the memories of what it felt like to learn something so terrible and simultaneously learn that the unknowns attached to the new information far outweigh the certainties.  It's excruciating.  And it was happening to Brian's family, to someone who was becoming a very big piece of my own story, and I felt helpless.

Then I was given a glimpse into that "strange providence."  God impressed on me that this was why the book is being written.  This is why Rick's story is going to be told.  Brian was to be pieced into our story because of the one he was being given.  Our brothers met through Brian and me because God was beginning his work through this book early.

As the days stretched on and the uncertainties became more prominent for Brian's brother, I was able to offer something very valuable in those moments:  an "I understand." Advise, sure.  Comfort, absolutely.  But  an "I get it" is priceless.  And I came to see this as just one more of the graces that can come from tragedy.

"God, may I never forget the way you caused this story to advance Your glory even in its infant stages.  The power of story is truly remarkable, and you've given each of us our own bits of it.  Thank you for using it to speak into so many lives along the way.  I pray that these have only been a taste of what you have in store. Amen."

Tomorrow, we plug away with a newborn and more news of Brian's brother.

- C