Little Brother

In my mind, kindness wins.

Keep your education and brains, money (blah, who ever chooses money anymore?) experience, humor, athletics, even wisdom. Kindness wins it for me. Hands down.

I've got this little brother named Chris. As it tends to happen to little brothers, he got kind of big - six feet tall big. And strong. Big muscles strong. He's one of those crazy kids (28 year old kid) who jump off of tall mountains on their bikes and do things with snowboards that make me ill. He's broken more bones than I, or his wife, can remember. My big, little brother is the kindest man I know.

When we were growing up, my dad, my mixed up/kind-hearted/addicted dad, always told us that family was more important than anything else. And to my brother, the only boy of us four kids, he would say, (he would put his palm against his cheek, and say) "Be soft-hearted. Don't ever let anyone tell you that a real man needs to be hard".

Chris still kisses my dad goodbye when he is leaving. He cries when he's hurting. He uses the words, "beautiful" and "I'm sorry". He's a guitar-playing mechanic, who sings in church and talks about God and forgiveness, but only if you ask him.

This week, he and his equally kind-hearted wife, Nadine, came over to where we are staying and emptied out the trunk of their car, onto the living room carpet. There was a tent and a cooler, and two lanterns, and a cook stove, and tarps, and camping pots, and an air matress, and dishes, and cutlery, and lawn chairs, and water bottles, and sleeping bags, and...everything. Everything we needed to go camping. I had been planning to borrow what we needed- which was everything- from friends and family. But Chris and Nadine had wanted to support us and so, they went out and bought us all of these beautiful, new treasures, so that we could have our own. So that we could be self-sufficient. So that we could go without worrying about "stuff".

Chris and Nadine are not rich kids.

Just kind kids.

They put money aside to give to the church, and this time, decided that India and I were the church.

It goes without saying that it is a humbling thing to be poor. It is an even more humbling thing to be in need of kindness. When your soul is raw and your eyelids bruised from crying, the smallest kindness feels like a golden salve. (Do you know this neediness?) I have seen Chris be this kindness to my frightened mom, my lonely dad, my older sister, kids at church, his friends, his wife, to my daughter, to me, and it makes me cry. Big, fat tears like dripping gold.

I'm so proud of that brother of mine. Who knew, that shrimpy little kid that I used to squeeze by the back of the neck when he didn't help with the dishes, would one day be buying me some?

I love you, brother.