I've been working for for a while now to help my brother secure some stable and safe housing.
He's essentially been living out of short-term motels and sleeping on friends' couches for months now, ever since he and our other brother he was living with lost their house. And it's been a rough go of it for him.
My brother lives with some severe physical disabilities, the worst of which is the remnants of a broken hip that was surgically repaired, but never completely healed. He really does need more medical care for the hip, but it's been difficult to arrange as he's essentially been coach surfing for months.
But yesterday, the paperwork was finally all complete, and we moved my brother into his very own apartment, the first time that he's had stable and safe housing of his own in as long as I can remember.
To describe my brother's emotions after our first day of hard work is difficult. Before I left for the night at about 9 p.m., after a 14-hour day of hauling, moving and cleaning, we stood just outside his new ground floor apartment, outside as he finished a cigarette, and through his back window, we could see the glow of the home taking shape inside. He looked at me with moist eyes, and said, "Now that looks like a home."
In that moment, I felt a terrible pang of guilt. ... Just 30 minutes prior, I had been driving from my place back to my brother's new place -- about a 35 minute drive -- and my weariness hit me hard.
This project had begun weeks ago with dozens of phone calls, emails, follow-up phone calls, stacks of forms, more phone calls. ... Well, you get the picture. ... And then yesterday I was up early to drive to the town where my brother was staying; load his stuff; and drive him to his new home so that he could sign his lease.
Once the lease was signed, we moved his stuff in; I made two more trips to my house to pick up other stuff there; and in that moment, when I was driving out to his new place for the third time that day, I was tired to the bone. I felt bad for feeling so worn out, but I just wanted the night to be done with so that I could crawl home and slide into a shower.
But just as all of this weariness was cascading through me, the Holy Spirit spoke to me and opened my eyes. I was driving to get to my brother's place, and the route takes you through some picturesque country land. I was driving through standing fields of corn and beans and sugar beats, and I was driving west into the setting sun.
And just as I was feeling the most sorry for myself, the sun dipped completely below the horizon line, and while the sun itself was no longer visible, its rays exploded into color just above the trees in the distance. The evening sky lit up into brilliant oranges, reds and yellows. So brilliant, in fact, that to try to describe them would be useless. Just imagine the most beautiful sunset you've ever seen, and that was what I was looking at. (NOTE: The headline photo above is just a placeholder photo. Not the actual sunset I'm describing.)
After I was done marveling over the majestic sky, I realized that the sunset was centered right over the small town that my brother has moved to. So as I drove on, it hit me that the Holy Spirit was smacking me on the forehead to tell me to quit my whining and to think about how ecstatic my brother was to have his own place.
And as soon as I caught the message, my mood lifted, the weariness was gone, and the old 1969 hit from The Hollies flooded my head: "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother."... While the origins of the phrase are debated, the meaning is simple: It's not hard work to help your brother through difficult struggles.
That sunset helped me to realize that what I was doing wasn't work, and while it was OK to feel tired, I'd better just get over feeling sorry for myself because I couldn't even begin to imagine what the day meant to my brother.
So as we stood outside my brother's new apartment, I let my guilt melt away so that I too could enjoy the moment. ... And I looked back at my brother and said, "Yes, it most certainly looks like home."
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