My older brother Nate and I stayed up half the night talking one Thanksgiving in my home in Charlotte, NC. He lives in NY so our visits are few and far between and therefore very meaningful.
I have a great relationship with my brother. We love to talk about controversial topics and get into little disputes about stuff that doesn’t matter. One time we argued for hours about what a person might see if trapped inside a perfectly spherical, mirrored object, and how what they see might change if holding a candle. I know, some people talk about their favorite TV shows, we’re weird.
So it was not strange that it was 1:00am and we were still at the table, our families long in bed. This particular conversation, however, was not fun. I felt anxious and squirmy, not unlike I was a turkey about to be carved up. He felt I was being treated poorly by someone I had chosen to be close to but that he did not respect. He had perceived things from afar and wanted to get to the bottom of some doubts he felt. I’m sure he had my best interest at heart, but I felt defensive. I had to grind down my words before speaking because they were sharp as they formed in my mind.
I love my brother. I did not appreciate his skeptical questioning. I passionately disagreed with his opinions. But I was very aware that defending my view would have weakened our relationship. I didn’t want that. So I bit my lip and endured, barely.
I felt weakened by the strain of his questioning. I even began to doubt that my perspective, though painstakingly pieced together over hours of conversations, prayers, thinking, strategizing and worry, was unravelling. Before the conversation started I hadn’t even considered half of his rejections, now buried in them, I could feel that cold, unfeeling fear of rejection looming.
The conversation ended abruptly when one of us noticed it was 4:00am. I had made it. I don’t think my brother even noticed I had struggled to maintain my confidence and composure. After all, I had looked relaxed and poised the entire time…at least I hoped so. We went to bed.
We had a great Thanksgiving Holiday. I thought briefly about that tense conversation and looked for signs that my brother wanted to finish it off (or maybe finish me off). Nate seemed unfazed, so, eventually, its significance faded for me too.
That is until moments before they were about to leave, Nate pulled me aside. Their loaded van idled in the driveway a few feet away.
He put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. I felt uncomfortable. Nate is one of those farm-boy strong, blue collar, all-American, working men who doesn’t look people in the eye often. I assumed he was going to give me “the last word” from our conversation a few days earlier. We had never come to an agreement, far from it. I could tell he had more to say and I guess this was how and when he decided to say it.
Older brothers develop that uncanny sense of timing. I guess, when you’re thirteen and your younger brother is still just eight you can hone these kinds of advantages. Emotionally, I felt eight again with his calloused hand on my shoulder.
I instantly became defensive and tense. I was nervous about the mounting reaction that could, if not managed well, leave a dark cloud over the memory of what had been a great visit. Then I noticed he had a tear in his eye. That was unusual, especially in his eye.
Have you ever looked up to someone? I mean really respected them and loved them to the point that their words carry weight with you? Nate is my older brother. He went through everything I went through in our family of origin so he knows. He knows the real story from behind closed doors. He knows me, for real. When people are armed with that kind of knowledge whether because you trusted them with it or they scraped it from you through proximity, it is powerful. They can use that information as a weapon or a healing salve. I didn’t know which one was about to come out of Nate’s mouth. I didn’t know what his teary-eyed look meant.
He had my full attention.
“I really enjoyed the visit John,” He said, removing his hand and turning toward the van. He hesitated just before getting in, one hand on the door. Something about his posture let me know he had more to say… “the last word,” likely.
I wanted to interrupt the uncomfortable moment but Nate never shows emotion, and his teary eyes had left me paralyzed. I didn’t speak. I just waited to see what he needed to say, or not. He turned at last, “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re weak. You’re the strongest man I know.”
Moments later, he was gone.
I wiped the tears from my face and turned back to my family. My wife Heather asked, “What did Nate say?” she could obviously see the emotion on my face.
“He said, I’m the strongest man he knows,” I said.
Her own sudden tears suggested she understood, almost as deeply as I did, what that really meant.
For the people we really know, we have a tremendous power. I think that means we also have a tremendous responsibility. Your words carry weight. Tell someone who loves you something worth the unfathomable trust they extended to you.
johnallenbishop 