March 16th, 2014

If I had been born a boy I would have been named Joshua. When my only brother was
born 12 years later, the name which had been hovering over our family found a
place to rest. We drove around for an hour, down streets that were, every one, drenched
and soaked with memories that are no longer sweet to me. I wonder what memories are
sweet still to my little brother. He is not little anymore. He is a man and I am proud. We
try to untangle secrets through the lens of dreams. He has prophetic gifts, and I guess I
do too, and so the color of the world changes a little as we drive along together. There are symbols and truths hanging in every shadow. I hurt for him. All will be well, I know, but
he will have to fight for it, as I have. I want to fight for him, and just as I write that I know
I have. Not only as I drove home tonight and spoke into him promises and truths that will
break over him gently like a mist as days open themselves, but also when I closed a door
I didn't want to close, also when I walked away. Also when I said no and broke the curse.
We have the same name and the same call and the same burdens, but they are lighter the
longer we carry them. Rest, brother, it will not always be uphill.