As I scroll social media….as I listen to the daily news…I’ve arrived at this conclusion: We all need some “heart & brain medication. What do I mean by that?

I love how the Aramaic Bible in Plain English states this command from Jesus:

“’And you shall love THE LORD JEHOVAH your God with your whole heart and with your entire soul and with your entire mind and with all your power.’ This is the first commandment”

So, how does “heart and brain medication” factor into today’s thoughts? Recently, our 3 ½ year old grandson was shopping with his dad and walked by a display of medications. He told his dad “We need heart brain medication daddy”. Our son looked at the packages and made an immediate correction. “Bubba”, he responded. “That’s heartburn medicine; I’m pretty sure we don’t need that”. Later in the week our son sent me a text message describing the situation that made me laugh and make note of at the same time, in a contemplative kind of manner…noting to myself our grandson’s observation is a great lesson for me and maybe you. 

My current Bible app devotion is taking me through a daily question: Choosing Each Day, God or Self? Seems pretty accurate that our culture is living in a state of “it’s all about me”, wrapping ourselves in selfies to post on social media…making arguments in print for what WE deem is good and right….some folks attending protests waving banners and homemade signs to proclaim our stance on social justice topics…taking up arguments and debates–that from where I’m sitting–only exhaust inner strength and peace. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and place to defend what is good and right. But here’s the rub. Consider Isaiah 5:20.

Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, and put light for darkness and darkness for light, and put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter!

Here’s a second rub. WHO gets to define what is evil?  And defining what is good? I know how I would do so, but I’m fully aware when I do so I’m not in absolute agreement from everyone who would read my definitions. Because a variety of opinions and mindsets exist in our culture, I truly believe we are living in days where we all need a good dose of “Heart and Brain Medicine”…one produced by a willingness to read scripture and have God teach and speak His truth to us, rather than relying on our own thoughts and desires or what is popular in our current culture. 

In Celebrate Recovery–a program I have participated in for six years now, our first principle says “Realize I’m not God; I admit that I am powerless to control my tendency to do the wrong thing and that my life is unmanageable.” (drawn from Matthew 5:3a)

And our last principle states “Yield myself to God to be used to bring this Good News to others, both by my example and my words”. (source Matthew 5:10)

Realize. Yield. Two pretty good words for action and self evaluation. Plus, basically, I think our grandson was on to something when he said “we need heart brain medication daddy”….”Father, God, I….my friends and family….my community and the world all need a good dose of Heart and Brain medicine….Amen.”

His name is David. He’s the one who took a couple of two to become a family of three. Born July 18, 1946–in the midst of World War II–he joined the ranks of many baby boomers that would earn that title for several more years. He’s the one who immediately became the apple of his parents’ eyes and tested their parenting abilities for four years until Mark joined the family in 1950. A baby sister came along in November of 1953…he is my oldest brother. 

Much like our dad and numerous relatives, Dave had a twinkle in his eyes most of the time. Sometimes the twinkle meant he was ready to enjoy a favorite sporting event on TV or tell a cute story–sometimes from a personal experience that sounded like a stand up comedian reciting his routine. Dave had the ability to tell a story and add his own spin which made us laugh til our sides hurt. I have many fond memories of him…here are a few from my highlight reel…

• As a four year old Dave traveled by train with mom from Michigan to San Diego to visit dad who was stationed there for a while in the Navy. It was Dave who shared a chicken meal with mom in order to be frugal, and also receive extra attention…some extra food too I believe…from a conductor who was willing to engage with a little guy.
• It was David who scared mom out of her mind when he didn’t come home from kindergarten one day. The police were called. Streets were scoured. The “search party” returned to the house only to find Dave sitting on the front porch beaming from ear to ear…”Guess what, mom? I found another way home”.  She wasn’t amused, not even as the police officer whispered to her as he walked back to his car “don’t be too hard on him”. I guess Dave was proving he was creative in his own way, using his thinking skills that developed deeper over his lifetime.

• In high school years he told mom that fish was brain food, so for the solid four hours he was a freshman to a senior, she packed him two tuna sandwiches for his lunch. Every. Single. Day. Dave was an above average student so maybe the countless cans of tuna did contribute to his success?
• In junior high Dave was among the students required to take a music class where vocals were taught, performances in choir required. Unfortunately Dave did not possess a talent for being on pitch. In her mercy towards Dave she told him “you mouth the words in choir and I’ll give you an A for participation”.
• It was Dave who tried to teach me at age 9 or so how to play euchre. I can still see him face palming his hand to his forehead when I’d ask “what do I do when I have these two guys”…the Jacks….his desire to play a simple card game was one of exasperation when mom and dad weren’t around to be his opponent.
• It was Dave who learned how to make mom’s ice cream recipe from scratch on his own or slowly scorched a favorite pan used for popping corn.
• It was Dave who went to community college and needed a physical education credit, so he took up bowling. And a love affair with the game was launched. From those early classes he not only wanted to bowl, he watched the family TV set on Saturdays to watch bowling competitions. He played on several leagues for a number of years….he took me to a “pro” when I was 24 so I could get my own bowling ball drilled specifically for my left hand (we were both left handed)
• Often, while at his college classes, he’d get out mid afternoon and make the impulsive drive to visit Grandpa and Grandma Jewell in Otter Lake. In the 60s there were no cell phones so mom—wondering where he was when he hadn’t come home when expected–wasn’t surprised when the phone rang, hearing grandma’s soft sweet voice say “Ida, David’s here. We’ll feed him dinner and he’ll be home tomorrow”. Dave wanted grandma to himself for conversations about the Lord, a topic they both shared with great faith. I think he also wanted to see if he could beat her to the rocking chair that was “her spot” to relax after chores were finished.
• It was Dave who was very willing to hold newborn babies as our family expanded over years. Marrying at 19 and becoming a father a year later certainly prepared him for numerous nephews and nieces from both sides of his family.
• Dave could read a book and retain its information like Fort Knox keeps gold secure. In his 60s he enrolled in classes to become a Deacon in his church denomination. I was thrilled to attend his “graduation” ceremony.

We shared many good memories growing up as kids on Arthur Street. I was 13 when he married…14 when his oldest daughter was born. Both of those events caused me to think how “cool” I had become. I had a married brother and now I was an aunt. As we both continued to grow and mature, slowly life for both of us got in the way of our once very close relationship. My family left the area in 1989 so birthdays and holidays became our main source of social interaction…with phone conversations thrown into the mix.

As an adult, Dave experienced some hardships…there were days I know that deep sadness overshadowed the twinkle in his eyes. Admittedly, we had several disagreements that put a strain on our relationship but we always managed to recenter ourselves and not allow differences to take deep root.

In 2018, Dave became very ill. It took several weeks for his doctors to determine the cause of physical limitations. Learning from my niece that her dad had a rare brain tumor was devastating, but after a visit with Dave in the hospital, it was pure joy to see him laugh–with that twinkle–that an answer had been found and he had hope for a favorable outcome after surgery was scheduled. Unfortunately, surgery could not eradicate the growth that had invaded the brain fed by four years of tuna sandwiches and devouring books on Christian theology. Final weeks or days remaining for Dave were his calendar now as he left the hospital and took up residence in a rehab facility. Times of complete coherence eroded quickly, joined by Dave’s need for morphine to keep him comfortable. I was able to visit him on a beautiful Saturday in the fall. Although he couldn’t hold a conversation with me for very long, our connection remained, and before I left for home our hands held tight as we both whispered “I love you”. Those were his last words spoken to me before I got the call that he was “gone”.

I titled my blog intentionally as His name IS David, not was. Dave had 72 years on this side of Heaven. That’s his “was”. On October 24, 2018 he entered Heaven and IS living for eternity. He’s no longer in pain. He’s not bowling. He’s not playing cards. He may not even be reading a book. No, he’s worshiping the Lord, the Lamb, the Redeemer, the One whose book of scriptures Dave read with great curiosity for truth and assurance…the Lord he and grandma had many discussions about as he rocked in her chair…the One who holds the Book of Life with Dave’s name written in it because he put his faith in Christ at an early age. He IS my oldest brother. I love him. I miss him. I will see him again and we will worship together.

His name is Mark. I met him in 1953 although I don’t recall ANY details about that first meeting. He was three years old and had a head start in life which included an older brother who was 7 that year.

Mark was the one with a vivid imagination compared to his siblings. Still has it and uses it today…adding in lighthearted teasing along the way when his days are now filled with drawing, chopping wood, building furniture, camping, spending time with his girls.

As a boy, he was the one whose bicycle lay in the driveway…parts strewn everywhere…because he wanted to “see” how it worked…maybe improve its performance.

He was the one often scolded for using his dad’s tools and not returning them to their rightful place. Because he was curious and talented in problem solving, it was he who came up with creative gimmicks to keep his grandparents’ chickens in their coop when his family stayed for a week to house sit and care for the hens.

In his early teens he fell in love with hockey, purchased his first pair of skates and hockey stick…spending countless hours at the ice rink two blocks away from his home. His sister was the one who walked those two blocks in the cold to beckon him to dinner. Occasionally, his chair at the table was empty while his family ate, waiting for his return after “one more lap around the ice and I’ll be home….” He once told his mother “I’d rather skate than eat.” And skating he did, from hitting the ice in his teen years and eventually walking away from a senior league when he was approaching his 60s.

Mark was the peacemaker in his family. Still is, actually. Tension and confrontation aren’t his favorite conversations…he has and does continue to bring gentle wisdom into hard situations. I think it’s a quality he inherited from his father.

I didn’t always like Mark. We clashed until the year he turned 19 and I was 16. Attitudes and hearts began to soften then, especially when he went off to college. Not long after those years that eventually ushered us both into our 20s and 30s…with him now 72 and me 68…well, life has certainly mellowed, ebbed and flowed with experiences that have brought us to tears, continuously closing the gap that disdain had formed in those early years of our relationship.

At 72, Mark continues to draw, honing his skills with the likes of YouTube. He serves in his church and as a Gideon, visiting small churches in mid Michigan and passing out copies of the New Testament on college campuses. His gentle mannerisms and twinkle in his brown eyes allow him to enter conversations that may not happen otherwise. He’s devoted to God and to his family. He loves to reminisce about years and experiences from his career as a professor of welding. He could see potential in his students that others often overlooked. He’s bold when it comes to defending the truth of scripture as well as tenderhearted with tear filled eyes when praying over a family meal. He will most likely see humor in some of life’s most challenging moments or possess insight that is expressed in loving encouragement, such as standing at the coffin of his beloved grandmother, his hand resting on his grandpa’s shoulder, leaning over her body, staring into her face and whispering…”Look at this way, gramp, she’s only beat you there….” Heaven. A place he knew she longed to go and spoke of often when cancer invaded her body. 

His name is Mark and he is my brother. And I not only “Like” him now. I love and adore him. And as I remind him every year on my birthday when he calls to tell me “you’re getting older”….”yup, but I’m still younger than you.”

Maybe it’s age. Perhaps it’s new headlines every day spouting the ills of our world and culture around me. Maybe it’s the times they are a-changin…🎶

Today I woke up feeling in a bit of a funk. Never mind the sky is cloudy with rain–much needed rain–looming above…or that my first major task of the day was a dental cleaning which means “what surprises wait for me with that visit!”…it’s happened before with a routine appointment…”Oh, you need….$$$…(which DID happen today, but that’s not where I’m headed)

I woke up thinking, really thinking about how much has changed in my tiny world of existence from the 50s to present days in the 2000s which seemed like lightyears away and off in a twilight zone when I was a mere child in those 50s that had no color TV…no central air conditioning…no cellphones or cable networks…no Internet…one car in the driveway that was shared by two parents…

Many of my summer vacation days were spent playing outside. We rode bikes. Went to the park that was two blocks away. Swam in someone’s pool. Played with dolls…colored endless pages…cut out paper dolls under the shade of a tree…we even played made up games of “Army”, “Cops & Robbers” and heaven forbid in today’s culture “Cowboys & Indians”. The phrase politically correct was not in our vocabulary….we had toy guns, maybe a play set of a bow with arrows…sticks often served as spears or guns when one wasn’t in our toybox. Rules for play were always established and mostly followed. Someone was always in charge of planning how we’d play…and play we did. For hours. In the hot sun. We’d hide behind trees and shrubs…make forts of whatever we could scavenge from our parents garages. Imaginations were the primary source of play, taking the place of today’s many modern devices that seem to keep a lot of kids “inside” their comfy homes that now have all or most of  today’s modern conveniences, um, those things mentioned above that were non existent in my childhood. A cold drink of water from a garden hose  or a glass of  Kool-Aid was our main “go-to” for quenching thirsty bodies covered in sweat and sunburned skin.

Now, when I venture out for a walk through our neighborhood I rarely see children outside playing. Very few are on bikes for rides up and down the street. Backyards have swing sets or trampolines in them, but are usually empty. Pools are in some yards, but I rarely hear screams of delight even from those. I’ve often wondered exactly when kids go swimming in these beautiful pools sitting under the hot sun. Maybe it’s when both parents or another adult are home from work. And I’m amazed how many of our neighbors have not only TWO cars, but sometimes three and maybe a boat or RV parked in the driveway, too.

Our neighborhood has many large trees that offer beautiful cool shade. I use them to rest for brief periods of time when on my walks. I’ve never had to share a shady spot with any of the kids who live in the sub. I’ve never encountered a group of girls coloring or cutting out paper dolls while enjoying a cool breeze under a maple or pine tree…are paper dolls even a “thing” anymore? 

 Perhaps a fondest memory is the many conversations I had with my childhood friends as we sat on the lawn under the shade of a tree. We talked about how God created everything, from the blades of grass to the “stuff” that was used to build the Chevys and Fords our parents drove. There were no arguments that He didn’t exist…wasn’t real….that He could DO anything…our childlike faith was simplistic and united among those of us who were Lutheran, Baptist, and Catholic or Methodist…even the kids who didn’t attend church had caught on to believing in God. Maybe it was the summer vacation bible school programs that all the moms carted us off to for a few mornings to fill hot summer days and give them a break from all us kids….

So, today, my thoughts have wandered back to the 50s, slowly bringing a smile to my face, reminding me of more innocent times compared to our current culture. I’m also daydreaming about what the next 20 to 25 years will bring for me, for my own children and grandchildren. While they currently enjoy the benefits of our modern day age, I sure hope bikes, shade trees, and imaginary games are part of their summer time days…along with a good, long drink from a garden hose or the hospitality of a neighborhood mom who made a pitcher of Kool Aid….