Myriads of Brothers
“I am a part of all that I have met.”
April 28, 2025
We are home today (Monday), recovering. On the heels of our journey through the western U.S. That, after spending yesterday worshiping with our spiritual family. A few times a year, we gather with a huge group of friends for intensive Bible instruction — a scaled-up version of our weekly meetings. Yesterday, 1300 of us came together. It’s not a revival, but part of a regular program designed to keep us morally and spiritually strong. These gatherings are all-day affairs, running from 9:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., with a quick lunch break squeezed in the middle.
Our meetings are entirely volunteer organized, headed, presented and run. My job is to direct the audio-visual part of the program—a team of about 30. So, by necessity, I have to be there at 6:45 am for a program that begins at 9:30 am. I live an hour and a half away. That means starting SUPER early. Yesterday, my little missus didn't have the juice and said, “Go forth without me! I'll come on my own later!”
And so, I left her behind. But on the way, I said a prayer and was struck with a feeling of loss—that I was leaving her defenseless. How could I put her aside like that? Responsibility can't displace family. Or it shouldn’t.
I called a friend, who encouraged me to put my priorities in order. He assured me the team could manage without me. Which they did swimmingly.
Rattling around in my noggin was my conversation with my Love the night before when she said, “You don’t ALWAYS have to be in charge. You don’t always have to have something to do.”
I called my director and assured him my team had AV handled and that I would arrive by lunch. I’m glad I did. Those men are very skilled and don't really need me. With this team, my role is typically pretty ceremonial.
My wife was surprised and pleased when she woke and I was there, busy doing very me things.
It took her a half an hour to notice my freshly-shaved face. It’s funny how we don’t really look at those to whom we are closest—it’s hard to see our own noses.
Arriving at the grand dame of our meeting hall was pleasant. We immediately saw people we knew as we climbed out of CamperVan Beethoven. Smiles and waves as we ran in to two old friends who gave us big firm hugs. Delight.
Smiles and smiles and laughter. 🥲
The fourth person I see is my mother-in-law. This is unusual, as she hablas Español and usually attends these gatherings with Spanish speakers. Since her husband passed, she decided to attend with us, having ridden with my wife’s sister. She spots us as she exits the ladies’ room and, making eye contact with me, smiles bigly. I return the countenance.
As I approach her, I’m thinking of a recent poem I'd written about losing my sister-in-law—how I had failed to ever say “I love you” to her. I give my wife's tiny, frail mother a firm hug, squeezing just hard enough not to crack her, and say, “I love you. It’s good to see you.”
And I hold her there. Long past her comfort level and she starts to struggle away. It reminds me of that dumb cat we care for—tolerating affection but not understanding why it’s foisted upon her.
Meanwhile, my better half is pulled away by a lady pivotal in arranging both her sister's and father's memorial receptions. She wants to thank the kind woman who works nights and is scurrying away to take a nap during lunch.
My mother-in-law glances at her daughter twelve feet away and says to me sideways, “Where have you been?”
I playfully respond, “We’ve been here!” Big smile. A good-natured lie to break the ice. I know she knows I wasn’t, but it’s fun. I’m being cheeky.
She replies—not sternly, but with light-hearted seriousness—“NO you haven’t!!! I know! My youngest daughter told me!!”
“How would she know?” I press, mock-concerned.
She waves her hand and points at it like it’s a phone, “She showed me on the thing.”
I realize then I have been sharing my location with my sister-in-law for... who knows how long. Years, probably. Rather than use that knowledge to affirm we’re okay, it’s been inadvertently weaponized this morning to stir my wife’s source code into fervor.
“Aaaaahhh, I see,” I say, still lighthearted. “Well, with great power comes great responsibility.”
Whipping out my phone, I disable the feature for my wife’s remaining sibling.
She gestures to her eldest daughter who I see is graciously thanking the woman who pulled her away while I talk to mother.
“Why is SHE ignoring me?!!”
Now the lilt is gone. Replaced with some amount of banshee. Subtle—but I can hear the emotions screeching in her heart.
My wife is turning to close the distance between us. Bright and smiling.
I put my hand on this elderly woman's left shoulder and rub consolingly. “Be gentle,” I say, “my wife is feeling fragile today.”
With that incantation, the kraken is released.
Her head whips to face me like Medusa attacking Jason.
“WHAT ABOUT MEEE! I LOST A DAUGHTER AND A HUSBAND?!?”
It isn’t a yell—she doesn’t have the lung capacity for that—but the intensity is visceral. It doesn’t need to be loud. It’s armor-piercing.
I continue to pat and rub in a soothing attempt while trying to form a reply, like, “and she’s lost a best friend and single source of trust” or “I’m sorry, but your loss doesn’t justify weapons of mass destruction.” But before I can do the brainwork, her daughter walks up, unaware I’ve inadvertently triggered an ambulatory IED.
Her daughter is practiced at her behavior though and is a super-heroine at navigating her attacks. She is like Spider-Man fighting the green goblin. And I cower before I can do anymore damage.
The exchange lasts 2 or 3 minutes with my wife saying:
“Don’t worry, Mom, I wasn’t ignoring you.
You know that woman I was talking to? She works nights and was critical in feeding our friends at Daddy’s and your daughter’s funerals. So y’know, think about others sometimes! And besides—us being late? Uh, yeah, you're right... 'God knows' alright!!! But He’s not judging us like Santa Claus. He KNOWS that for fifteen years we’ve been attached to AV, arriving two and a half hours BEFORE everyone else! I think one gathering where we show up at noon? He and His Son, Jesus, are going to be okay with it!”
And I don’t see my mother-in-law again that day.
Too bad, really.
I wish she would embrace what a gift we two are. 😒
We find seats—center front. After the ambush, we're both craving a little peace.
We like sitting in the front. We sense the back is where the troublemakers sit—like my mother-in-law. Maybe it’s leftover from school days: the golden children sit up front, raising their hands, while John Bender carves his desk in the back..
There’s an African couple in front of us. Beautiful, but tired with their three (or is it four?) small children. Woolfinia notes later that the oldest, a boy of six, is snacking on something pungent—some spice that’s both savory and unmistakably aromatic.
I take her with me to make rounds—to greet my team and thank them for their hard work in my absence.
They are good men.
Two of the leads are old friends and offer condolences over our circumstances. J in particular understands. I've alluded to my fragile emotional state a few times over shared scotch. A Scot-English, I wonder if we’re distant cousins. Of course, we ARE—but how distant?
RP, my director, is equally kind and supportive.
These men... they remind me why I love this organization so.
They are loved, and they love in return.
I worry I may have forgotten I too have this capacity.
Not every interaction is quite so heartwarming.
I run into the man responsible for hosting today’s program. A kind fellow, but a bit too much of a T-crosser and I-dotter for my taste.
He simply says, “Hi!” with a smile and, hesitantly, “Were you here this morning?”
Ugh. THIS guy.
Thank God for his gem of a wife. We have enough middle managers. We need shepherds.
Still fresh from two major losses, my beloved is desperate not to be alone at her first event of this kind since the funerals. I start getting “Where are you?” texts as the program begins and retire to our seats.
It’s a pleasant afternoon together—just sitting and listening.
The program is beautiful. What glorious reminders to just do good and don’t worry about it. Let dead acts lie fallow and keep your face to the sun!!
The main discourse was excellent — all about making decisions based on truth. There were so many great illustrations! It started with a baby described as having a “sponge-brain” (my drawing of it was... less than flattering). Another standout example: “Would you expect a can of printer’s ink to explode in a printery and accidentally create a dictionary on the wall?”
There was also a vivid image of a storm knocking down a forest, yet somehow the trees falling into a perfect, beautiful cabin. We heard powerful reminders of Jehovah’s protection too: Earth's magnetic field shielding us from the sun’s radiation, and Jupiter and the moon guarding us from space debris. All tremendous points bout how the Creator cares for us.
Also, I drew a whale during the talk. No clue why. But he’s a very happy whale.
We had a great conversation about Philippians 4:6,7:
”Do not be anxious over anything... and the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and your mental powers.“
I’ve been praying for that peace, but I realize now I haven’t been working to receive it. Bible reading isn't a side note — it's essential. I can’t expect a gift I'm not reaching for. 😔
I also loved the reminder that we’re all being trained — either by God or by His enemy. The wicked one pressures us to give up and believe lies about the Creator's care.
Wild horses stay wild until trained — but once trained, they become powerful and useful.
There was a sharp reference from Titus about rebellious men — liars, injurious wild beasts, and idle gluttons. Definitely not the crowd to follow.
Finally, there was a simple (and a little corny) poem about a father who skipped participating, leading his son to do the same. Later he wanted the the older men to “fix” his son — but the example he set had already shaped him.
It’s comforting and motivating.
I want to get busy teaching people the Bible again.
I want to be zealous.
I want to be good.
The day passes quickly. And afterward, we are confronted with more dinner invitations than we can possibly accept.
The number we can accept?
Zero.
We’re both tired. I can tell all the people are wearing my darling out.
Shutting down my department is simple today. Instead of sticking around until everything is done, I ask my assistants to handle it.
We slip out the side door after an hour.
Catching the face of an old friend ties us up for another thirty minutes as we cajole and catch up.
I have my business to share; he has his.
He’s trying to cash out of his organic mulch business and travel the world preaching.
I’d be jealous, but it took thirty years of barely hanging on to a relationship with God to reach a point where he has a big fat financial cushion to land on in old age.
Pragmatic, from a human point of view.
But... he lost a marriage and a son somewhere along the way.
That’s a high cost for a parachute.
Meanwhile, I’ve been learning outback survival skills here on the ground.
We’ll both get to that fireside in Paradise, I think.
But I’ll have better stories.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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