As I write this on Wednesday night, my mom is home from the hospital, sleeping on the couch across the room. (I should actually get this posted and turn the light off so the dear woman can sleep.) She’s sore but she’s not a complainer. And she’s happy to have the boys around to entertain. Brooksie’s been putting on an “I can walk!” show that none of us can get enough of.
The other Brooks (the grown one, aka my brother) is home as well. He’s been in Haiti for the past week caring for kids at two different orphanages. These are children he knows, who wait for him to come back each year. Brooks is one of my personal heroes. Children flock to him because 1) He’s funny and can do some sweet magic tricks (Illusions, Michael!) and 2) He loves beautifully. He has this gift from God that allows him to know what a child needs to hear, to say exactly the thing that will give hope and a future to that child. (That’s why we all know he was always meant to be in ministry to hurting kids.)
So, if you understand that about Brooks, you’ll be even more moved by the post he wrote for his ministry’s blog yesterday. I never cease to be amazed by how God uses the broken of this world, the most destitute, the least likely, to be His voice and His touch and His healing balm.
Please click over and read “Jesus in the dirt,” my brother’s story of losing his friend Jeremy this past Sunday and receiving from a little boy named Rosy a message of God’s kindness.
Grateful for your prayers this week, friends.