Light for my Path

Of all the symbols of the Christmas season, I think Light is my favorite. Candles in the window and lights on the tree bring to mind those beloved words from John 1: “In Him was life, and that life was the light of men.”

These days thoughts and memories of my brother Tom are never far from my mind. I have been thinking of one summer – more than twenty-five years ago – when Mother and I visited Tom and his family out in Idaho. Tom took us on a short trip to the Sawtooth Mountains, that majestic rugged wilderness area that he so loved. I remember us all drawing up to the campfire as daylight began to fade and just sitting there soaking up the serenity and beauty around us until we could barely keep our eyes open. All of us except Tom made our way to our beds for the night.

Just as I was almost asleep a light knock came at the camper door. It was Tom. “Get up, Jack,” he whispered. “I know you will want to see this.” I stepped out, huddled in a blanket, to a night that was brilliantly alive. Never before or since have I ever witnessed a night sky so beautiful. Thousands, millions, of stars I had never seen because I had never before traveled far enough away from artificial light sources. It was easy to imagine the wonder of Abraham or of David as we traded the binoculars back and forth. It seemed we were standing on the top of the world, with just the pines towering above us, under an amazing canopy of light. I felt so small, yet so secure. “When I consider your heavens…what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? [Yet] you made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor.”

Many years later, another trip. This time a very long one, a loop of more than 5,000 miles that took us through Nevada, the Oregon coast, Washington, Yellowstone, Montana, and the Black Hills of South Dakota before heading back home. On this day, Steve and the kids and I had left Yellowstone to see Tom and Carol. We began to appreciate the immensity of Montana as mile after mile passed with no towns. No highways, even, intersecting Interstate 90. Periodically there would be exits for “Ranch Access.” That was it. Under the big sky, off in the distance we could see dark clouds, but we never reached them. It was one of those summer evenings that seem endless in the West. Dusk held until we reached Miles City, but darkness had settled in as we found the two-lane road that would take us on the last leg of our journey.

It took a while for it to register just how dark it was. But as we drove on, it seemed strangely, eerily black. No light from oncoming traffic, for there was none. No security lights for homes or businesses. Not even an occasional light from a farmhouse, for there didn’t seem to be any. And no stars or moon, for the rain had finally reached us. Our cell phones had not been working in that part of the country for days, and we felt totally isolated and alone. If we weren’t looking forward to being with our family so much, we would never have continued down that long road.

But finally, there was a faint light in the darkness, and suddenly the car lights detected a country church on one side of the road. The light came from a Coleman lantern held by my big brother who was standing in his driveway on the other side of the highway. He had been watching for our car and had come out to guide us so that we wouldn’t pass up the house. Had we been through bad weather, he asked. Evidently we had missed the worst of it, for wind had snapped some power lines and electricity had been out all over the area for several hours.

With his Coleman lantern, warm smile, and welcoming hugs, Tom had made the night bright again for us. Under his rain poncho, he wore a tee shirt that said “Ekalaka, MT – 12 miles* End of the World – 8 miles.” It was a huge joke to him, especially since Ekalaka, MT was exactly 12 miles from his home, but I don’t know if he realized how close it had felt to the “end of the world” for me before he met us with that lantern.

Leaving the light on, waiting up for loved ones, is what our family has always done. My mother. Tom. And the source of Light, our Heavenly Father.

Sometimes, when I can get past the artificial haze that surrounds me, the Light that guides my life is brilliant and awe-inspiring, and I catch a glimpse of the “glory of the One and Only Who came from the Father.” But sometimes that Light reaches me more like Tom’s Coleman lantern, faint but steady, and the darkness can’t dispel it. Either way, the Light is precious. It guides me. It beckons me. And one day it will lead me home.

My brother, hero, and friend

Thanks so much to those of you who prayed for Brad during his health scare and for Blake while he served in the Middle East. Brad has been able to continue mission work in Peru and is now back in the States for a few weeks. Blake has also made it safely home. And - so hard to believe - my brother Tom has gone home to Heaven.

He became critically ill very suddenly, and for more than two weeks, we asked that God would heal him if it were His perfect will.

"Our prayers have all been answered. I've finally arrived.

The healing that had been delayed has now been realized....

My light and temporary trials have worked out for my good,

To know it brought Him glory, when I misunderstood.

Though we've had our sorrows, they can never compare.

What Jesus has in store for us, no language can share.

"If you could see me now, I'm walking streets of gold.

If you could see me now, I'm standing strong and whole.

If you could see me now, you'd know I've seen His face.

If you could see me now, you'd know the pain is erased.

You wouldn't want me to ever leave this place,

If you could only see me now." - Kim Noblitt

There is an emptiness that will never be filled here, but such thankfulness for the person he was, for the relationship we had, and for the blessed hope of seeing him again.

My memories of Tom begin when I was around three or four and he was twelve, but I don’t remember the life-and-eternity-shaping event that took place in his life at that time, just his retelling of it. Our family had moved to Lake Charles, LA, and our dad took Tom to visit the Church of the Nazarene on Easter Sunday evening, 1959. In that service, Tom felt his heart touched with conviction, and he asked permission from our dad to go forward and pray. “I’m not living the way I should,” our dad told him, “but I don’t want to hold you back.” Tom’s heart was changed that night as he was saved and called to preach.

Tom was a wonderful big brother. My special times with Tom were when he would take me to church. I always wanted to go, and until he left for college he was almost always willing to take me with him.He was a leader in the youth group, the “preacher boy” who preached in nursing homes and on the corner by the bus station. He was my hero.

Until he married, Tom was “Tommy,” and many of his hometown friends never stopped calling him that. The feelings they have shared during the past days have been so strong, the memories so powerful. “Tom modeled Jesus for so many of us,” one wrote. I know that he modeled Jesus for me.

Tom left home when I was only nine, so our times together were reduced to Sunday night phone calls, Christmas vacations, and a few weeks in the summer. He married the love of his life, Carol Keithley, just before his final semester of Bible college, and I finally had a sister! They began their first pastorate many miles away. Visiting them, or having them come home, was always a highlight. As a senior in high school, I was privileged to live near them. Tom and I discovered that in many ways we were kindred spirits, and the bond that we forged during that year has been a deep source of joy ever since.

Tom loved a good laugh. He would latch on to some small joke and tell it again and again, enjoying it more each time. When someone talked about how much milk they had to buy for their family, Tom would say, “We spill more than that!” It was probably true. If a girl had on a trendy pair of shoes, he might ask, “How long is the doctor making you wear those?” When he saw a large man getting out of a small car, he’d say, “Let me help you get that thing off.”

Some of my most treasured memories were made when Tom took me - and later me and my children - on long horseback rides through the open ranges of Idaho and Montana. But any time with him was special. We could talk about almost anything together - and we did, but not as often as we should have as life crowded in and we were both so busy with our own families. Still, I could always expect a phone call on my birthday, Mothers' Day, and holidays. And I cherish the times when we were able to travel together, filling the miles with conversation and laughter - and sometimes a few tears. His insights and wisdom made my life so much richer.

When Tom walked through dark times, he seemed to always emerge sweeter and more Christ-like. He was wise beyond his years, in part due to the adversities of his life. In his late twenties, he encountered a series of storms that tested his faith to its very limits. As he leaned hard on God’s grace, those trials – like others that followed them - only served to make him more understanding and more compassionate.

Tom never came across as “holier than thou.” To the contrary, he was always vulnerable about his weaknesses. But being around him made us somehow want to be better. He always saw the best in us, saw through eyes of mercy and hope what we could be. And he loved and enjoyed us just as we were, unconditionally. Tom was special.

Although I can’t imagine life here without him, Heaven is sweeter because Tom is there.