Judge it!Judged:
1
On Thursday morning as I was cheerfully about to go on a "date" with my husband for our 14th wedding anniversary I received a fateful phone call. One that I had always known in the back of mind would one day come. It was my Aunt and she delivered the heart wrenching news that my cousin Brian had been shot and killed. The details are sketchy and unimportant to me at this point. The man was caught, my cousin is forever removed from my life. What more do you need to know?
You need to know this. Brian's life was lived out loud. He was extreme in all he did, all he said, how hard he loved, and how heavy he hurt. Nothing was low key or calm with him. A loving dad, a criminal, a puppy rescuer, an alcoholic, a consoler, a drug addict, a hugger, a tattoo artist and a one eyed, patch wearing head to toe tattoed vigilante. Brian was all of these things. In physical appearance his entire face was covered in tattoos and most folks would cross the street rather than pass him on a sidewalk. Raised by a prostitute mother and various drug dealers on the streets of Miami, and growing up to live a life of crime.
Playing in the woods and dirt roads of Florida is how I see my cousin. There were a lot of cousins back then. Me and Brian's sister were the youngest. But Brian and I just seemed to get along better than the others. We would go off and play on our own. Mostly just walking and talking and throwing rocks at cows. There wasn't a lot to do out in the country. But these were weekly rituals and we somehow formed a bond over doing "nothing" together. We were getting older and the visits were getting less frequent then we moved away. I lost touch with Brian. There are a few memories in between but they are foggy at best.
Brian never left my thoughts. The years went by. I wondered if he was even alive and I was afraid to ask. But I got to see him at my grandmother's house where we used to throw rocks at cows. I was 21, he was 25. We talked briefly because I was just passing through. Brian had a prison tattoo of a tear drop under his right eye. That's the prison mark of a murderer. Oh how I wish I had hugged him more as that was the last time I would ever lay eyes on him.
So why am I telling you all this? As a memorial to Brian? Perhaps, though that would be rather self indulgent. So let me just offer this question. Knowing what you now know about Brian did he go to heaven or hell?
I challenge you and say, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Brian is at peace for the first time in his life. With Jesus. His Savior. How do I know? How can I possibly say that?
Because a man was born 2,000 years ago because he knew we couldn't do it on our own. A man died about 2,000 years ago so we could live with a hope of eternity. AMAZING GRACE! Get That, or you'll never get it.
And that man will return one day to get us because we confess him as Lord and Savior. Brian was not uncomfortable talking about the things of God. He believed that Jesus was God and came to die for his sins. Brian just did not know any other way to live. He never knew how to not be Brian. Brian tried to go to church but would you welcome a Brian in your church? No really, think before you answer. Most would not. I've seen this in action. We claim that we would welcome anyone, then that anyone shows up. And the self-righteous at heart freak out! "Not in our church. What will people think? He's hard to look at. And my God what's under that eye patch?"
I'll tell you what's under that eye patch. A soul created by God, loved by God and paid for by God. A soul that we dare not turn away from lest we be self righteous. It's not about what we do. Our righteousness is but filthy rags before the Lord, says Isaiah. So why try? We try like Brian tried. From the heart.
I miss you cuz! But I know I'll see you again!
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