The Times, They Are A Changin'

My little brother left today. He got in a white van with a nice recruiter and drove away. And that was all.

Okay, well, maybe that wasn't all. Maybe there were hugs. Maybe there were "I love you"s and "I'll miss you"s. Maybe there were tears. Maybe there were lots of tears.

That's okay--because I do love him, and I will miss him. Most of all, though, I'm extremely proud of him, and I'm proud to call him my brother.

So here's to you, Jarred. Here's to the brother so close in age it often felt more like we were experiencing the same milestones together, instead of me first. Here's to the brother I completed so many firsts with--my worship team band mate, my driver's ed partner, my Costa Rica buddy, my camp comrade. Here's to the brother who took belly dancing lessons at the Farmer's Market, who wore a dress to Katie Neff's "Fancy Nancy" birthday, who played army with stuffed animals in our backyard as a kid. Here's to the brother who rarely calls me anything but "my sista!", even to my face. Here's to the brother who pinned me to the couch and poured tabasco sauce in my bellybutton. Here's to the brother who stuck Cheetos up my nose while I was sleeping. Here's to the brother who constantly steals my guitar. Here's to the brother that thought "orangutan" started with an "a" and ended with a "g". Here's to the brother who finished his scuba diving certification even after his best friend died during a lesson. Here's to the brother who can't watch a girl cry without tearing up himself. Here's to all those late night Frosty runs and allll those Monopoly games. Here's to my Marine.

It was weird to watch him drive away. There are moments in time when you stand there and realize that life will never be the same again. I've been privileged to watch friends this summer get married, experience baptism, or head off onto new adventures in places near and far. In so many of those instances, I remember thinking, "Okay. Everything's different now." That was the case today. Life's different for my family, yes, but mostly it's different for Jarred. It's weird, and it's hard.

He might be nine inches taller than me, heavier, and way stronger, but he's still my little brother. Something deep in me still wants to protect him, but I can't.

It's funny. Up until this moment, I don't think I ever really understood it when people spoke about entrusting someone to God. Then again, up until this moment, I've always been the one leaving, not the one watching as they speed down the highway. I have no control over this situation. I can't watch out for him. I can just pray, and give him over to God. So I guess that's what I'll do.

The Lord bless you and keep you, Jarred;
the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you;
the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

I love you, kid, and I miss you already.

And of course the remote would break an hour after you left, and you're the only one that knows how to reprogram it. I could almost bet that you did it on purpose.











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