THAT'S NOT THE REACTION I EXPECTED, WHY CAN'T I REACT THAT WAY?

Last Friday I wasn’t late, but my pace sure was quicker than normal. My heartbeat; definitely a little quicker than normal.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I wrestle with the stupid pocket liner to get my phone out while speed-walking. He’s texting me: “where you at?” It was an incomplete sentence, but I didn’t let it bother me, I knew what he meant. The closer I get to our meeting place, the more unsettled my stomach becomes.

My reply is “two minutes out.” Another incomplete sentence.

I need to talk to my brother, STAT. It’s been long enough.

I walk through the entrance and knew right where to look. We’d met here a few times before some Wild games. He always sits next to the big windows, and sure enough, that’s where he was - looking out the window at the city rush of 7th street.

I look at him the entire time I approach him and eventually we catch eyes. He returns my look with a smile. Quickly, and I mean quickly, I rehearse what words I want to say and how I want them to sound. You’remybrother,Iloveyou,thisissoimportanttome...

A hand-slap and a hug is how we greet. Everytime I hug him I’m amazed at how I’m his older brother but he’s bigger. Not taller, but beefy-er. Not chubby, but a little more filled out. In his face I still see the characteristics of when he was a baby boy with the world in front of him, not this well-developed man who now has a wife, takes care of 2-step-kids, works whatever schedule is needed to provide without complaining, loves God, and has without-a-doubt grown up to be a man of great integrity.

We sit.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey.” I say back, looking into his eyes. Then I smile.

“What?”

“What?” I ask back.

We get settled in.

I grab the menu and look at it. It’s nervous fill - I’m not that eager to order.

We make small talk which calms my nerves. We talk about work and marriage and step-kids and the never ending trials of our step-kids’ dads. I know he knows why I asked him to meet me but he doesn’t allude to it. He patiently waits until I have waited a tick too long because finally, he asks me “what’s up?”

It’s been eight years in the waiting, this conversation. So I start.

“I started a men’s group.” Not even close to how I rehearsed it.

“It’s my best of friends and we get together the first of each month. We meet up and check-in with each other on where we’re at in life, our marriages, parenting. It’s a good group to help each other become better men, better fathers, better husbands... stuff like that. Anyway, the other day we happened to talk about another friend of ours and our collective concern about his drinking. That led to us talking about things people do when their drunk and how most people look for drama, for no reason. It reminded me of you.”

He looks at me with no reaction. He just listens, curiously.

“Because that’s me. When I’m drunk, I seek out dramatic-effect. I do the dumbest things for no reason. So, I told the friends in my men's group that there was something I did a long time ago that I’ve still never made amends for and needed them to help hold me accountable. That night at my bachelor party, do you remember?”

He nods-yes.

“It’s important to me that you know, I do too. I think about it nearly every day. Sorry that I’ve never spoke of it since.”

There’s silence between us, which is fine. I don’t lose composure in moments of silence. He reaches for his now sweaty glass and sips his Diet Coke. I mirror him, like I was taught to do in college when being interviewed. Apparently it helps the other person relax or something, I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention, but, I sip my Diet Coke too.

“I remember being in some room and for whatever reason - we had no beef that night - but for whatever reason, out of the blue clear sky, I started pushing you around, trying to bait you into fighting me. It took all of my friends to separate me from you. I don’t know why I did that. I’m incredibly embarrassed.”

Nothing yet. My composure during this silence feels like it’s about to crack.

“You cried. I'm so sorry that I put you in that situation, and that I made you cry that night. I hope you can you forgive me?” Exactly how I rehearsed it.

I stop to let him reply, but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks away from me.

I also rehearsed earlier that day what I would do if he didn’t want to forgive me and in this moment that he’s not looking at me, I quickly, and I mean quickly, rehearse what words I want to say and how I want them to sound.

He has my full undivided attention and suddenly my hands feel like they belong to someone else and are a hundred sizes too big and I had no idea what to do with them other than keep them under the table clutching each other.

He finally looks at me, his eyes filled with emotion and love.

“Of course I do. I love you. That was a long time ago.” Your baby-boy doesn’t miss a beat with extending Grace. And he continues to tell me things that just absolutely pull at my heartstrings but things that are just for my ears.

He reminded me, that afternoon, how to be Graceful. How to forgive.

In the face of seeing Grace extended to me, I wonder: where is my extension of Grace to others? To my friends, my former friends, my wife, my former wife, my kids, you and Dad?

I’ve been wronged, by many. Some people sober, some not, some unintentional, some not. But then, that means, I’ve probably wronged ten times that many, right? Although I don’t truly believe that they ever have to ask me for forgiveness, I do need to ask them.

Can I be intentional about forgiving others? Wait, wait, that’s not right; not “can I be” but, “I want to be.”

The Bible speaks of how we can learn of, and have, a life of God's unconditional forgiveness of us, and then from that, learn to unconditionally forgive others.

Unconditional love, sounds like something that feels good. That’s what I want to be about. 


I’m going to give that a serious whirl.