For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved babies. My dolls were as good as human to me, and by the time I was five, I asked Jesus every night to make my doll Becky a real baby. Although I checked her each morning with hope in my heart, when God didn’t come through, eventually I gave up on him.

During that time, though, he did send a living, breathing baby to our home. My parents told me he was “my” baby brother, which wasn’t quite as good as Becky coming to life but was a close second. Although I wasn’t allowed to name him (they picked Tommy; I wanted Bobby) or to bed him down next to me, they did let me hold him.

Sometimes Mom let me feed him or put on his booties, but she never let him out of her sight. It didn’t take long to figure out he wasn’t really “mine”, and gradually I got the feeling he had become more important than I was. The camera clicked only in his direction, and when company came, it was all about the new baby.

Feeling set aside, I got jealous. All the good parts of having a baby (like letting me own him) were eliminated, and the bad parts (like everyone ignoring me) were a constant. Surely God had made a misstep by sending Tommy rather than bringing Becky to life.

Jealousy is hideous. It produces intolerance, suspicion and distrust, but worst of all, it grows. As little Tommy grew, so did my jealousy. By the time he was a pre-schooler, I teased him continually, which required steady reprimanding from both parents and filled our home with friction.

But by the time I was 12 or so, my friends became more important than pestering a little brother, which then extinguished the fire of jealousy. I took an honest look at Tom and saw he actually had a few good points. By the time I went off to college, I missed him a great deal. And when he eventually approached me with questions about dating, I felt honored.

In recent years I’ve studied what God thinks of jealousy, and it’s not good. Although he has the right to be jealous over people because we all belong to him, the rest of us put ourselves on several very condemning lists when we’re jealous.

For starters, God includes jealousy with drunkenness, sexual immorality, wickedness and corruption. Later he adds idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, rage and discord as jealousy’s bedfellows. Another list cites slander, anger, quarreling and arrogance. None of that is company I want to keep.

Today Tom is absolutely dear to me, a champion brother for whom I have nothing but respect and gratitude. When I see how close I came to letting jealousy destroy this priceless relationship, I’m overwhelmed with God’s grace (and Tom’s) in letting me off the hook. And, no thanks to me, the Lord protected and preserved our sibling bond through that ugly storm.

Amazingly Tom has never retaliated for my jealous misbehavior… unless of course he’s got that scheduled for next week.

“Don’t participate in the darkness of wild parties or drunkenness, or in sexual promiscuity and immoral living, or in quarreling and… jealousy.” (Romans 13:13)

This day, Nate’s birthday, is one I dreaded for a long time, moreso than my own or any of the kids’. I knew it would be sad to pass it by without its owner on hand to celebrate. His absence would be a glaring void, and I expected nausea and tears.

Every August 18 for many years our family celebrated Nate’s and my birthdays in the Wisconsin Northwoods. When the children were young, I had to help facilitate the parties, (although they were the official planners), so we usually set the event on Nate’s day and feted him in style. The kids created a ten-clue treasure hunt each year to lead him to his gifts: “Look in a wet place where bait is kept,” or “Look where we make s’mores.”

Nate threw himself into the annual ritual, and we have photos of him looking for clues under rocks, in row boats, between dock boards and in the tackle box. He’d hold each bit of paper up high in triumph announcing, “Mama, I found another good one!”

Although our family rented a place at Afterglow Lake for 25 straight Augusts, we haven’t been back for ten years. We’ll return this September for a week of reconnecting and reminiscing. A treasure hunt won’t be part of it, and of course Nate won’t be, either, so I get nervous wondering whether it’ll be sweet or sorrowful. Maybe it’ll be some of both.

Today we spent time talking about Nate’s many celebrations. We visited his brother Ken, staying last night and today, and doing our best to remember without regressing back to a time of fresh grief and sadness.

We lunched at Nate’s kind of restaurant in my brother-in-law’s small town, the place where both of them were raised, and enjoyed talking about childhood parties. Ken remembered his older brother’s 12^th birthday when the main gift was the Spoon River Anthology, a collection of poetry by Edgar Lee Masters. Nate was thrilled with the gift and loved receiving books every birthday of his life.

He was a cerebral guy, and it seemed appropriate that Birgitta’s first day at her new school would be her Papa’s birthday. The timing wasn’t lost on us as we remembered Nate saying he’d have been a lifelong university student if he could have, loving academics as he did.

The whole family came together on this day. Though many miles separated us, each one checked in by phone (and Nelson via Facebook from Egypt). All of us spent time thinking about Nate, his birthday, his treasure hunts… and our treasure chests, packed with joyful memories of him.

I wonder if Nate knows how much we miss him. He probably doesn’t miss us because he “gets” the finger-snap brevity of earthly life, from his heavenly perspective. He’s thinking, “Please don’t be sad, because in the blink of an eye you’ll all be here, where there’s real treasure: the Lord himself!”

God was good to us on August 18, 1945.

”By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.” (Proverbs 24:3-4)

Ever since I had to say goodbye to my husband as he died (a trauma like no other), subsequent goodbyes have been difficult. Over four decades of time, Nate and I stood on front porches or in driveways waving our farewells literally hundreds of times, most always side-by-side. Maybe that’s the reason I struggle now. The goodbyes themselves are intensified because I’m waving solo.

Leaving Birgitta on her university campus was equally as poignant as leaving our first college-age child, but for different reasons. When Nate and I drove Nelson to LeTourneau University in Texas 20 years ago, we and he were two years into a parent-child drama we’d never anticipated. Nelson was acting-out big time, dragging us into the offices of high school deans and the courtrooms of impatient judges.

We’d made the excruciating parental decision not to soften life’s harsh natural consequences for him any longer, and as a result, his offenses multiplied, along with our frustrations.

When he chose a college 1000 miles from home, we agreed it was a good idea. The separation would do us all a world of good. But even though our relationship with Nelson had been a tug-of-war, it was still sad to say goodbye the day we drove away from his campus. I bawled during most of our drive home from Texas.

Now I’ve left our youngest at college, the last time I will participate in this very common and somewhat thorny parent-child ritual. Today it happened under completely different circumstances than with Nelson or even with any of the other kids; Birgitta is the only one who hasn’t had her father cheering her on to this new academic and life challenge. He told each of the others, just before we waved goodbye, “You’re taking the first step onto the bridge between childhood and adulthood.” Birgitta didn’t get to hear him say that to her.

She has worked hard, co-operated with her parents, budgeted her money, kept track of her things and been a good little sister to six siblings. As she begins her residence at the university, it’s a big deal for both of us, the end of life as we’ve known it. But the end of something usually means a new thing is beginning.

Louisa accompanied us on our journey to Iowa today, making our Walmart trip twice the fun it would have been without her. She successfully played the role of cheerleader for her sister and exuded enthusiasm for Birgitta’s choice of school, her dorm, her room and everyone we saw along the way.

This morning before we left the Michigan cottage, the three of us prayed over our day, acknowledging that God had already been to where we were going in order to get everything ready for us. And as Birgitta’s mom, it’s reassuring to know that as we left, he planned to stay. She carries the Lord in her heart, and because of that, he’s promised never to leave her.

And thankfully, because God is God, he went home with me, too.

“Be content with such things as you have, for he himself has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you’.” (Hebrews 13:5)