Although I was raised with one brother, I really have three: (1) Tom, my blood brother, (2) Ken, my brother-in-law through Nate, and (3) Bervin, my brother-in-law through Mary. These three brothers have blessed me beyond measure in ways I can never repay.

All three have consistently asked, “How can I help you?” For a new widow who’s felt weak and wobbly during these last months, there have been many answers to that question. These men have always gone the extra mile, beginning last September when Nate got sick.

Brother Tom stepped forward with strength when Nate could no longer go to the office, taking over immediate court dates, putting out fires and soothing anxious clients. Over the six weeks of cancer, Tom gradually assumed full responsibility for Nate’s legal practice, even to neglecting his own. Yet when I’d ask, “Are you just buried at the office?” he’d respond, “Everything’s under control.” I’m sure that was far from the truth, but he put Nate’s mind at ease when it was swirling with work responsibilities he couldn’t work on.

When it came time to talk to the funeral director, choose a casket, order flowers, discuss headstones, buy a grave and arrange the burial, I did none of it. Although Nelson and Lars stepped forward to shoulder that miserable burden for all of us, Tom appeared at the Chicago funeral home at exactly the right moment to support these faithful young men and share their heavy load on that heartbreaking day.

Brother Ken has been a constant source of reassurance and a promise to be my soft place to fall when needed. He made three 600-mile round trips to spend time with Nate during his six weeks of cancer, encouraging all of us with his strong presence. He rescued many a conversation with his ability to say just the right thing at the right time. Since Ken never married and lives an organized life of quiet control, it was a gift to us when he willingly stayed with 13 people in a chaotic household where privacy was unavailable.

Nate and Ken had a strong brother-relationship and kept no secrets from each other. They shared long conversations every Sunday afternoon, often visiting by phone for over an hour. Both shared an interest in history and current events, and both were well-read students of life. I know Ken misses his brother intensely, and yet when he calls or emails me, it’s all about meeting my needs.

Brother Bervin orchestrated a new water heater for me, including partnering with Nelson to install it. And I remember well the day he and Nelson rigged up a garbage disposal in my kitchen, something we’d never had at the cottage. Nate was feeling badly that day, and Bervin made a special point to work quietly for his benefit, despite the disposal resisting an easy hook-up.

Bervin also assisted with organizing Nate’s personal papers, patiently working with a sometimes-foggy Nate as his mind began to blur. He also reassured Nate that his two youngest daughters would do well in Wicker Park, since Bervin was their landlord and would keep an eye on them. Recently he took two full days away from his own interests to help me shop for and purchase my wonderful workhorse Highlander.

I remember the moment each of these brothers said goodbye to Nate on different days, knowing they wouldn’t see him alive again. These scenes make me cry even today as I think back, grown men wearing their hearts on their sleeves.

When I thank these brothers for their past and continuing help, they brush it off and say:

Tom: “Of course! You’re my sister!”

Ken: “That’s what I’m here for.”

Bervin: “Family first, you know.”

To me they are nothing less than instruments of righteousness in God’s hands, blessing me with strength during this season of weakness.

”The Lord said… ‘My power is made perfect in weakness’.” (2 Corinthians 12:9b)

Our Michigan cottage is on the edge if a forest. There are advantages to this, such as a lush view and the privacy that comes with heavy foliage. A disadvantage is  forest critters ( bugs, mice and chipmunks) who want to be part of our household. After all, they were here first.

For the most part we’re winning over the animals, but the trees of their forest have won over our yard, keeping all sunshine at bay. Because of that, the property is covered with wild English ivy that seems to grow well in the shade. The ivy has taken over flower beds and planters, doing so a long time before we arrived. It’s also crawled over the small lawn. Our sidewalk and patio would be ivy-green, too, if left untrimmed.

But there’s a nice advantage to all that ivy. I don’t need a lawn mower and never have to pull a weed, a delightful change from our old house and its half-acre lot, where  summertime demanded hundreds of gardening hours.

Because the tall forest trees are just now getting their leaves, we do get some spring sunshine, making it possible to grow early-blooming bulb flowers. I haven’t planted any, but this week, standing on the front porch, I noticed something unusual. Daffodils!

They were growing in clusters, paper-white with yellow centers, all over one section of the yard. Where had they come from? I had no answer.

Daffodils don’t appear of their own accord, and they’re not wild flowers. They have to be purchased and planted, usually during the weeks of autumn in order to get blossoms the following spring. Did someone secretly plant those bulbs last fall while our family was buried beneath the woes of pancreatic cancer? Were they thinking that after the harsh winter months it might be nice to have this dramatic spring encouragement?

I’ve asked a number of people if they were the landscaping conspirators but haven’t yet come up with any identities. Whoever sunk those bulbs must have privately enjoyed that secret all winter. And their plan worked. When I look out the window and see that multitude of daffodils waving in the breeze, I feel very loved.

Whoever you are, I thank you!
”Sow with a view to righteousness. Reap in accordance with kindness.” (Hosea 10:12a)

God did something beyond all human understanding when he talked our world into existence. Just words. That’s all. Talk about power!

What did those sentences sound like? Were they booming and loud? Maybe he spoke quietly or even whispered. In all cases, the power to bring an entire cosmos into being sprang from those words… because of who spoke them.

Logic tells us God is still very much in charge of nature. And just in case we need proof, Jesus included an incident in Scripture during which he aborted a wild storm with three words: “Silence! Be still!” His friends noticed and were stunned by the storm’s obedience to this extraordinary someone.

Here in Michigan, our little corner of the world had run amuck in recent years. The wide, soft-sand beach I visited every summer as a child and where I’ve walked every day since moving here has always had a gentle creek flowing from nearby woods into Lake Michigan. Its path has meandered around the wide beach on its route, offering a safe play-place for children with its clean, shallow water.

Every winter the creek has reinvented itself, carving a different path in the sand. At the beginning of each childhood summer, we’d race to the beach to see what creative turns it had made since we’d said goodbye the previous fall.

In recent years, the creek continued to change its route as usual but had traveled so far down the sand it nearly ran through the beach “next door.” It had also quadrupled in width which left a mucky residue when hot weather dried up all but a trickle. Additionally, the dunes at the back of the beach had begun to erode as a result of the creek’s wild behavior. Trying to cross it to find a dry spot for a beach chair had become risky business, involving a slippery wade through knee-deep, swamp water.

Then several children got sick after playing in the creek that had always offered harmless fun. Our association had two choices: tame the wild creek or close it. Studies were done, votes were tallied, money was budgeted and this week action was taken. The goal? To reroute the creek with a straight path to the lake, rearranging the sand to cover the slime and sledge of its old course.

From atop the dune, Jack and I watched a massive earth mover attack the problem. After it dug the desired creek route, the old dark water raced toward the shoreline exactly as planned, running straight from the woods to the lake.

As the day progressed, the powerful machine worked its magic on the swampy old creek bed, transforming the now-spacious beach into a flat, pristine expanse where towels will be unfurled with new delight this summer.

God just might be chuckling, though. Mankind’s former attempts to tame this natural phenomenon have never succeeded.

Despite sunny skies, my mind clouded over with two questions: (1) Why has the creek never been happy flowing in a straight line? and (2) Does God really want this creek tamed?

One night while all of us beach-lovers are asleep, the Lord might just appear on the sand and whisper a few nature-controlling words over his creek: “Go ahead and flow wherever you want.”

And in the morning, when we see a new winding water-path, we’ll all know who was there during the night.

“Jesus… rebuked the wind and said to the waves, ‘Silence! Be still!’ Suddenly the wind stopped, and there was a great calm. ‘Who is this?’ said his disciples. ‘ Even the wind and the waves obey him’!” (Mark 4:39, 41)