Warmth.

What warmth greets us at the entrance of my good uncle’s home. What hospitality exudes from the kind heart of a man who lives alone yet in the presence of the God of healing Love. His countenance so joyful, his eyes full of life, it’s a gift to be able to rest in his presence. A hot meal awaits, prepared by loving hands that have been through so much yet still stand for the art of giving. A soul who still loves living. His house decorated with all kinds of toys, all of the things that are usually held dear by little boys who find joy in the simplest of cartoons. Movies a plenty and history from all around surround us as we enter this house. We’re greeted by stories of people and places, of times and faces that have never been nor will be forgot. Laughs infuse with cigar smoke and memories to fill the room, permeating even the coldest of hearts to break in with that light that I’ve been thinking about.

There’s potential for this place to be filled with hate, to be filled with depression and darkness, but the man who resides here has refused to let it overtake him and has instead pressed into the Light of Life, choosing to find joy in the trials that bite at his very physical being. He has every reason to curse God, to become bitter and shut down in a society where we so value efficiency and activity, yet he chooses joy. He has chosen to see the blessing and ignore what  some say about the worthlessness of a life less one thing, missing the fully functioning idol we know as the body.

With each day he’s getting progressively worse, but his face is set stalwart on the beauty in this curse, finding refuge in the cliché saying that God does indeed know best.

As I listen to him tell of his travels and experiences, there’s a deep satisfaction I hear in the tone of his voice, a deep peace found in the aura of his being that seems so out of place for one who’s had to face such difficulty. But it’s definitely there. It radiates from that leather chair in which he sits in the corner near the pile of black and milds that incessantly occupy his mouth. That joy and love of life, that nonsensical thanksgiving and attitude of genuine gratitude mingle gently together with the pleasant aroma of pipe tobacco as the words of his life are spoken, creating sweet pictures of who he is and where he’s been. His wheelchair sitting in the background, I’m simply listening, for there are so many stories to tell and to share among those who are willing to invite others into the sacred yet soft place of their past.

As I sit here in the upper room, my brother sleeps silently, there’s rest in the sound of him breathing so deeply, inhaling the fragrance of life that this man pours out as he simply lives in surrender, choosing joy in Jesus as opposed to the bitterness and stress that the world would expect from one in such a mess of chaos.

Oh it’s amazing the things you’ll notice when you offer your eyes to be opened. This is just the first of many whom I know I’ll meet on this journey into the unknown. And the funny thing is he’s been my uncle all along.