He made me buzz off all his locks yesterday.

I thought I would be heart broken.

But instead I discovered my brother. Underneath all those curls, there was Luke staring back at me. All the strong, sturdy lines of a face I’ve known since 1981. There it was today, grinning up at me and making my heart clench fist tight in that old familiar way.

It’s been two and a half years since you two first met and last saw each other.

Beautiful Luke of the blue eyes and blonde hair. The little brother who calls me Lisssa-Jo in just the same way that Micah does too. Luke of the passionate heart and tender spirit; Luke who I’ve mothered in all the ways he probably wished I hadn’t since we were both just into our double digits; Luke of the nights spent on the green couch in our loft when he oh-so-sincerely wasn’t falling in love with Carine; and Luke of the wedding, and the wife, and the growing up into Carine’s husband.

I remember how our Auntie Lies once described my lanky little brother as a chunky, stocky toddler who ran headfirst at life. And today, an ocean away, there he was grinning great gusto right up and into my eyes while hanging over the foot of the bed.

I pray Micah inherits more than your features, my little brother. I pray he inherits your compassion. I pray he follows your determination to grab faith by both hands and wrestle it off the pages of Scripture and into real life. I pray he harbors a deep well of creativity like yours, and draws from it to tell the only story that matters. The story that lives in every character you paint with words, no matter how battered or broken they are.

And I hope he gets to spend many a summer with you. Teach him about jacaranda trees and movie sets and send him home to me with more than just your looks.

Send him home with your story.

Lovingly linked to Emily’s place – where a group of star gazers find beauty in the everyday extraordinary.

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