He’s My Brother
Eric Hill had everything you’d need for a bright future. He was twenty-eight years old and a recent college grad with an athletic frame and a soft smile. His family loved him, girls took notice of him, and companies had contacted him about working for them. Although Eric appeared composed without, he was tormented within. Tormented by voices he could not still. Bothered by images he could not avoid. So, hoping to get away from them all, he got away from it all. On a gray rainy day in February 1982, Eric Hill walked out the back door of his Florida home and never came back
His sister Debbie remembers seeing him leave, his tall frame ambling down the interstate. She assumed he would return. He didn’t. She hoped he would call. He didn’t. She thought she could find him. She couldn’t. Where Eric journeyed, only God and Eric know, and neither of them has chosen to tell. What we do know is Eric heard a voice. And in that voice was an "assignment." And that assignment was to pick up garbage along a roadside in San Antonio, Texas.
To the commuters on Interstate 10, his lanky form and bearded face became a familiar sight. He made a home out of a hole in a vacant lot. He made a wardrobe out of split trousers and a torn sweatshirt. An old hat deferred the summer sun. A plastic bag on his shoulders softened the winter chill. His weathered skin and stooped shoulders made him look twice his forty-four years. But then, sixteen years on the side of the road would do that to you.
That’s how long it had been since Debbie had seen her brother. She might never have seen him again had it not been for two events. The first was the construction of a car dealership on Eric’s vacant lot. The second was a severe pain in his abdomen. The dealership took his home. The pain nearly took his life.
EMS found him curled in a ball on the side of the road, clutching his stomach. The hospital ran some tests and found that Eric had cancer. Terminal cancer. Another few months and he would be dead. And with no known family or relatives, he would die alone.
His court-appointed attorney couldn’t handle this thought. "Surely someone is looking for Eric," he reasoned. So the lawyer scoured the Internet for anyone in search of a brown-haired, adult male with the last name Hill. That’s how he met Debbie.
His description seemed to match her memory, but she had to know for sure.
So Debbie came to Texas. She and her husband and two children rented a hotel room and set out to find Eric. By now he’d been released from the hospital, but the chaplain knew where he was. They found him sitting against a building not far from the interstate. As they approached, he stood. They offered fruit; he refused. They offered juice; he declined. He was polite but unimpressed with this family who claimed to be his own.
His interest perked, however, when Debbie offered him a pinto wear, an angel pin. He said yes. Her first time to touch her brother in sixteen years was the moment he allowed her to pin the angel on his shirt.
Debbie intended to spend a week. But a week passed, and she stayed. Her husband returned home, and she stayed. Spring became summer, and Eric improved, and still she stayed. Debbie rented an apartment and began home schooling her kids and reaching out to her brother.
It wasn’t easy. He didn’t recognize her. He didn’t know her. One day he cursed her. He didn’t want to sleep in her apartment. He didn’t want her food. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted his vacant lot. He wanted his "job." Who was this woman anyway?
But Debbie didn’t give up on Eric. She understood that he didn’t understand. So she stayed.
I met her one Sunday when she visited our congregation. When she shared her story, I asked what you might want to ask. "How do you keep from giving up?"
"Simple," she said. "He’s my brother."
I told her that her pursuit reminded me of another pursuit-that her heart reminded me of another heart. Another kind heart who left home in search of the confused. Another compassionate soul who couldn’t bear the thought of a brother or sister in pain. So, like Debbie, he left home. Like Debbie, he found his sibling.
And when Jesus found us, we acted like Eric. Our limitations kept us from recognizing the One who came to save us. We even doubted his presence-and sometimes we still do.
How does he deal with our doubts? He follows us. As Debbie followed Eric, God follows us. He pursues us until we finally see him as our Father, even if it takes all the days of our lives.
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever" (Ps. 23:6 NKJV)…
By the way, the last chapter in Eric Hill’s life is the best one. Days before he died he recognized Debbie as his sister. And, in doing so, he discovered his home.
We will as well. Like Eric, we have doubted our Helper. But like Debbie, God has followed us. Like Eric, we are quick to turn away. But like Debbie, God is slow to anger and determined to stay. Like Eric, we don’t accept God’s gifts. But like Debbie, God still gives them. He gives us his angels, not just pinned on a lapel, but placed on our path.
And most of all, God gives us himself. Even when we choose our hovel over his house and our trash over his grace, still he follows. Never forcing us. Never leaving us. Patiently persistent. Faithfully present. Using all of his power to convince us that he is who he is and that he can be trusted to lead us home.
His goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives.
Traveling Light, Max Lucado, 2001, W Publishing Group, Nashville, Tennessee. All rights reserved.
”If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?” -1 John 4:20
Source : Sherry’s Inspirational – http://groups.google.com/group/Sherrys_Inspirational