Family Armor and Family Honor

Last week I wrote about brothers and sisters and that I worry how our kids’ relationships will turn out. Is their constant fighting a sign of what’s to come? Is there any way their friendships can stay intact through their childhood hurts and tough adolescence?

Honestly, the odds of our kids staying close seems dismal. Most adults I know struggle to get along with their grown brothers and sisters. At family gatherings, adult siblings stand next to each other with their arms crossed, as if they’re protecting their hearts from any more childhood hurts. Family gatherings look like a line of Vikings, everyone guarding themselves from the attacks of their own family members.

Our siblings, more than anyone else, have the power to hurt us. They knew us when we were young and awkward. They keep the same family secrets. They teased us when we were vulnerable. We could feel powerless around them–if we didn’t have our armor.

I’m the worst about this. Over the decades, I’ve grown impressive armor. My shield is my kids and their schedules and their needs. When I feel vulnerable, I retreat into the plate metal of my to-do list. I claim insane busyness. I allow busyness to harden my heart against real relationships.

In the middle of  all these thoughts about adult brothers and sisters, my mom called with horrible news about her youngest brother, Bryan. My Uncle Bryan’s house caught on fire. He didn’t make it out. Sunday was a devestating day, and I still can’t believe the news.

My Uncle Bryan was friendly, easy-going, down-to-earth, and gentle. Most of my memories of him are from my childhood, when he would come to visit us from Minnesota. He would play cards with us, tell us stories, and had a wonderful laugh.

I wonder what my Uncle Bryan’s armor was. Bryan never married. He never moved from the tiny community where he was born and raised. He was a free spirit with no steady job.  In a world of grown-up armor, of hardened hearts and busy schedules, Bryan was different. Bryan never seemed to have a to-do list.

Bryan was easy to be around. He was accepting and humble. He and my mom had a special relationship, without the usual sibling armor. I’m sad the world lost Bryan Krinke, and I think the world still needs his example of tenderness. The world could learn from his openness.

My kids could use this lesson from their great-uncle Bryan. Right now, I’m afraid my kids’ ugly fights will simmer and percolate and marinade for decades. I’m afraid their anger will crystallize their hearts. One day they will stand next to each other with their arms crossed, so burdened down with the armor they’re carrying around to protect themselves. From each other.

In honor of Bryan’s life I want to be a missionary of soft-heartedness to them. I want to show them how to be open to the Holy Spirit. I want to be a ambassador to these little siblings in our home. I want to serve them by not being afraid.

Uncle Bryan was a gentle man. I hope that in honor of him I can teach this next generation of siblings to be gentle with one another.  Maybe I can take off the armor of my to-do list and smile his wide smile.

And with that, maybe the hearts of the next generation will turn from a family of armor to a family of honor.

For Uncle Bryan.