On little brothers and cigars

He's nine years my junior and from the time we were young, I was taught to set an example for him. "He's your little brother and he really looks up to you," mom said; and for the most part I went along with the plan. But a few years ago, I introduced him to something that would be considered by many a bad habit. I taught him how to smoke cigars; definitely NOT what mom had in mind! But our dad is a full-blooded Cuban so I considered it a “family obligation!”

From Canada to California, to Colorado to Kansas we've celebrated this stinky sacrament nearly every time we've been together. Of all the time we've spent together over the years, one particular night stands out. Last fall I spent a couple of days with my brother and his family in Kansas. My sister-in-law and the kids had gone to bed and my brother pulled out two Cohibas; among the finest cigars in the world! No aficionado would refuse such an offer.

We sat out on his back deck and carefully (almost ceremonially) lit up the Cuban Leaf. By the way, the best way to truly enjoy a fine cigar is outside. Smoke the cheap stuff indoors if you must, but savor the good ones outside! It was cold and still, so the smoke hung in the air like a curtain.

We began to talk; actually, my brother began to talk. I listened quietly and enjoyed the cigar. He told me of a recent struggle; more like a raging battle, to save his marriage. He spoke of deep wounds, oppressive fear, almost uncontrollable rage…and of peace, love, intimacy…and grace.

A lesser man would have cried out in his pain, struck back in his anger.

A lesser man would have played the victim; and I wouldn’t have blamed him.

But not my little brother.

Through the smoke, I heard a man confess his own failure to love his wife in the way she needed. I heard him admit his own selfishness and pride. He confessed a deep, and as yet, unresolved struggle to forgive completely. But he also spoke of an abiding sense of faith in God’s presence in the midst of the pain. He said the only explanation for his survival in this crisis was the power of the Spirit. Like the smoke that hung around us and circled in and out of our bodies, he said the Spirit had been with him from the very beginning and that whatever good I saw in him was because of that.

My little brother told me that there was still so much work to be done. Like the re-construction of Iraq, the landscape of his marriage was pretty beat up, but there was great reason to hope. His bride is committed to rebuilding trust, he is devoted to the task, they’re surrounded by a loving community of friends, but most of all, he knows that he is loved deeply, fully and passionately by Jesus.

Now I’m not saying that it was the cigars that brought all this out, but I will say that my little brother’s faith in the power and presence of a loving God is as clear and real as the thick Cuban Fog that hung between us that night on the deck.

And I still don’t think mom approves of our little ritual, but I do know one thing, he’s my little brother and I really look up to him.