Family

     There is something very special about family.  My dad is the youngest of eleven kids.  Many times I have thought about recording the stories I have heard over the years and kick myself for not doing it.  We have family records dating back to the 1600's or earlier.  There are stories of a relative who along with another survivor took the ship they worked on back from pirates and returned it safely to the owners.  We have copies of letters written about babies and weddings, runaway horses and death.  Somewhere in there is a president.  There's something special about knowing where you came from.
     When I sit in a room full of my dads family I love to watch them.  There's comfort in being in a room full of people you resemble.  There's a sense of belonging.  The number of cousins is somewhere around 40 and probably half of them have babysat me at one time, as I am one of the youngest.  There are some I wouldn't recognize if I met them on the street and it makes me sad.  Most were raised in the same small town and  in each grade there were always a few of my cousins, second cousins, third and fourth.  You were always expected to act like the cousin who was last in your teacher's class.  If they were troublemakers, you were probably going to be a trouble maker.  If they were very intelligent, and you weren't - you skipped that class.  There were three of us in my class, one quiet, one troublemaker and me, a quiet troublemaker.  I wish I knew them all better than I do.  We have had a mayor, Bible smuggler, and soldiers.  We've buried cousins, their babies and grand babies.
     I had four aunts and six uncles and their spouses.  There is one sister and three brothers remaining, including my dad.  I have attended many funerals and each time wished I would have known them better.  Uncle Charlie who tucked a boy under each arm as they searched for boots that floated away in the creek during a Royal Rangers campout and Uncle Erling who sat on the floor in the kitchen after the kids went to bed and snuck a bowl of ice cream.  But there is one who stands out to me.
     My aunt Nellie loved Jesus.  She never had a conversation or sent a card without saying "Jesus loves you."  It very appropriately says it on her grave, so that anyone who walks by and happens to read it will know.  Anytime I saw her, she would find the time to take my hands in hers, look me in the eyes and ask me "How are you?"  She waited for the answer, because she really wanted to know.  I was told hundreds of times over the years, "You look just like your aunt Nellie."
     When Nellie got cancer I avoided going to see her, because it was too painful.  She was suppose to pass any day, when God told me to go to her.  I waited two weeks surprised she was still alive when I got there.  The night before, the pastor and friends came to the house to pray for any demons to leave.  We discussed the gift of seeing demons.  Gift?  I looked at the pastor immediately and told him, "I don't want that gift."  We also talked about obeying and I knew I had to go see Nellie. 
     It was a Friday shortly after noon, when they shut down the computer system at work and there wasn't much I could do.  I took the rest of the day off and drove the couple hours to my aunt.  It was a gloomy day, until I decided to go.  As I left town the sun came out and it seemed I was in a bubble and all traffic was kept a safe distance from me.  I had driven over an hour enjoying the drive when it suddenly got dark and poured down rain.  Brake lights were all over the place and people were dangerously passing each other.  I said outloud to God, "What's this about?  I was pretty happy the way this was going up until now."  Just then I looked in the rearview mirror to see the most beautiful rainbow I had ever seen in my life.  I could see each color ridiculously defined.  I wanted to pull over and stare at it, as dark and complete as it was.  Again I spoke outloud.  "Thank you.  That was worth every raindrop and every brake light."  I don't believe there is a camera in this world that could have captured the beauty of that rainbow.  I watched it until the direction of the road forced it to disappear, then the sun came back out and the traffic backed off. 
     As afraid as I am of the world, I am safe in my car.  I believed I had missed the exit so I turned around and went back the direction I came.  After several attempts to find my way, I prayed, "I believe you want me to see Nellie and if I'm correct You are going to have to get me there."  I decided I needed to go north but got in the wrong lane and headed south on the freeway.  Wouldn't you know, it was the right way.  When I found the correct exit and was a straight shot from where I needed to be, I said a thank you.  I sat for several minutes at a red light and while I thanked Him, glanced in the rearview mirror.  I had to look twice.  Behind me, in the driver's seat of a Jeep, was the strangest face.  It appeared to be an emotionless white non-defined face.  A mask?  The person, male or female, had short, white, spiked hair.  They leaned forward as though they knew I was watching them and slowly shook their head as if to say "No".  I had to look away.  I asked God if it was a demon or an evil person.  He said, "Look again."  When I looked back it was the same face, but the hair was brown and curly and it continued to slowly shake it's head "No".  I felt like it was evil telling me, "We're not going anywhere."  The light changed and it turned off.  I was at peace, because Jesus was in my car.
     When I got to Nellie's room, I was afraid of how she would look, though Dad had warned me she was very thin, had a tube in her nose, which he knew would make me queasy, and she would rest her eyes for strength to speak.  When I saw her, none of it bothered me.  I couldn't take her hands in mine fast enough.  She repeated my name several times and I was so glad I was there.  With the little strength she had, she asked me about everything and I told her everything, never letting go of her hands.  When I told her I was molested she nodded her head like it didn't surprise her.  When I told her about the demons, she nodded more, not a bit surprised.  When I told her about finally having a relationship with God, she smiled, again not a bit surprised. 
     "I need you to pray for your dad and your uncles.  I prayed for them everyday and I need you to do that for me."
     "I will."
     "You're family is big enough to be your ministry.  Tell them Jesus loves them, especially when they are hurting and it doesn't feel like it."
     "I will."
     Nellie prayed over me.  I felt guilty, because I am healthy and she was so weak, but it made her happy.  Her hands trembled and she had to rest, but she started again with new energy.  I had such a hard time leaving her.  She told me, "Jesus loves you", one last time.
     I talked with my cousin in the next room and found out my aunt had always been a prayer warrior who made her family aware of demons, though he had never met anyone who had experienced them like I was explaining my experience.  When I told him she had prayed, he said she hadn't prayed outloud in awhile.  He kept looking at me with a strange smile and then he would look at his wife.  Finally he said, "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable with the way I look at you, but you look so much like my mom.  It feels weird to look at you."
    I was so glad I had obeyed God and gone to see my aunt Nellie one more time.  I felt like she had gift wrapped her personal armor of God.  (Complete with a HUGE pair of shoes)  What a different world this would be if everyone had an aunt Nellie.

Jesus loves you!!