I remember the first holiday I went on. It was down to Philip Island with my mum. I was 3. I remember being totally excited by the cows. Yup cows. I remember sitting by the window on a stool and watching them and was totally amazed that these cows could tell the time!!! A feat totally out of my reach! Yet the cows could do it. Amazing. They knew exactly when to head up to the shed for milking, twice a day. Mum & I were down there for 3 days, and those cows didn’t miss a beat. Morning and night.
My second holiday was when I was 8. My Mum, Dad, brother and I drove up to Queensland and we stayed with my Nan & Pop at Hervey Bay (they took their caravan up there every summer). Early in the mornings Pop would go out on the pier and fish, and he would always bring back a catch for Nan to cook up. My Pop was like the cows, he too was amazing. There wasn’t a thing that Pop did that I wasn’t impressed with. He knew how to do EVERYTHING (and if he didn’t, he’d ask Nan and she’d tell him)!
On this trip I also learnt about soldier crabs and remember chasing them all over the beach as they burried themselves in the sand, clever little creatures. It was great.
Tonight (many years later) I’m thinking about just how magnificent my brother Jesus is. It hit me earlier this week that I have never really embraced the concept of him being my older brother beyond mental ascent. When it ‘hit’ me, that that’s precisely what he is, that he is an older brother who is looking out for me, who will stand up for me when the bullies come around, that he has never teased me, or chastised me, or put me down, and that he is sitting next to Dad and is proud of me… to the point where he is recommending me to Him… I don’t think I’ve ever felt so [brotherly] loved.