My brother Byron

Byron was my older brother… still is. He was the oldest of us boys and mom’s death messed with his head some. She was worried about Byron. She felt he would have special challenges ahead and both Ruby and Eva spent a lot of time on their knees for him. It is a good thing they did.

He was a loner but I don’t think it was by choice. Something was eating at him. He needed to think original thoughts and take roads no one ever traveled. This only made life lonelier.

One of my favorite Byron stories that best illustrates both the need for prayer and answered prayers happened shortly after he left home. He moved out west by himself a couple of years after high school and was traveling along one evening on a lonely winding road through the mountains. He noticed a young native lad with his thumb out and screeched to a stop. The lad hesitantly jumped into the car. “Come on in son, I’ll give you a ride.” The young man had no idea of the “ride” potential stored up in Byron. Not being a rules kind of guy, Byron hit the gas throwing the young lad back in his seat. “Nothing is more fun than a ride in a race car through the mountains,” Byron thought to himself. There were straps in the Buick LeSabre, that were seldom worn but the young man understanding the gravity of the situation quickly employed his. He was in for the ride of his life.

Byron looked over at him as he dug his fingers into the leather on the seats. It was a nice car, power windows, power everything and especially power under the hood. “How’s it going?” he asked the young lad. The boy seemed to have a stuttering problem and Byron knew the cure. Fear is a great motivator. - fear of hell, fear of dying. “Son, Do you know Jesus?” Still all he got was stuttering. “You know he died for you. When you stand before the pearly gates, do you know the password? Son, it’s Jesus. Do you want to meet him?” The young man seemed to be having trouble speaking and his eyes were practically bugging out of his head. He was also shaking uncontrollably.

There was no traffic to speak of and Byron hit the pedal screaming around the curves with little to no concern for oncoming traffic. It was dark now. The thought of wildlife on the road didn’t even cross his mind until he rounded another curve and there she was, standing in the middle of the road, looking down her long nose with a similar look to the one on the lads face. He hit the moose dead on at about seventy miles per hour. The last thing he remembered was seeing the young lad scrambling to get out of the car and running off into the darkness.

The LeSabre was totaled and the miracle of the story was the result of mothers’ prayer’s no doubt. The moose lost its hooves in the middle of the road, totaled the front end of the car, flew over the cab and landed on the back trunk. Thankfully Byron was speeding or he might never have lived to tell the story. There was no sight of the young lad to get his version of the story. We assume he met Jesus and that Byron was the instrument of grace in his heart that night. No telling though.