At Brisson’s Lodge, we kids had to be on our best behavior; great-aunt Katharine Brisson was a very particular person with stringent behavior expectations. She was the second youngest of my Grandpa’s siblings, who with her husband Lawrence owned and operated Brisson’s Lodge on Shagawa Lake, on the other side of Ely, Minnesota. No summer vacation to the farm was complete without a visit to the lodge. We considered her rich—who else could actually afford to own a vacation lodge?!

Katharine was so finicky that she would sternly correct us children even if we said, “Shut up” to each other, which my brother Mike and I often did. I could understand her not wanting to hear swearing, but what was wrong with saying, “Shut up”? She thought it was rude. But all that was tolerable because of the memorable milk and cookies, the abundance of board games, and the rowboats we could use without adult supervision. Mike and I spent hours exploring that end of the lake, even racing out to the island and back.

Mike and I were best buds growing up. We sometimes fought, but if anyone dared lay a finger on me, he would come to my rescue. One winter, while we were waiting for the school bus, an older bully was harassing me, and Mike, who was older than the bully, picked him up and threw him into a snowbank. Despite his faithful protection of me, his little brother, I took my bodyguard for granted. The protective quality in him did not deter my propensity to slam him frequently with a “shut up” over a stupid card-game argument.

He and I had some excellent donnybrooks of our own, bullies aside. One time, with fists flying, bloody nose, and blackened eye (I no longer remember who got which), Mom simply cleared away the breakables from the family room while we solved our “disagreement.” My pleas for arbitration over the injustice of my older brother dealing fisted head-blows to me were countered by her retort that I was giving it back with equal vehemence.

Fighting didn’t happen very often, however, for the simple reason that Mike was three years older and bigger than me. I may have been insolent, but I wasn’t completely stupid … until my growth spurt. The scene took place behind our house, where we were playing catch with a baseball. I was a high school junior, he in his first year of college. He started harping about my accuracy (or should I say, lack thereof), which sent him frequently chasing after the ball to the fence on the far side of the yard. At some point, he said something that ticked me off, probably “shut up” or something similar.

Assessing the situation, I was now taller than Mike and outweighed him, so now the physical advantage turned to me. It had been a while since we last fought, but this verbal conflict was intolerable, and I wasn’t going to take it anymore. Throwing my glove down angrily, I said, “Come on, let’s fight,” and started moving toward him with fists up. Mike threw his glove down with equal or greater intensity. But he pulled a maneuver I was unprepared for; he blindsided me.

Not with his fists, no. He yelled at me, “Fighting isn’t going to solve anything,” then turned and walked away. He didn’t run away; it was not like he was afraid to fight. He simply walked away. What was I supposed to do with that? I picked up the gloves, his and mine, and walked to the fence to pick up the ball, and that was it. The argument was over … and so was playing catch.

To this day, I thank my brother for many things he did for me growing up. Though we fought at times, we were best buds; he even asked me to be the best man at his wedding. But the best thing Mike did for me was to invite me to a Billy Graham movie showing at this college. And it was there for the first time I had a glimmer of hope for my spiritual life. From my first confession when I was seven years old, when I lied to the priest about my sin, my relationship with God was one of guilt and shame. How could God ever want someone like me?

After the movie, in which Billy gave his gospel message about turning to Jesus Christ and His death on the cross for our sins, some college students sat around a small bonfire on a beach, talking about what they heard. One of them shared that he had come to faith in Christ and was now forgiven of all his sin. He wanted to follow Jesus for the rest of his life. As I watched this movie, I thought that I, too, wanted to experience complete and total forgiveness—sometime, but not right then. At that time, I couldn’t bring myself to confess my sin to God. That wouldn’t happen until about five years later. All this to say, I am so thankful to my brother Mike for sparking the hope that would one day fan into a flame in my life, simply by inviting me to a Billy Graham movie.