My brother became a super hero this week.
As he eloquently stated at the end of his message, a little boy made it from Woodrow Wilson and Elmhurst to the pulpit at Triumph Church.
Rewind 15 years and you’ll see that same boy shuffling his feet like James Brown singing “I Have a Testimony.” He did more than sing the solo, he prophesied into his life. Yet to reach puberty, in a high pitch he sang, “I have a testimony, God made me whole…” The choir agreed in harmony.
He preached his first message as an associate minister at a 12,000 member church on its South campus about using what you already have to get where you need to go.
Real super heroes are the ordinary people who grow up in ghettos and soar above expectations. Capes are dingy sheets wrapped around 9-year-old neck that one day could be his rap sheet or his reminder that the things behind you propel you into tomorrow.
Walking down Hubbell from the park we used to race to on the way to school chatting he reminded me that it was his desire to pastor a church one day.
Watching him in the pulpit I say him prepping to one day fly.
I‘ve always believed that when you feed your passion you will never be hungry. He inspired me to go back to the project I started a about a year ago, daily writing, until I write my first book.
I have always competed with my brother, because I’ve always been more athletic, good looking, (He is shaking his head and disagreeing right now), and intelligent.
But today, I am more proud.
