My brother has loved the races all his life; in particular,
The Indianapolis 500.
Maybe the raceway takes him back
To the driveway playing with Matchbox cars as a young boy.
Maybe my brother never outgrew the need for speed.
Maybe the thrill for fast and furious was in his blood.
Maybe he kept those engines running in his model car collection.
Maybe the Indianapolis 500 replays those old 8 millimeter movies of Dad taking his son to the Indy Time Trials, and then sharing race day together come Memorial Weekend.
The Indy Time Trials was an annual getaway for dad and my brother.
Mother would always send a cooler full of food, making sure a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken accompanied the trip.
Packed air mattresses were a mystery since dad drove a Volkswagen Beetle, but they were packed nevertheless.
We five sisters never felt slighted when dad left us behind for a man’s weekend with our brother. Maybe all it took was dad loading up the station wagon one Saturday night with us young girls carrying packed lunch boxes to the noisy drag strip to scar us for the races.
But the Indianapolis 500 was always their day, and we celebrated that memory for them.
Even after the passage of time when dad and my brother watched the race from the comfort of their own state and La-Z-Boy, the telephone kept their annual getaway alive for 500 miles each Memorial Day, until dad passed away a few years ago, and my brother, a few days ago, as a kiss from God, on race day.
This past Memorial Day, the crowds were on their feet cheering in a deafening decibel as the checkered flag is waved with great enthusiasm as my brother crosses his own finish line with this announcement blaring in the stands,
I have fought the good fight,
I have finished the race,
I have kept the faith.
2 Timothy 4:7 NIV
Sporting a giant flowered wreath after the win and keeping with tradition a swallow of ice-cold milk, our brother holds the milk bottle to that great cloud of witnesses of his life in declaration,
THE RACE MUST CONTINUE!
My brother was never a quitter.
He fought with every lap around the racetrack.
He honored those fans that fought for him in prayer
During the most difficult race of his life in a personal text message to me,
It’s all because of the prayer warriors
I have like you.
I love you.
My brother’s memory is now waving the flags to encourage us
As we continue our race.
The green flag is waved for the start or restart of our individual races.
“Start your engines.”
“Start your race with prayer.”
My brother was never shy about prayer.
Brother’s prayers were War and Peace in length which meant our holiday meal was blessed but also cold as ice when mother without question, called on him to pray over dinner.
While pregnant with my first child and attending a tent revival complete with straw beneath our feet in 1983. My brother led me to an old fashioned altar to pray over his sister before she journeyed this new race of motherhood, speaking the sweetest blessings over me and my unborn son.
As the yellow flag of caution and hazardous conditions
Will eventually be waved and find you leaving the race for a pit-stop.
Six years later after my brother’s tent revival prayers,
The yellow flag goes up as the engine of my heart overheats during a car failure of my life. In the pit-stop with no place to go and having never been on my own before, I remember lamenting with my brother among the pit crew asking if my small children and I could live with him in Texas.
After an inspection under the hood, my brother and pit crew sent me back into the race, knowing Jesus had taken the wheel long ago when I said “yes” to him as a teenager, who would never steer me into the wall as long as I continued to stay in the race, stay in my lane.
Regardless if our race has unnumbered miles ahead, my brother waves the white flag to remind every driver to brace the wheel as if your race’s final lap is before you, as no one knows when the angel of death will come.
… Lord, teach us to number our days,
that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
Psalm 90:12 NIV
The reality of eternity weighed heavy on my brother for lost souls and his deep compassion for their eternal destination presented itself in a play at the church he attended,
Heaven’s Gates & Hell’s Flames
By Reality Outreach Ministries.
In this play the ache of my brother’s heart cried out to those he desperately wanted to share heaven with.
“Do you have a relationship with Jesus?”
“Where will you spend eternity?”
“The fiery flames of Hell are real!”
“Is your name written in Book of Life?”
“Being a good person won’t save you.”
“Don’t worry about what your friends will say.”
“You are only guaranteed this moment in front of you.”
Choose you this day whom you will serve…
Joshua 24:15 KJV
My brother finished his race.
My brother kept his faith.
Just a week ago my brother was waved the white flag signifying the final lap of his race.
But his life’s message lives on in our races when he,
Sported a giant flowered wreath after his win and kept with tradition a swallow of ice-cold milk, and held the milk bottle to that great cloud of witnesses of his life in declaration,
THE RACE MUST CONTINUE!
Your memory will forever hang from the rear view mirror of my life
As I continue the race before me.
Lori A Alicea