Morning Reflections: Broken Tablets, Brothers, and the Simplicity Beyond Complexity
This morning began quietly.
I had gone to bed around six the night before because I was exhausted. In the past I would resist doing that. I would try to stay up later, fearing that I would wake far too early if I slept too soon.
But this time I simply surrendered to rest.
Sure enough, I woke around 3:30 in the morning. Instead of fighting the hour, I rose and began the day in the quiet.
Coffee brewed.
The house was still.
The world had not yet begun rushing.
It felt like a gift.
While the coffee was brewing I began organizing my weekly medication boxes, something I normally do on the weekend. Small pills were spread across a napkin while the weekly organizer sat open beside me.
In the middle of that simple task I noticed I had accidentally duplicated a pill. I stopped immediately, emptied the organizer, and rebuilt the week from scratch.
Oddly enough, that simple act felt symbolic.
Taking scattered pieces and rebuilding them carefully.
The Image of the Train
A thought from Carl Jung came back to me. In paraphrase, he spoke about how people approaching the end of life sometimes become consumed with trying to avoid the inevitable.
It is like a man digging his heels into the ground while standing at the edge of a cliff, trying desperately not to go over. Another image might be a train speeding toward the end of the tracks. As the train approaches the end, the passengers panic and try to jump off.
But in doing so, they forget to live.
The attempt to avoid the end can consume the life that remains.
This morning felt different. I was not trying to escape the train. I was simply moving through the quiet hours of the morning, grateful for the time.
A Plan for the Day
Today I planned to see my brothers Glenn and Andrew.
For a moment I considered driving them across the city to an expensive restaurant in North Vancouver. That would mean navigating downtown Vancouver traffic with my Ram pickup truck, managing tight schedules, and rushing to make everything work.
But another image came to me.
Instead of taking them out somewhere, what if we simply went to Andrew’s home?
What if Glenn and I helped clean the place a bit, cooked a meal together in his kitchen, and sat around his table?
That thought filled me with something I can only describe as transcendent joy.
Not because it was impressive.
Because it was simple.
I imagined Andrew waking the next morning and seeing his home differently. The table where we had eaten together. The kitchen where we had prepared the meal. The couch where we had talked.
A place that once felt lonely might now hold memory and warmth.
Glenn’s Story
My brother Glenn once came close to losing everything.
In 2019 his marriage collapsed, his career vanished, and his entire world seemed to crumble. He ended up in a hospital room nearly catatonic, whispering into the darkness.
He had been hollowed out.
Eventually he was discharged. Perhaps they simply needed the hospital bed for someone else. It felt like an eagle pushing its chick from the nest before it was ready to fly.
But Glenn did not fall alone.
God placed people in his path to help him stand again. I was one of those people.
Because of that history, when Glenn and I now reach out to Andrew it does not feel like strong men rescuing the weak. It feels more like wounded soldiers on a battlefield who realize another brother is still alive.
One man presses on the wound.
Another calls for help.
They do what they can with the strength they have left.
A Lesson From My Daughter
My daughter Cherish once gave me a piece of wisdom that has stayed with me:
“Be careful of your own theatre.”
Her meaning was simple but profound. When we rehearse how things are supposed to unfold in our minds, we often end up hurting ourselves when reality refuses to follow the script.
That thought reminded me of a line often attributed to Oliver Wendell Holmes and quoted by M. Scott Peck:
“I would not give a fig for the simplicity on this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity.”
Life becomes complicated. Relationships fracture. Expectations collapse.
But if we pass through that complexity honestly, we sometimes arrive at a deeper simplicity.
Clean the house.
Cook the meal.
Sit at the table together.
The Greyhound Bus
Another image appeared in my mind this morning.
Three older men stepping off a Greyhound bus in the prairie towns of Winkler or Morden. They have come searching for their brother John. They do not even know if he is alive or buried somewhere nearby.
The scene is quiet.
They stretch their legs after the ride.
They look around the unfamiliar streets.
They find a small coffee shop.
Andrew walks to a newspaper stand and buys a paper. He fumbles for coins and begins scanning the obituaries.
Perhaps their brother’s name is there.
If not, they may place a small advertisement:
“Does anyone know where our brother is? Meet us at Barney’s Grill.”
It is not dramatic. It is simply loyalty refusing to give up.
Broken Tablets
Later in the morning I thought of a passage in Deuteronomy where God tells Moses to carve two new tablets of stone after the first ones had been broken.
Those new tablets were placed inside a wooden chest and carried with the people.
Broken things were not discarded.
They were rewritten and carried forward.
A Simple Ending
When I step back and look at the threads of this morning, the message feels simple.
Broken tablets rewritten.
Old engines restored.
Wounded brothers helping one another stand.
Love does not always come with speeches.
Sometimes it arrives quietly and says,
“Let’s clean this place up.
Let’s make dinner.
Let’s sit down and eat together.”
Running Down Vimy 