My Sister Myra

                                                                                    -Bill Petite

 My sister, Myra Jean Brink, died yesterday, Monday May 18. Myra and I were always close and really so when we were growing up. She was always there to support and help me even when she shouldn’t have. But I was a younger brother and she couldn’t help herself when I was there with my hand out. As children, when I was about 4 years old, and I don’t know why, but I had a strong dislike for her. I do recall hitting her on the head with a hammer but I don’t remember why. Let’s just say that didn’t turn out so good for me. My mother settled that dispute.

When I was about 12 years old and Myra was about 16, she would drag me into the family room in our home, put records on the record player (yes this was a long time ago) and make me dance with her. It was all the fast dance stuff but she did teach me how to slow dance. This happened a lot and I became pretty good at dancing but that wasn’t what boys were supposed to be good at back then. If my friends had ever found out that I was good dancer, I would have been harassed forever. Fortunately, that didn’t happen until one Friday night at an after the game dance at the school. She was on the dance floor dancing by herself and, of course, I was attempting to keep my distance. But before I knew it, she had grabbed me and dragged me out there and made me dance with her. A few minutes later, some guy jumped in and pushed me aside. Myra didn’t hesitate; she pushed him aside and told him, “Get lost.” That was even more embarrassing on my part; my older sister was fighting my battles for me. Hey, I was happy he jumped in and I could get off of that dance floor. But Myra was tough and she didn’t allow anyone to take advantage of her or me. But my secret was out and everyone there knew I was a dancer. That’s not what I wanted to be known for being good at. I was a good baseball player and that’s what I wanted everyone to know and not being a good dancer.

When my brother Tom and I were young boys, Myra always tried to put us in dresses and have tea parties. But Tom and I were too quick for her and always got away. She would be upset and soon got over it but it didn’t stop her from trying it again. She never did get me and Tom in a dress.

Tom and I were playing near the barn one day when the neighbor man who farmed the property and his son were doing some work nearby. The boy, who was about the same age as Myra began to make some very rude and vulgar comments about Myra.

Myra was a very attractive young lady and that’s where his remarks were aimed at. I went to the house and told Myra what he said. She didn’t hesitate and went over there and read him the riot act. When she was finished, his face was red and hanging low. She had torn him up. That was my sister.

Myra was the one I could always go to when I had done something I probably shouldn’t have done. I could always talk to her before anyone else. But she never left me off of the hook. If my mother needed to know, Myra would tell her. As a teen, and after our dad died, I was in and out of a variety of mischief and Myra was there to help me out of it.

When I returned from Vietnam, I couldn’t expect my family to understand what I was struggling with or why. I was suffering from PTSD and I didn’t even know it. But Myra, even though she didn’t understand what it was that was causing me to drink excessively or act the way I did, had an idea of why. I spent all my savings on my dream car when I got home and a few months later totaled it while being intoxicated. Myra had me stay with her and Russ, her husband, for a week. After that week with Myra, I felt rejuvenated and just better about myself. Now, I was still a mess and would be until Jesus saved me but Myra just had a way of talking to me and with me. She was so much like our mom and maybe that was it but she knew me and was able to course correct me.

Myra was what a big sister is supposed to be. She was always there for me and she also set me straight, or tried to when I needed it. When Jeanne and I would relocate for my job, she and Russ were there to help with the move. When we were separated by miles, we always talked on the phone. We tried to stay in contact as much as possible. I will always remember the day she called me and told me she had stage four cancer in her throat, her lungs and her liver. She told me the doctor had given her six months to live. But my sister was stubborn and tough and she lived about three months longer than expected. She was a great sister and I will miss her dearly.

But Myra wasn’t just my sister by birth, she was also my sister in Jesus. Myra had made a mistake when she was a teen and thought Jesus would never forgive her for that mistake. But Jesus, Himself, had her and I enter into a conversation one day concerning her doubts about not being good enough to be saved. (None of us are)

As the Lord guided my conversation with her, He gave me the words to tell her she could be saved and she was. I get no credit for that; it was all Jesus and He is the only one who can save. He simply allowed me to be used by Him to share the gospel truth with her so she could come to Him for His forgiving and saving grace. I know my sister Myra is with Jesus right now and at peace. There is no more suffering from cancer and anything else this sin plagued world attacks us with. Some people will say she is with her husband Russ now or maybe her mother or her brother Tom. Yes, she is but most importantly, she is with Jesus. I am so happy for my sister and her release from her suffering and is now at peace for eternity and with the Lord. There is nothing better than that.