Your Stories of Brian

After my dad passed in 2014, my mom moved to Peachtree Corners to be closer to our family and began attending PCBC. That path led her to Brian's Crossroads Life Group. After more than 60 years of life with my dad, my mom suddenly found herself somewhat alone, and in a strange new world. In that time of darkness, the light of Brian Mullen shined upon her. Brian looked after her every Sunday. Called her often to see how she was doing. if the Life Group had an event, Brian picked her up and brought her home. He always made a point to welcome her warmly, to look out for her, to make sure she was OK and to ensure she knew she was loved. One day, in passing, my mom mentioned wanting to see a movie and missing no longer having my dad to go with her. You know what happened next. Brian took my mom to the movie. There are so many Brian stories, but for me, this one stands out. A friend of one of the guys in my men's group makes a point of asking himself "How can I bring the joy?" before going into any situation. That day, Brian brought joy to my mom. Brian always brought the joy.

One morning I was with my men's group at Grouchy's Deli when a young woman in a Wesleyan uniform - how shall I say it - exploded into the restaurant. Her spirit and energy was attention grabbing and infectious. I was mesmerized as she moved from person to person. Her face, and everyone else's, lit up with every conversation. I had never seen so much positive energy in a young person. It was clear that she knew and liked everyone there, and everyone there knew and liked her. In that short time she struck me as perhaps the most remarkable young person I ever encountered. I had never met Kaitlin. When I pointed her out, and shared these sentiments with my men's group, I learned who she was. Of course. How could it be anyone but Brian Mullen's daughter. When I was young, I once asked my mom what she thought Heaven was like. She said there was no way to know, but shared a take on life after death I will never forget. She said as a parent, you try to instill your values, your beliefs, and a little bit of who you are in your children. Then, in them, you live on after you are gone. I am grateful I had the opportunity to tell Brian this story. I can't imagine something bringing more joy to a father, than seeing himself so beautifully reflected in his child's spirit.

A lot of words can, and have been used to, describe Brian. The word that first came to mind for me is consistent. I first met Brian in a unique men's group I joined shortly after coming to faith. I'll be honest, the cynical New Yorker in me just couldn't wrap my head around him. He was just too good to be true. Over time I realized no one could be that consistently good without being genuine, but I never fully appreciated what a wise and kind servant leader there was in my life until he was gone. Brian was consistently bright in everything from physical appearance to spiritual being. He was consistently full of energy, consistently caring, consistently positive, consistently encouraging, consistently faithful, consistently wise, consistently discerning, and consistently there to help. Brian was consistently everything I wish I could be. At church, during a season of trial, I would sometimes become emotional. There would be an embrace, or a hand on my shoulder. It was consistently Brian. I regret not recognizing his greatness and grace from the start. I wish I got to know him better I did. I regret never fully appreciating what a kind and wise servant leader he was, until he was gone. Brian's celebration of life was like nothing I ever experienced. So many people from so many different walks of life, and so many different times and places in Brian's life, touched so many different ways by one man. No, that's not right. Brian consistently touched people the same way. Only the circumstances changed. My take away from that night is what I think Brian would want: Try to be a better man. He would never say it of course, but what I mean is, trying to be more like Brian. I will never come close, but in a way, he will be looking down at me as a reminder to work at it every single day.