To my sisters

When I was little, I always thought it’d have been really cool to have sisters. I have two awesome older brothers whom I love dearly.  In childhood, we were close and had our fun, but I’d seen my mom with her sisters (she has 3), and I knew there was just something different about sisterhood.  Mom and her sisters not only look alike, when they get together they always seemed to laugh over the same things too.  When I was little, that laughter just rolled over me like a soothing balm, full of history and mutual understanding.  Not long after these beautiful, interesting women occupy the same space, someone will say something and have them all laughing so hard they are holding their sides and wiping away tears.  Sisters share things.  Over the years, my mother and her sisters have shared everything—from practical things like recipes (Mom has an uncountable number passed on from each of her sisters) and creative ideas to highly emotional memories like being piled together in a feather bed at their grandma’s house giggling into the night or putting in hard work together at my PaPa’s restaurant at the beach.   Sisters know each other.  Mom’s sisters can look at her or hear her voice and know exactly when they need to send her something in the mail that will make her laugh or when they need to figure out a way to visit.  Even now, Mom reserves certain days to talk to her sisters on the phone—one sister she always talks to on Thursday, another on Saturday, another via email.  They stay aware of each other, and even though they live hours away from one another, I know they take comfort in knowing that their sisters are out there loving them.  Sisters always have time enough and energy enough to love each other.  I learned years ago, watching Mom and her sisters, that sisters just get you. It’s amazing that even little girls know how important it is to have other girls out there who know almost as much about you as you know about yourself.

So, knowing I couldn’t have blood sisters, I prayed for sister-friends.

Last Thursday, I had my tonsils out.  After my 7th bout with strep since February, I was not exactly surprised when the ENT made his diagnosis.  I admit that when he said I’d have to give up being “super mom” for two weeks and must get help while I recover, I had tears in my eyes.  It wasn’t anxiety about the surgery or the recovery that brought the tears though.  It’s just that whenever I’m faced with my own true need, I come face to face with the enormity of my blessings.  I knew immediately that my mom would set aside whatever she had going in her life and come stay with us.  I count it a tremendous blessing that she is both willing and able to participate in our lives in such loving, sacrificial ways.  I knew that she’d be right there beside me until I was well, but beyond that, I knew that my sisters would be here to help.

In God’s usual way, He answered my years of prayers for sisters with more sisters than I can count.  I’ve been given a spiritual family like no other full of rare, beautiful, interesting women who are zealous for love and good works.  I have a wonderful close friendship with 7 women in my neighborhood.  Early on, we knew our book club was really more like a heaven-sent group of sister-friends.  At school, the women who teach my children are a special, multi-talented, truly giving group.  They feel more like family to me than professional acquaintances. So, sitting there, in the ENT’s office, I knew that I was never really alone.  In His amazing way, God uses the wealth of the blessing of sisterhood to remind me that He loves me and will always provide what I need.  I may not have any biological sisters, but I’ve got sisters, and I knew they’d be there for me.

So this post is dedicated to them, because it just wouldn’t be right not to tell you a little bit about the wonderful gifts God pours out on me by their hands.  Within a few hours after my surgery date and time had been set, my sisters from our church family had arranged to prepare our supper Thursday, Friday, and Saturday evenings.  By the end of the next day, my Book Chicks sisters had supper covered for Sunday, Monday, and the following Wednesday.  My kids had a play date to play and spend lunch time on Saturday with one of my sisters so that my mom would not be overloaded and would have a much-needed break (oh—I forgot to mention that the weekend after my surgery Kevin and my dad headed off with the  men from our church on a whitewater rafting retreat.  So, even though we urged them to go ahead and enjoy their fun, that meant mom had me post-op and all three kids by herself for the weekend.:)) from the trenches.  It’s been one week since the surgery, and not a day has passed that I haven’t been visited by sisters bearing ice cream, flowers, cards, and magazines.  Every day I get cards in the mail, cards and messages via email, and calls on the telephone wishing me well.  My sisters have picked up my kids and taken them to church when the rest of us couldn’t go.  They have taught Bible classes for me, they have made me laugh on my toughest recovery days, and they have genuinely urged us again and again, “Call me if you need anything else.”  The thing is, with my sisters, these aren’t just random,empty words.  It isn’t a cop-out never expecting a phone call or a real need.  My sisters genuinely expect me to allow them to participate in my life—not just to laugh with me till our sides hurt and tears spill down our cheeks (and we do plenty of that) but to walk beside me and help me find my way when times are tough and I need more than I am able to give back to them.

There aren’t words for the way it makes me tremble to know the blessings God has heaped upon my life.  He never answers my prayers half way.  When I prayed for sisters, my limited imagination had in mind a a solid group–maybe 8 or 10 at most (and I’d have considered that enormous) whom I could count on and treasure.  I am honest when I say that I cannot count them.  If I did, I’d just keep remembering someone who’s moved away but still remains my sister, or in a few days, I’d be able to tell you one more who’s become more like a sister to me than just a friend.  And if there’s anything God has taught me about sisterhood, it’s that I always have room for another sister in my life.  God never runs out of love to give, and He’s teaching me that I’ll never run out of love or time for these fantastic women who walk beside me and stand with me in faith, who will just as easily meet me in the trenches as dance with me when times are good.