We all have two families. One we were born into, and one made up of people God put in our path.
I am the big sister, the oldest grandchild. I do everything first. I’m first to be married, should be first to have a baby. The next generation is only a glimmer in my husband’s and my eyes – an unformed hope for the future – so far. But I have kids, lots and lots of kids that bless me by letting me into their lives.
There’s my niece, who draws pictures that show I’m more glamorous in her imagination than in real life, gives full-body hugs, and has a laugh that lights a room. My nephew, the surfer-blonde who is crazy talented and is learning to play by the rules so he can be free to do what he loves. The mad-scientist brothers who we are convinced will someday try for world domination. The two little boys who are obedient to a fault and know they unequivocally loved by their parents. And my high schoolers. The ones I have, the ones that have moved away. The ones whose hurts are larger than life. Whose dramas are epic, yet last only an instant. The ones who share my spontaneity and will drive with me to LA and back in a day to ride a roller coaster. The ones who are solid and secure in who they are, and the ones who try on a new identity daily. The ones I love, who force me to grow the more I care for and mentor them.
I have a huge family that I was blessed to be born into that I love. But I love my God-given family just as much, and thank Him for choosing me to be so blessed.