I am the oldest of three children in my family. My two sisters are my best friends, though for many years before I came to see them that way they were also my worst enemies.
There’s going to be a brother in our house. The two big sisters, upon learning we are expecting a boy, spent nearly five minutes in anguish before returning to delightful anticipation of Baby.
They sit in their carseats, next to one another holding hands. The palest caucasion skin of anyone in the family, enfolding the brown hand of his Hispanic little brother. “Are they both yours?” The woman meeting us for the first time asks. “Yes,” I reply, but she wants more. “How did you get that black haired one?” “Same way I got the blond haired one.”
“Oh, you’re So-and-So’s sister!” There are, perhaps, no more daunting and deflating words that any sibling can hear. They are an immediate sign that the person […]
I asked my girls what they think my husband and I did to nurture their friendship. They attribute their love for each other to some of our core values.
My kids shared something in common, peacefully – and I caught a glimpse of the kingdom of God.