the chapel

When I was young, there was a tiny little church that we would pass on our way to my Granny's lake cabin. It was a small chapel in the middle of nowhere. Once I asked about it, and someone explained that it was a place where people could go to pray. . I really liked that idea. . I still do. . The idea of a quiet and peaceful place set aside for prayers. It looked welcoming. Something reminded me of that little church today. And I thought about churches. And welcoming. And quiet peaceful places for prayers. . Is your church one of those? . Is mine? . What if I was a road weary traveler? And I came upon a church. Could I enter? During "business hours," sure. Or, maybe. Otherwise the doors are locked. Because someone might try and steal the sound system. Or the computers. Or the money. Or the stuff. Because stuff is really important. We can't have people stealing our stuff. I mean, God's stuff. He needs us to lock up tight so the bad guys don't come and spray paint graffiti on the cross. . We can't have that. . No sir. . No. As long as it's during regular business hours. Without ill intentions. With shoes and a shirt. A modest shirt. And no weird piercings or tattoos. . Um, and if you borrow a book, please fill out the proper form. We're going to need it back...and if you want to use room 430, you'll need to reserve it 2 weeks in advance and make sure you have approval from committee 54C. . . . . But how do I really feel? . . . . My Cute Jesus. . That's how I feel. My Cute Jesus fits in a box that I've labeled "My Dad was loving and my mom stayed home and fed us properly and my husband is good to me and my kids are obedient and my house is clean and I don't say bad words and I try not to gossip and I wear turtleneck sweaters and say please and thank you." So. Naturally. I love Jesus. Because. . Just because. Life has been good to me. And for that I am thankful. But because of that can I empathize? Can I love? Can I reach out and love someone? Someone whose dad wasn't loving? Whose husband is cruel? Who doesn't wear turtleneck sweaters? Who comes to pray past business hours? . Oh Dear God. Crack me wide open.

sisters...sisters...

I know three people that will read that and finish the song in their heads. (Five, counting my mom and dad.)

Sisters.

I have three. (Six - almost - when I include my lovely in-law-ed sisters. Seven counting a beloved Summer Sister, who would also be able to finish that song.)

((Hi Sarah!))

I count myself one lucky duck in the sister department. Growing up in a family with one thousand girls means that if you can't find your own you can always find someone else's:

• clean clothes
• matched socks
• ponytail holder
• mascara
• hair brush
• comb
• shoes
• bobby pins
• swim suit
• (undies)
• barbies

It was always better to ask forgiveness than permission. (Permission was never granted.)

Now that we are grown, I always have someone I can call when I need:

• ideas for dinner
• prayer
• commiseration
• help with parenting
• instructions for dealing with sick kids
• maternity clothes
• baby clothes
• big kid clothes
• my clothes
• purses
• home decor

They all get my inside jokes. We often say the same exact weirdo thing at the same exact weirdo time. Heallow. There are three people on this planet with my same phone voice. Three that can be my exact same happy or sad when I am happy or sad. Three other people that know you are only supposed to give your parents presents that make them cry.

They know that when you are on the phone with them and they say, "Have you talked to J?" They must also say, "She's not pregnant." Unless she is pregnant. (Which she is not. And neither am I --in case you were wondering. Dad.) They let the sister with the news be the one to deliver the news...except for that one time I told H's friend Erin that H was expecting....but she looked the news out of me! And I told her she had to act surprised...which she did...and no one would have known...but I told on myself...and I never will make that mistake again! Because news that isn't mine isn't mine to share. Sisters know this rule.

They know all the rules.

And, they would love to go to the blind school and just see. :)

I love my sisters.