I was 15.
I was as excited as my mother, and my older sister, and my father.
There had been two lost in pregnancy before her,
so she was a moment of unforgettable bliss...
except that she cried a lot.
We tease her still about how much she cried;
I think it is what kept her alive.
If she hadn't cried, we all would have fought to hold her so much,
she likely would have starved from our love of her.
She was to all of us together: our pride and joy.
I watched her grow.
She was the baby sister I had wanted
to have fun with, to enjoy the simple things in life again.
Then we went to college, my older sister and I.
We left, my oldest to get married a year later,
and me to finish four years of college.
But I came back and lived at home for a few years more,
and I had the little sister with the front teeth missing,
the Christmas-lights excitement,
the birthday parties.
When I married she was ten.
I missed her, but then when I had a baby.
She was the one who held her most.
She lived with us while my husband was in Iraq:
Then she left for college where she met her destined husband.
My daughter loved her fiercely as she was like a big sister to her;
and she loves her fiercely still.
Now my little sister is married and has her own little baby.
She is here for a little while
as they work on deputation to go to the mission field of Nicaragua.
Those years together, apart, together again were sweet and happy,
and it is hard to let go;
but to see her living her adventure with the man who is God's perfect match for her,
his love for her is deep, his leadership for God is sincere,
his heart makes her laughter ring...
she is together with her match.
Now my daughter learns the beauty of togetherness,
and then together again.
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