sister-story

I feel adopted in many ways.

Yet, so far removed that I only peer in from a distance.

Two sisters exchange love.

And I'm one of theirs, too -- we're three -- yet I'm so not like them.

I'm not a part of what they have as two.

Years have healed me and I'm okay. Still, I ache.

I watch them.

It feels like I'm standing behind an imaginary line that divides us.

Hands wrapped around eyes to get a good, close look from a distance of miles and miles in between.

I see beauty in them and through them.

Growing hearts and maturing minds. Beautiful creatives.

I love them. Yet, I hardly know them.

Our stories are just beginning. On Earth, and with each other.

I trust this to be true.

Though I'm a decade a half older than them each (and then some for one), they are a part of me.

Sisters of the same father.

The "us" feels strange. Complicated. And I feel clumsy.

I'm taking steps to pursue adopting, and I can't help considering this dynamic we have.

I deeply massage a thought about what my own story might reflect to another.

There's purpose in what I've lived and continue to live. I trust this.

He'll use every part of our sister-hood.

For me. For you. For the ones who come after us and in between us.

And even for the ones who came before us.

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