I ugly cried the whole way home from the airport yesterday.  It started in the airport when mom told me she'd see me at Christmas and I counted how many months away that would be on my fingers.  It got worse when my dad teared up.  I couldn't even look at the sibs, I ran out of there.  I put on my biggest sunglasses.  And I bawled my way home.

He saw my face when I opened the door and he started pulling the candy out of the cupboard.  I couldn't let go of his hug.  I had been excited to see the new piano, but I couldn't play it.  I had thought I would write the week out but the weight of words made my heart rip more.  He held me through the night and when I woke this morning, I felt better.  Until we sat down at church and I saw the sermon title.  Redeeming Family Relationships.

That whole congregation was almost subjected to this girl falling apart.  Not pretty.  Instead I crossed my legs a little tighter.  Breathed a little deeper.  And I listened to a good man talk about the power in family.  I heard him call parents the great influencers and I thanked Jesus for mine.  I raised my chin when he challenged me to carry the legacy.  I sang old, cheesy songs and I was happy to sing them because I grew with those songs.  I grew with a family that grew inside the church and so our souls grew together, too.  There's the power.  Waking to the sound of dad in the creaky rocking chair turning the pages of The Word.  Crawling into bed with mom already propped up on her pillows, highlighters in hand, and claiming Scriptures over us.  Sunday mornings learning to be still next to them.  Verses pinned up everywhere.  Learning the stories from the old testament and learning to love the life in them.

There is something very unnatural to me about saying goodbye.  I wish they could have stayed forever.  I wish we could all live in one place, wish we could all share-- pass the trouble around at the end of the day and pass the joy too.  There are things that are hard for me to give up.  I will have children someday and that will make it harder.  I know this.  I also know that He has us spread for a reason and that there is grace to be found inside the distance.  There is the huge party when we are all together.  There is the gratitude for the time we do have.

I took a moment on the couch before I drove them to the airport.  I began the list in my head of all of the things that we had shared and of all of the memories that we had birthed.  I love my family best when they are inches from me.  When we are comfortable enough to get uncomfortable.  I love my family best when there are shoes everywhere and the fridge is crammed full of food and dad and I wrestle wall paper while the boys climb on the roof and sister paints the trim.  I love them best on the water, floating the pack and laughing at her when she gets stuck again.  I love them in hammocks stacked three deep listening to the festival from the park.  Love them on bikes late at night during the full moon ride and I love them when we head back to start a fire and make s'mores.  I love them late at night in the living room, love him early in the morning lifting heavy weights.  Love turning around and asking my parents what they're smiling about only to have her point at us three and say We were just talking about what we made.

Most of all, though, I love the great privilege He gave to me when He cast me into a family of dear, dear people who match me so well.