Snippets from the Homestead

For what seemed the first time in many ages, I had the privilege of returning to the home place this past week. In many ways, it felt momentous. Like the turning of a page, or maybe the end of a chapter…or the beginning of a new book in a series whose end I cannot foresee.

You see, my baby sister and I went to the bridal shop this past week to get dresses fitted and pick out jewelry for the upcoming wedding. Her wedding.

There was something incredibly sweet, and yet strangely heart-wrenching about seeing her stand on a pedestal in her wedding gown, glowing as she tried on different necklaces and played with her veil, dreaming all the while of the blonde blue-eyed groom who will claim her as his own in six short weeks.

I have seen many brides in my time, but none quite so special to me as this one (not many as pretty either, but I’ll admit I’m biased). She has been my playmate, my companion, and my best friend from the first moments that I can remember. She is my sister, I thought, smiling wistfully as I watched her. And yet somehow, while she is still my sister now, she is less…mine. Because she is more his, and it really cannot be both ways.

Not that she was ever mine to keep. But I liked to think to myself sometimes that we shared a special relationship, a unique bond, a rare kind of intimacy, a unity of the soul. They say that nothing can break the sister bond, and in a sense I believe that—but at the same time, I have come to realize that, like every other relationship, the sister bond will change over time, and the role of the sister is never the same from one year to the next.

There is a part of me that resents the change, if I am honest with myself. There has always been a small place in my heart that protests loudly when things begin to change from what they have always been. But there is a bigger part of me that is intensely happy—wistfully, painfully, wonderingly, sincerely happy—for my little sister. It’s sweet to see the perpetual sparkle in her eyes, the glow on her face, to hear the almost-giddy laughter which seems to spring unbidden from her soul these days. It’s amazing to realize that this is God’s way of answering the prayers of many people, prayed over the course of many years. It’s awesome to see that God has given her His best, that He has carefully prepared a man uniquely suited to minister to—and be ministered to by—my little sister.

For all of these things, I am deeply and truly grateful. And yet…it hurts to see the boxes stacked in the corner of our bedroom…to know that in six weeks, she’ll leave—for good. To know that never again will we be just two sisters walking hand-in-hand under the moonlight, wondering aloud about an unknown future. To know that when I come back to the home place from now on, her bed will be empty…that there won’t be any more of those long sister talks into the wee hours of the night.

I will miss all of those things keenly. And yet, I would not for a moment turn back the hands of time. So on her wedding day, I will stand beside her with a smile on my face and tears in my heart, like sisters do, and I will rejoice in her joy and share in her laughter and send her off with much love to begin a new life with another…and it will hurt, but it will also be good, and right, and beautiful. And I’ll always be glad it happened the way it did.