My Sister's Hands

Yesterday my sister got a new knee. But I just can’t stop thinking about her hands.

I’d know her hands anywhere, and could probably pick her out of a lineup from them.

With those hands she unloads my dishwasher whenever she visits, makes caramel icing for every family birthday cake, sets the table for a party the day before, and lights all the candles before company arrives. Those hands make sure that the decks are cleared and all ducks in a row, so that when people walk in they feel welcomed, loved, safe, seen, and heard. It’s those hands of hers that deftly arrange guests at wedding tables in a way that no one’s feelings get hurt, everyone feels included, and all the people that drive all the other people crazy sit together. With her hands she holds grandkids close, carries on with important traditions, and lets go of the ones that have seen better days. She prefers to keep her hands out of messy food, but loves digging in the dirt. She always wears rubber gloves to keep her hands out of hot water, but fearlessly sticks them into places of the heart where angels fear to tread. Hers are hands that pray without ceasing, love with abandon, and welcome without judgment.

Yesterday, my brother-in-law sent me a photo of her just before they wheeled her into surgery. Looking at that picture I found myself filled with gratitude. Not just for that brand new knee, but for her beautiful 75 year-old hands that are simply an extension of her heart.

Sisters

There’s just something about a sister.

My one and only sister Margie turns 73 today, and it’s safe to say that I can’t imagine walking the planet without her. She’s been in my corner from day one. Literally. When I was born prematurely, and it was uncertain that I would survive, she got on her little 8 year-old knees and prayed that I would stick around, and she’s stuck with me ever since.

We couldn’t be more different - her style is fancy, mine is simple; I tend to swear, she tries not to; I love to push myself when I exercise, she has to push herself to exercise in the first place; she’s a republican, ummmm...I’m not.

Different though we may be, we couldn’t be closer, more committed or connected, and her influence has profoundly shaped my life in so many ways.

Because of her, my faith is central to who I am and what I stand for. 

Because of her, I’ve learned to make friends with the truth, no matter how inconvenient. 

Because of her, I understand the importance of creating margins in my life.

Because of her, I am (slowly) learning to laugh at myself and my many foibles.

Because of her, I set the table the day before the party. 

Because of her, my daughters have a place other than me to go to for wisdom and insight.

Because of her, I know what it is to have a safe place to tell the truth.

Because of her, I know that laughter is some of the best good medicine. 

And, because of her, I know what it is like to have someone walk by my side, come what may.

Happy Birthday M. 

Our world and my heart are better because of you.