Love Letter

I live for the weekends.

Not for some reasons you might think.

Not because I don't have to work.

Or because of bars and clubs and late nights.

No.

Because of my family.

Because of nights like last night.

At the end of twenty-four hours devoted to talking to Jesus...

we gathered.

Breaking bread.

Or... cutting mushrooms and rolling out pizza dough.

And we ate together.

And gathered around a precious brother who will soon leave us for a whole year.

And I sat back and watched as the sun set and eight brothers and sisters danced in the streets until twilight.

I know I will never forget these years.

Or these people who have been my dearest friends, my closest loves, my family for the past twelve months.

So often relationships spin their wheels - splattering mud but never gaining ground.

But we have been blessed.

And our Father is blessing us with more.

As new family members join, I am amazed at their confusion.

"Family? I'm family? But I've only hung out with you all a few times..." And we just shrug.

We fall in love easily around here.

I thank God every day for the brothers I always wanted but never had. The men I see growing into men after God's own heart. The handsome men I'm proud to call my family - the character I see building. The ways they make me laugh, feel safe, and protected...

And I laugh, knowing that it was always God's intention for the women in my life to outnumber the men. I already have three wonderful sisters. But the Father has added almost a dozen more. Women I admire, who I love with all my heart. Women I dance with and joke with and stretch with (spiritually and physically).

I live for the weekends because that is when I see these people.

This is when I feel whole.

When I feel loved.

And when I am in my forties, or in my sixties, I will remember. And hopefully still be experiencing the love of these children of God.

Words will never be adequate.

But this is my love letter to you... my brothers and sisters.

You have stolen my heart.