I hope you're OK. I haven't heard from you in awhile, and we're so far apart now, it's hard to know how things are on your side of the world. It's ok, really it is. You'll receive no guilt trips in the mail. But I miss you, and I wanted you to know.
You should see E right now, "I'm really small because I'm really, really old," she says. She's on her knees, using two toy hammers as crutches, wearing her new school tie.
"I'm an old, old man."
It's amazing the ideas that come out of her small brown head. I wish I could look inside, see her cranks spinning, hold her tender imagination, keeping it always young and free. But I settle for her songs, her strange little plays. "I'm a unicorn," she says now.
She's really a chameleon, I think, ever changing.
There are times when I worry for her, because she doesn't have a sister. I'm afraid she'll miss out on the secrets, the confidants, the fighting, the companionship. But then I remember sisters come to us in so many different ways. By birth, by marriage, by divorce, by school, by location, by Jesus. That's how God gave me you.
And I know she'll be ok. Sisters will come for her, too, one way or the other.
So write when you get a chance. Know I love you, even from afar, even with kids and oceans and jobs and husbands between us. Know you're not alone over there, even on the cold, long days.
And know you have sisters there among you. Reach out for one. She'll meet you there.
A new series of posts entitled Dear Sister. I have four of them, each one unique, each brought to me in a different way (and now I realize I have so many more than four sisters, most of them brought to me directly by Jesus). I thought I'd write to them here... it'll save me a stamp. Plus, I get to make another button!