Two Sisters

Two Sisters

Two Sisters
Both 45 years old.

There’s a delightful story as to how one family can have two sisters both 45 and not twins.  It’s a good one.  It’s mom-marrying-uncle and we’re not from Kentucky (because people have asked).  That’s more for later.

It’s about two sisters who were cousins and childhood pals.  The little ones.

Among eleven kids, they were the little ones.  We didn’t even consider the trouble they got into because we older ones were off having naughty fun without them.  Surely they were content with Barbies!

Today, they are each 45.
Today they both face gigantic human challenges.

One sister is facing an invader brain cancer that has returned with monstrous power.
One sister is facing a life disruption of a different kind altogether.

45-year-old Mary is being admitted into the hospital today with her body rejecting nutrition, either solid or liquid. Weeks ago her brother planned a woo-hoo kind of party for Tomorrow, for all of us to celebrate the Miracle of Mary.  Whatever it is, our Mary is a miracle, so he chose a day to gather. Today, we face an unknown reality about tomorrow.  A literal reality. Today. Tomorrow.  Paul made spaghetti sauce.  He’s a chef, so we know that it isn’t Ragu.  There will be spaghetti.  That much we know.

45-year-old Chrissy has been pouring her heart into a life of ministry that God blesses with startling responsibility.  He has been building her ministry for Jesus in the Middle East, the Mediterranean, Europe. Her family is thriving in Tulsa, Oklahoma.  Now she holds her breath as her famous husband has just accepted a huge ministry that will move the family to another STATE, challenging all that they felt they were building; in their view.  Another state: literally and another state: the inside-kind.

God’s view is bigger.
That much we know.

It’s times like this when our belief becomes our guide. If it’s not well defined, well, that’s when we don’t know what to say or do.  Our fear takes over.

Unless we have a faith that commands us to trust. And when we do, we are comforted, and strengthened.

And the pain, as real as it is, becomes holy.


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