The Queen Of Everything

We call her the Queen of Everything. We don't curtsy or walk behind her, she doesn't live in a grand castle or palace, have a chauffeur or even a bedazzling crown. Her personal wealth and position are derived from the ability to take care of the needs of others on her path, like children, family, friends, sick people, holiday dinners and really everything in life that truly matters. This Queen is my sister, and for many of my living days her outstretched arms have winged me close, enfolding me by her side, as only a sister can do.

A sister is a keeper of your secrets, tucks them carefully inside that place only a sister can see.

Growing up in a large family, six kids and not a bedroom to spare, we shared a double bed together, sounds of the high school football practice drifting through the open window on a warm August morning, a shrill whistle ushering in the next school year. We shared clothes too, but I never dared to don her bright white blouse from Charles F. Berg, the one with her name stitched in black right on the lip of the collar. It just didn't seem fitting that I should borrow that item, what with her name and all. However, I might have kidnapped it from our closet had it read, Queen instead.

She introduced me to the Beatles, her good and bad boyfriends, what kindness, generosity and justice looks like. And how acceptance paves a gentler and anchored road through life. She showed me how to raise children and grandchildren lovingly, fiercely. And how to take the next faltering step when life goes sideways, when loss follows you like a dark shadow.

A sister hears you cry, even before the tears begin to gather at the edges of your sorrow.

Her birthday is today, seventy years young, older than our mother when she passed away. Neither of us knew how to help her to heaven back then, saying our goodbyes with bleeding hearts, doing our best, wearing our brave together in the gathering dusk of grief.

A sister knows the beginning of your story and helps you finish writing the end.


When you have a sister like mine, you feel the brush of heaven most days of your life. I think God quite generous in letting me borrow her for my time here, grace upon grace it is. And I pray for more chapters in our story, the ones we've yet to pen together, yet to bookmark in memory for future moments shared, my beautiful sister and me.

What A Morning Glory Has To Say

Sometimes it comes in a surprise gift from a stranger. At times it arrives bottled in laughter, the kind that makes the belly all tight, the eyes water with glee. Or it might be in the form of a neighbor offering to help fix your flat tire. Last week my husband beckoned me outside in the wee hours of dawn, urging me to join him. Taking a quick sip of coffee, aiming to pry the eyes open a bit further, I walked out onto our driveway. 

And I stepped right out into His morning glory. Flashes of living color stretched across the eastern sky.

 And in those moments the blazing color bled all over my husband and me, covering us with promise, with hope and beauty. All day long I thought about our morning blessing, it made me smile, caused me to whisper thank you as the clock ticked the hours away, easing into the evening.

When these unexpected gifts come, and they do, I think He talks without words, stunning us into obedient silence. Only the heartbeat understands what the morning glory has to say. The spine, it straightens and the eyes open wide, all awake now shivering with awestruck wonder. Sparks of understanding illumine the mind, as if the horizon had a voice, and the ears strain hard to catch it.

There there now, be still, I am alive and watching, let the worries fade away. Let me cup the political climate, the body pain, fear and uncertainty in My outstretched hands. Be still, watch the sunrise, everything is going to work out just fine. 

Trust Me.