I am a middle child of three girls. I married the oldest of three boys. We have always loved that we have come from families the same size and kind.
My sisters and I have a good relationship. There are times when we drive each other to drink… err, I mean distraction, but we know we love one another dearly. If one of us needs the other we are there. We have laughed and cried together, sometimes within the same hour. I cherish the relationship with my sisters.
But, this post is not about that. I have known my husband for over 43 years. He was almost 17 when we started dating. His next younger brother was 15 and his youngest brother was 7.
Having been in this family for the past 43 years, I consider his brothers, my brothers. I love them and care about them. But, boys are different.
The past few months have been consumed with the brothers. They are in the middle of issues. This is breaking my heart and I think, theirs.
We have travelled to Pennsylvania to deal with these issues. On the way up from the south, I thought about times when brothers are on opposite sides. The Civil War saw such times. One brother fighting for the north and the other for the south. I thought of how they must have felt when they saw one another on opposites sides of a battle.
I also thought about how their families felt. Seeing a fracture in a family tree. Wanting to repair the rift, but unable to fix it.
Yesterday I sat and watched brothers on opposite sides. It broke my heart to see them in this condition while memories of laughter and rough-housing filled my mind and heart.
I keep holding on to the fact that our Lord is greater than any rift we create. He can heal hearts and spirits and families. That is what I cling to. That and the echoes of laughter bouncing in my mind.
Thanks for stopping by today, DAF