Because my sister and I are friends 4ever

The above is the text message conversation I had with my dear younger sister the other day. I'm true to my word. Also, she is clearly in college since she texted me at midnight. And I'm clearly in grad school because I was still awake.

My sister was born when I was approximately four and a half years old. I really wanted to her to be named Mary, and begged my parents for that. The reason: I thought you had to be named Mary to get married. I apparently didn't know how to spell yet; in my mind they were the same word. Also, I was looking out for you, sister. I knew that since I was named Carolyn Kate, I was going to be single forever and ever, and it would be against the law for me to get married. But I wanted you to at least have that choice. It never crossed my precious four year old brain that my mom was not named Mary, but she was married. Whatever.

But anyway, having a younger sibling was life-changing. We were always really different. We never even looked alike. When we were little, I was blonde, with straight hair, and had blue eyes. She had dark and curly hair, hazel eyes, and was covered in freckles.

 

My sister is WAY more adorable than this picture. She has freckles, not chicken pox. And her hair does not look weird. And she's cute as a button. And totally beautiful. And just way more lovely than this. I'm not an artist. 

My strengths were often her weaknesses, and her strengths were often my weaknesses. For example, she has always been extremely crafty and creative. Me, on the other hand... well, y'all are witnesses to my artistic capabilities. She's on another level.

But the point is, we had different personalities growing up. It often led to us bickering and quarreling, competing with each other.  We did love each other, very much. Even though we were extremely competitive with each other, we were a team. For instance, I didn't like broccoli, but my sister did. It really tastes okay, but what kind of kid likes broccoli? So we would wait until our parents weren't looking, and then she would take half the broccoli off of my plate and give me something else from her plate. Keeping it cool, just like sisters should. Also, I would like to ask for forgiveness for making my parents believe that I really did eat all that broccoli.

But the age difference was difficult at times. We never really shared a stage in life until she hit the later years of high school, and got past those horrible, angsty, awful early and mid-teenage years that we all have to experience before becoming regular human beings. But after that, we experienced something great.

We already loved each other. We were sisters. But then age truly cemented our friendship. We began to tell each other our secrets. She held my hand and gave me the sweetest of encouragements when I had a broken heart. I sat up with her at night and gave her advice about college. She confided in me about friendships and boys. I confided in her about my hopes. We grew closer together. Even our hair sensed the change, and now we have almost the same color of hair.

She is an amazing person, and I love her so much. I just want everyone to know what a lovely sister I have, and how thankful I am to have her.

Also, we have conversations like this.

I was thinking about this instead of the sermon on Sunday.

It was the most beautiful room anyone could ever be in, and there wasn't ever a person who didn't like that room. And there wasn't ever a person who could find that room until it was time for them to find that room. One day, they're just in the room.  Not everyone gets into that room. Oh no, not even a lot of people who do try to look for it. But of the people who get into that room, they all love it. It doesn't matter if they are architectural enthusiasts or design snobs; the room is perfect for each of them (funny enough, it's also the same for each of them).

So they're coming and going out of this room (a lot of them, but not as many as there could be), and at some point they all go over to this long table full of books. Every book is the same: The Book of Life. And each person gets to sit down and find their name in it. It's seriously better than anything you've ever done. They get to look it up (because anyone who gets to sit down and look through it like that has their name in it), and they get to read everything that's listed under it. 

On that list is a bunch of really good stuff. The kind of stuff that if you read it here, you'd get vain and proud. Folks wouldn't like you much anymore, and you'd just turn into a really yucky person. You'd try to do that same stuff more and more, just so that maybe you could read more good thing about yourself. But it wouldn't even be good stuff to do anymore, because you're only doing it for a pretty yucky you.  

But when they read that good stuff in that room, they don't even think about themselves. They just think about how happy they were to be able to do it. They didn't even know that that one thing they said to that one person would show up in this book. It just did, and wow! See how it helped that person! And they didn't know that they were ever going to read about spending time with that one person that one day. But hey, that one person was so blessed by it! And look at that: every single dollar, and food item, and pair of shoes that they ever gave in the name of the Lord shows up, along with its journey to help the helpless. Just think about where that pair of shoes walked. And it's delightful.

Eventually, they get done reading about themselves. They can only think about themselves for so long when they're there. But they're not done with that book. They get to look up other people! Grandparents, Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, teachers, students, co-workers, and really just whoever else they want to look up. They get to read about them, too! 

Perhaps if you were to read really good stuff about yourself and then read really good stuff about other people you know, you might enjoy reading about yourself a little more. But not them. They're just as happy to read about the other people and everything they did that was glorious. Maybe even happier, because that means that they've been there. 

You see, they can only read the names of people who have been in that room. They'll look up some people, and find their name. And they get excited when they find their names. They get to read all about them, and be so delighted. They'll look up some people, though, and not find their name. Those folks aren't in The Book of Life. It's pretty sad, because those folks did some pretty good stuff and it would have been lovely to read about it. They can't feel too bad about it, though, because the next moment they'll find the next name they were looking for and get to celebrate over all that person's really good stuff.