I wanted those chairs from the minute she bought them. I didn't tell her that, of course. Just ooohed and ahhhhhed over them while I died a little on the inside that she found them before I did. All joking (and coveting--because thou shalt not covet they sister's chairs) aside, I DID tell her that if she ever decided to get rid of them, I called dibs.
I think deep down, I've always known she would leave Kansas. In all fairness, she's told us since she was old enough to have an opinion that there were hundreds of places she'd rather be. I tried not to take it personally--I couldn't fathom wanting to live anywhere but here. Cold winters and warm summers. The rolling seas of wheat flanking the roads, muddy rivers intersecting nearly every country path you take, having to stop for deer and tractors and having that be an acceptable excuse for running late. People who've known you since you were born.....who can look at you and see your growth on the outside AND the inside because they're bared witness to it all, along with the rest of the town. Being able to drive down main street and see your old high school, your old elementary school and the pizza restaurant where you fell in love 18 years ago.....it's always been enough for me.
But she needs more.
She needs to explore the unknown. She needs the mountains and oceans and to experience cultures she's yet to see. All of those things call to her in a way they've never called to me. I thrive on stability and sameness and waking up at the same time each morning to prepare for my day. I find joy in working, curling up with a good book and nights on our back porch. I need alone time to recharge at least twice a week. She thrives on waking up somewhere new, taking risks and staying up late to see the stars on a night hike. She likes to try new foods, learn different languages and immerse herself in a culture's history. She needs her little family with her all the time so they can experience it too.
So different, me and her. But she knows me better than any other human on this earth. We can have whole conversations with our eyes and have no need for words. She knows exactly what I mean when I say something, whether my feelings match my words or not. If I'm annoyed, she knows why without asking. If I'm upset, she's usually already upset right alongside me over the same thing. Memes (or may-mays, as we used to think they were pronounced) I find hilarious get sent to her instead of my husband because I know he'll just roll his eyes but she'll laugh as hard as I did. She doesn't bother to offer me steak or coffee since she knows I despise both. I keep Dr. Pepper or Cherry Pepsi on hand at all times because I know she needs them to survive. We trade kids when our own are driving us crazy. There's just something about a sibling that can connect you in the most finite of ways. They know you in a way that no one else can. There's a vulnerability you share because you have no choice but to live life in front of them. Nobody else can know what it was like to live your life in your house with your family--no one else has shared the same parents, witnessed all the years of heartaches, cheered on all the victories, had a front row seat to all the embarrassing moments, prayed you through so many failures.
Are we different? Yes. But because our pasts are forever intertwined, we are also the same. And isn't that just like God? To bring people together who AREN'T exactly alike, who love each other "in spite of," who find joy in each other's differences, each following their own calling but clapping each other on from a distance. I can't wait for her to get to live out her dream and she's so happy for me that I'm living mine.
She has no need for them anymore, so they're finally mine-- six chairs spaced perfectly around my table. To be honest, I'd rather have my sister. I'd rather go to HER house and sit in those chairs while we feed our kids lunch and talk about life. Now, me and my chairs will anxiously wait for her and her family to gather round the table and fill them so we can once again share stories of life--them of their travels and us of our backwoods farm.
Some people might look at me and say I'm boring. Some might look at her and say she's crazy. And yet, here we are......the best of friends, sisters of the heart. One of us venturing out into the great unknown while the other stays here with open arms to welcome her back when she comes home.
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