I miss my sister.

Maybe it’s my resistance to the hard reality that I can’t travel for at least the next six months, but, despite the possibility of being groped by a TSA at the airport, or that I wouldn’t be able to walk after the long car ride, I’m feeling an incredible desire to be together with my sister right now.

Proof of the variety one gene pool can offer.



We’re used to not being together. Growing up, I guess we probably looked forward to it. Sharing a room with her for the first 15 years of my life, our personalities clashed like oil and water. I went to bed early; she stayed up late. I made sure my socks got into the laundry; she stole my clean socks. We could easily have become the kind of siblings who live worlds apart and only see each other at funerals and weddings. As time and geography would have it, we haven’t lived in the same state since she was 15 and I was 18, except for a few short term occasions when we were able to coordinate summer jobs or such. On those occasions, there were always moments that reminded us how incredibly different we are. And there were always moments that bound us together in ways time and space could never sever.



Despite the challenges of our personalities and distance, my sister and I found each other while we were teenagers. We discovered the sweetest family treasure – sisterhood. That one person you can go clothes shopping with, who won’t shy away from acknowledging your figure flaws and helping you mask them. The one you can trade skin care tips with, because you both have the same weird sensitivities. The one who knows how you’ve hurt and what you’ve overcome to become who you are and won’t be offended when you’re frank about the things that really sucked along the way.

My sister is renting her first house, and although I did get to drive through the neighborhood with her last spring, I’ve never gotten to see her place. I don’t know what kitchen gadgets she’s missing or get to help find the perfect curtains. She’s in her first teaching position, about to graduate from grad school, and I haven’t gotten to sneak in a lunch with her or see her classroom, or meet her students. I’m even a stranger to her dog.

By the same token, I could have really used her help to find flattering maternity clothes (if such a thing exists). My older daughter was a brave friend, and gave decent advice for a nine year old, but it’s not the same as having my sister there. I’m going to arrange a nursery, think of a name, and eat a lot of chocolate in the next couple months, and I can’t help wishing my sister was around to be a part of it. I’m feeling especially girlie right now, and she’d be the one to help me through it.

I’ve got great friends and an awesome husband here in Iowa. But they’re not my sister. Why must Colorado be so far away?

Love each other as brothers and sisters. Romans 12:10a