Today is my sister Grace’s 31stbirthday. And though she may not think so, how young she is!
Over a year ago, Grace got married. I wanted to blog about it. Nearly everyday that week, I would go to bed thinking about how to write a post honoring Grace on her wedding day. But then I would start crying. And then I couldn’t think straight. And then I would decide I just couldn’t do it. So, I never have.
And now you’re probably thinking: why were you crying over Grace’s marriage? I mean, aside from the fact that you have turned into your mother and cry at the end of Pollyannaso you may as well cry at weddings, too. But I wasn’t even at the wedding. And that is why I was crying.
Grace has spent the last many years of her life in Kenya, aside from a couple of trips home. My mom says if you saw her there, you would know it is where God created her to be and serve. Which is a comfort, but doesn’t make the fact that she’s nearly half way around the world easy. Within those years, she met a young man. A Kenyan. They started courting. They received my parents blessing to marry. So, when Grace returned to Kenya the last time now a year-and-a-half ago, it was to marry Victor. And who knows when she will ever return home on another visit.
But while the thought of rarely seeing Grace (or even never seeing Grace) again on earth is not something I contemplate on long, at the time of wedding in September 2019, I was crying because I couldn’t be there. My parents were there. My sisters Sally and Jenny were able to go. Even my sister Katey managed to get her husband (or other help) to care for her boys so she could go. But I couldn’t go. Ed couldn’t get off from work. I couldn’t leave Emry or Ethan. And since those first two items were true, thinking about how to scrounge up the money didn’t need to be considered. I couldn’t go. Period. End of story. Moving on.
But it doesn’t mean I didn’t want to be there. Oh, how I wanted to be there. Even though I have little to no desire to ever see the African continent or experience anything that has to do with it, I wanted to be there. I wanted to help her get ready, and wait hours until the wedding actually started (in Kenya no one rushes to do anything and absolutely nothingstarts on time), and understand very little of what was going on. I wanted to sweat in my dress, be touched by all the children who have never seen a white person in their life, and see a glimpse of the place Grace now calls home. And since I couldn’t do any of that, I did the next best thing. I rejoiced with her from a very long distance…and I cried.
Today Grace is 31 years old. It’s been along time since I awoke one morning, found out I had a new sister, dressed in my favorite plaid skirt and red Scottie dog sweater, and happily went to school to tell everyone I met I had a new sister. But I am just as proud of that sister today as I was then. I just often wish she lived a lot closer.
Grace and her husband, Victor
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