Friday, October 2, 2015

31 days, Day 2: Family {five-minute Friday}

The house (the one her father built for her) isn’t tiny, but when everyone gets there and piles coats on the bed in the playroom, it’s full to bursting. There are eight pies on the sideboard in the dining room, and the table groans under the weight of all the food. One year, it even collapsed, spilling china from occupied Japan and an entire turkey onto the braided rug below.

She sat in her chair and laughed and laughed until tears ran from her eyes.
She’s always at the center of the laughter.

“I was an only child, and now look!” she loves to say, gesturing around the little house at her four children, their spouses, the fourteen grandchildren and their spouses and now their children, playing on the floor with the same toys their parents always used when they visited. When I look at my cousins’ children, they look like they belong to my tribe. Those Cecil genes are strong, people say. Sometimes my son looks like my cousin to me.

I’m the oldest of my cousins, and I learned my little kid skills from babysitting these people, now adults, who sit around the room with slices of pie and cups of coffee, chatting about medical school and theology and philosophies of education and parenting. We don’t play hide and seek in the backyard any more, counting to 60 at the giant sycamore tree before running off to find each other.

Instead, we sit together a few times a year and rediscover all we have in common. We join hands in a large circle that lines the walls- tall and short, old and young, babies in arms and on the floor. These people have known me my entire life, and I have known many of them since before they were born.

We thank God for the food and for each other.

Now I know in part, then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

Maybe this is close as we will get this side of heaven.