This thing about families. It’s not about a name or a place to live or a status to have.
It’s about belonging.
It’s about walking into a crowded room and knowing where to sit and who to talk to. It’s about not ever knocking on a door, but always just walking in. It’s about being sick and knowing someone will go to the store for you, make soup for you, pray for you. It’s about reaching out and finding a welcome hand. It’s about being inclusive, never excluded.
It’s a hard thing for me to understand.
It’s not about time spent or even calls made. Although those are nice and welcome. But family doesn’t count the days between, only the hours with. Family thinks about you when you’re not there and talks about you like you’re just around the corner. “My sister always loves….,” “My brother always says ….”
Family knows you – really – and accepts you anyway.
Your fears are their opportunities to be a hero. Your joy is a reason for them to laugh. Your tears are a reason for the to problem solve or share or fight.
It’s holiday times and create a memory times and everyday times when you just need to be alone with people who know you. Take the mask off, lay down the shield. It’s refreshing and resting and sometimes even arguing, but knowing once you blow your stack and spill the beans and all the volcanic ash is everywhere but in, you still have someone to grab a cup of coffee with and a smile to share. Family helps you find the boundaries.
I have seen it often – but not always – at church. I have known it with certain friends, but not all. I’ve even felt it in some workplaces. Not all, but some. It’s like you’re covered, held, welcomed.
Most people silently push away, exclude, separate from others.
Family pulls you in.
It’s not culture, color, religion, location, time that builds family. I have family in Africa, Asia, America. I’ve known some for all my life, some share my DNA. They represent many religions, many socio-economic levels. Some are very wealthy. Some are very far below the poverty line.
Some share pages and pages of history with me. Some only a few paragraphs.
I’m mostly afraid of the family thing. Afraid I am over-assuming my place. Afraid I am over-assuming their acceptance of me. I stay back a little just in case. So, if they reject me, no one will see. I am cautious until I know for sure that if I walk into a crowded room and I see family, I know where I belong.
