Friday Freelance: FAMILY

Most days “family” means the people of my household who couldn’t be any closer—the husband with whom I'm one flesh and the five children birthed from my flesh. They make my life sweet, these six people with whom I share a home, who get the first and best of me.

Right now I’m visiting my very colorful birth family in Colorado. We love the Lord and we love one another and we’re in-your-face about both. Back in Michigan I’m often the just a little-too-enthusiastic (except on drama team) lady who works hard not to offend with it. Here among family I fit right in. I’m accepted.

The acceptance among family members stems in part from knowing each other so well. I have a quote back in Michigan that says something about there isn’t anyone we wouldn’t love if we knew their whole story. [Even Darth Vader evokes some sympathy when you watch him go through childhood and personal trauma.] My brothers and sisters know my story and share it. They know how to tell me when I’m out of line because they understand how I got this way.

“Family” isn’t always defined by natural blood ties. Military and public safety personnel share death and danger on a regular basis and consider themselves brothers. Five years spent as a cop got into my own blood. I’ve handled with composure many situations where someone died or might have. But when I helped carry an officer wounded by a shotgun blast into my patrol car, and held him as we rushed to a nearby hospital, the life bleeding out of him felt like my own.

Though I haven’t worn a badge in nearly twenty years, I’m still tied to everyone in that thin blue line. I understand what it is to have everyone continually stare at you in public. I comprehend the rage which boils up when arresting someone who’s just exhibited flagrant disregard for life. I know what it is to carry the memories of things no person should see because of that disregard.

These days I’m part of another vocational family—a family of Christian writers. We have an consuming drive within us which can’t not write. We carry thoughts and ideas and stories which strain at the reins of our minds until we release them. We long to have our words read and affirmed and published. We experience rejection phone solicitors might understand. But with us the rejection is very personal. We struggle to remember that we’re not rejected as people when the words we’ve birthed from our souls are not deemed worthy of another’s investment.

Via the blogsphere these writers affirm and encourage one another even as we try to reach people outside our circle. Many of us share little more than a nodding acquaintance. A good many become fast friends. A few of us discover a bond which defies reason. We understand things about each other even our spouses may not grasp because they don’t share this inexplicable and unrelenting drive. If you’re among the writers I’ve connected with, please know my deep affection and gratitude for you. And because you’re Christians, you really are my family. We share eternal blood ties through Christ’s blood.

All Christians should see one another as brothers and sisters because of this blood tie. We should be willing to accept family members because we share the common experience of forgiveness from degrading sin—there’s no room to point fingers. We share the same Father.

And for all eternity we’ll be happily gathered into the same home, sweetly united as one.

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