she was annie’s baby sister, and when we met those many moons ago, i didn’t spot the flashing neon sign that said pay attention: this shy twelve year old will one day wash your life bright with hope.
but time did its flying trick, and we both grew up and married and moved to the same college town and the same church by the pond with all the geese and the same small group circling my living room come sunday nights.
and these days i know her not as annie’s little sister, but as lori. lori who thinks long and feels deep, who is meticulous, efficient, resourceful. lori with her lithe runner’s limbs and eyes that crescent into moons when she laughs. lori who loves with abandon, the lid of her heart pried wide open.
she reminds me to forgive like rain, how to trust the best in people. she sharpens my appetite for God.
little did i know some sixteen years ago that God had such good things up his sleeve.