BLUE RUBBER BALL

She’s 14 and he’s eight and she forgets sometimes that she’s too old to be playing with him and too cool to laugh and kick the ball around in the backyard in some made-up game they conjure up in their made-up sibling speak. He’s eight and she’s 14 and he forgets every time how lucky he is that he has an older sister that delights in him, let alone one that is six years older and bucking on the brink of high school like a horse at the starting gate.

And so in their forgetful states, they kick the enormous blue rubber ball in the backyard between bright orange soccer goals. Their laughter filters in through the old windows and a flimsy kitchen door and I have to catch myself before a cry escapes from my throat. I pretend not to notice or care even a single iota about them back there, for if they catch even a whiff of my nostalgic, wistful expression it will all disappear in a puff of smoke like a Phil Dunphy magic act.

My On This Day memories are full of moments just like this—tender, joyful and magic-filled memories between brother and sister that leave me slack-jawed in awe. A sister so enamored with her little brother she morphs into an entirely other person with him and him only—physically affectionate, emotional, cuddly, giggly. A brother so infatuated with his big sister he’ll transform into any character, animal or personality if it means quality time with her: an explorer discovering new lands in the wilderness near our home; a student for her pretend classroom; a writer, producer and director of plays where we clap and cheer and steal handwritten programs to hold forever in a box.

Mundane days overflowing with extraordinary moments…

…and watching from the sidelines, a mom who wonders if despite all her failings she managed to do something—one single, solitary thing—sort of, kind of, maybe right.

One night when she was eight and he was two, she suddenly burst into tears because she didn’t want him to get older. She cried how she would miss how sweet and little and cuddly he was. And another day when he was seven and she was 13, he started crying because he didn’t want her to go off to college. He couldn’t imagine her not living at home all the time with him anymore.

And each time, I smiled and hugged and reassured both of them that growing up is normal and no matter what they’ll always have each other; all the while forcing back tears of my own because yes baby, I know exactly how you feel. 

Don’t misunderstand—there is constant bickering and arguing and hurt feelings and hormones and desperate needs for autonomy and independence on both sides. There are two unique wills and completely contrary personalities at work in these creatures (so much so I often wonder how they both are raised in the same family). But the same thing that unifies the body of Christ unites my together-yet-separate children: Love.

They love each other fiercely despite their differences and dreams, behaviors and beliefs. They belong to each other; no issue or cause or disagreement will take precedence over their relationship.

What a glorious way to live.

What a glorious way to love.

What if relationship always took precedence over issues? What if relationship always reigned over cause?

She’s 14 and he’s eight and they’ve been outside laughing and playing and kicking around that blue rubber ball for ages now. Her ponytail is swinging wildly, his face is red and sweaty. Her smile is wide and genuine, and it’s in these moments her beauty is blinding. His body can’t contain his joy, and it’s in these moments his charisma is mesmerizing.

And I piddle around the kitchen noticing-not-noticing, thanking God for a blue rubber ball and what it’s teaching me about the power of Love…

…Love that bridges the gap between east and west and extends its arms to shorten the distance between up and down.

…Love that lets others around me be different, but still gives me the power and ability to love right in the midst of those differences.

…Love that, if done well, transforms each of us into Love Itself, revealing every varying facet His light gives it.

After all, we’re in the same family.

Maybe if we forget how old we are or how cool we are, and maybe if we stop taking for granted how incredibly blessed we are, we’ll embrace the present moment with the people around us, and find infectious joy and blinding beauty around us, too.

And maybe all it takes is a blue rubber ball.

“Above all, constantly echo God’s intense love for one another, for love will be a canopy over a multitude of sins.” (1 Peter 4:8, The Passion Translation)