Sisters

I am an only child.

My parents didn't intend for it to be that way. They tried to grow their young family; mother, father and me.

God had other plans.

It was fun being a princess, a daddy's girl. The first of everything, the best of everything. I knew nothing of the pain of miscarrying - that truth would be revealed years down the line. All I knew at the time was the three of us in our little nest and me the centre of attention, lavished with love.

I held under-the-duvet tea parties with imaginary friends and rabbits. We discussed Very Important Things and ate jam cakes until heavy lids gave way. Come morning I would teach make-believe students and mark their 'schoolbooks' with red pen and a prim satisfaction. Soon there were real friends to be made at pre-school; a world of PVA glue, tricycles and birthday parties.

I blew out 5 candles of my own and started 'big school', My Little Pony lunchbox in tow.

And, as the years passed, I began to feel the lack.

No-one to whisper to in the dark. No clothes to swap or secrets to share. No arguments, unpleasant but necessary rites of passage as you navigate this thing called life.

Schoolfriends just weren't the same.

I wanted a sister.

It was biologically impossible, I knew that. But I longed for a heart-sister, a kindred spirit; one who pushed through niceties to really see me. Who dove to the bottom of the pit to find me and help me fight my way back up, holding me in prayer and laughter the whole way.

I wondered if it was too much to ask.

When you're ebony curls in a sea of golden silk; when your skin is wafer thin; when you see no wrong in respecting teachers and turning in assignments on time, childish cruelty pricks the soul and the prospects of sisterhood seem slim.

The 12-year-old innocent gives way to a jaded girl of 16 who mocks the idea of a kindred and feigns acceptance of shallow friendships that eventually break her heart. Nothing destroys a teenage soul like whispered fears and insecurities laid bare for all to see.

I grew cynical. But God is always on time. He healed the wounds of gossip and drew me away from the crowd. He found me a quiet corner to rest in Him. And He chose to fulfil a childhood longing that had grown into a throbbing ache.

Last night I stayed over at my sister's house. 

We feasted on pizza and a decadent chocolate creation that someone gifted this cake-monster with in the office Secret Santa.

We talked about anything and everything and nothing and laughed until it hurt.

We watched rom-coms and shouted at the screen.

There was crochet and skirt-fixing; Stevie Wonder and girl-talk.

She is 30 to my 26 and a crafter extraordinaire. We became sisters three years ago and have camped and cried and danced and disagreed and laughed and sang since then.

I will never have a biological sister. But, after years of waiting, I have heart-sisters.

Women who love me as I am and tell me when to fix up. Who do the funky chicken with me in this dance of life, figuratively and literally. Who deem beautiful the very things that once alienated me.

To the ones who will read this and the ones who won't. The ones I see every week and the ones I've never met.

Thank you.

I have waited for you for what felt like forever. You are my answered prayer, my gift, and I cannot imagine my life without you.

"Grow old along with me!

The best is yet to be,

The last of life, for which the first was made:

Our times are in His hand

Who saith "A whole I planned,

Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!''"

- Robert Browning