Reasons Why: my younger sister

I never have imagined myself with siblings, and if I ever did, it was always with a brother or two, both probably older than me. Never a sister, and never one 4 years younger than myself.

But I have to say the experience so far has been absolutely AWESOME.

There is so much I have to say about (we’ll just call her “D” for safety purposes) and in no way would it be even remotely possible for me to fit her into one measly little blog-post. But I will say this… there’s one thing about 12 year olds… they perfectly embody that Neverland age, where childhood hangs entirely in the balance, where everything seems discombobulated and stuck between squall-ish emotions, joyful innocence, and almost always unwelcome responsibility.

But I have to say, D has handled that wacky little age with a grace and beauty that proves God’s light in her heart. She’s growing, and if she keeps growing the way she has been, I’ve no doubt she’ll be running the world one day; we’ll be able to power whole cities with her smiles.

She’s that special.

The way she interacts with her two younger brothers is nothing short of magical. She takes an infectious joy in joining them on their fantastically imagined adventures through carefully built Lego cities. She’s cut herself free from the typical expectations for Chinese girls at her age, sporting tennis shoes, an impish ponytail, and an grin that somehow seems to always leave me with a feeling that she’s plotting something rascally. She shamelessly rejects all things “girly-girl” (though pink does seem to be a repeated theme throughout her wardrobe). She makes it clear to all the boys that she’s the smartest in the room (and she is, without a doubt. But there is the fact that she daily quells a desire to burn her math book… a sentiment I heartily relate to). She draws like a pro, paints, reads, writes, and –coinciding with her aspiration to be a female Sherlock Holmes when she grows up– has developed yet another secret code with which I’m sure she plans to solve murder mysteries with. We’ve always said that one day we’ll visit London, 221 Baker's Street together.

There’s an almost freeing confidence to her that occasionally takes some digging to find… however, once found, the innocent mischief in her laughter immediately sets the whole world alight. I’ve loved getting to know her, getting to peek at the beautiful young soul she’s growing into.

She’s a good deal like myself at that age, though how she’s managed to do it all with such elegance is a mystery I obviously didn’t figure out then. 12 was hard. It was strange and oh-so-utterly difficult. I know D feels some of that strain, that she struggles with how to handle that sense of loss as childhood is slowly, slowly, fiber-by-fiber, torn away. I can see it! But I can’t express to you how inspiring her transformation has been.

At the beginning, it was hard to me to see her, it was hard for me to be patient, hard to just have fun, to let things go… we only-children are kind of upside-down like that. But she’s been there every time, and I’m not sure if she knows this, but she’s been the perfect teacher. Every day she merely lives, just showing me how to love my youngest brother even as his screams shatter the windows, showing me how to laugh at and live with the dust-piles, the strange smells, the noise, showing me what it means to be a strong young woman. Again, my friends, she’s 12.

She’s so precious!

She constantly makes me laugh, and we’re constantly laughing with each other. We both love the same stories, the same types of adventures, the same little quirks of life. We share the same little annoyances. She struggles with piano in the same way I did; she deplores it when her mother (or I) tell her to “play that part again… SLOWLY.” We really are sisters.

I’ve loved most of all our little goodnight chit-chats. I’ll be sitting in my room, typing away, then a little knock at the door will come, just as it did tonight, about an hour ago. She usually pretends to be there merely to show me her new favorite website, or to tell me how much she hates math, or to discuss our equal obsession with BBC Sherlock and Tintin. But we both know that it’s more than that. We both know that our sisterhood/ friendship only has a few more months to really play out, and that part of God’s work in our lives these last few months has been due to our impact on one another… and neither of us wants to loose that. I welcome those 3 to 5 minute little chats, those quick moments where I get to know her a little better, get to laugh with her a little harder when we endlessly relive movie-quotes or imitate my youngest brother’s latest tantrum of the day… those moments when I find myself suddenly repeating words my own mother, or cousins, or older friends said to me when I needed to hear a word of encouragement at that age…  But most of all, I welcome that short little space in time when get to see her heart a little more clearly.

Because it’s a beautiful, beautiful heart, and it’s growing bigger and more and more captivating with every passing day.

She’s special, she’s precious…

she’s my sister… and she always will be.

That’s the best part.

Reasons Why: mother

In my last post I told you I'd share reasons why I love my Chinese family.

Here’s a few reasons why… I’ll start with my mother.

Mom’s always been, her whole life, an academic. Often she’ll tell me that her sisters wouldn’t allow her to cook, believing her better suited for school than for the kitchen… “They never ate what I cooked. Whatever I cooked could hardly match up to their food because to them, my hands weren’t good in for a kitchen anyway. They knew I was better at reading than filling the table, and wouldn’t fail to remind me.” Aside from being as smart as a whip, she’s also enthusiastically creative, infectiously joyful, and thinks so purely and deeply about every aspect of her life. She’s built by hand a business practically from scratch, combining her thorough knowledge of economics and psychology to create a kindergarten in which the kids are filled past overflowing with love, nourishment, and a kindergarten education most caring parents would die for. She’s strong, but also so tender, as only a mother can be. Sometimes when Dad’s out of town, she and I talk about her faith journey, how she’s struggled, and enjoyed, learning what it means to balance her power as a self-made woman with the strength and humility, of being a wife and mother of 3… (well, with me, 4!). All you have to do is hold one little conversation, and it’s obvious you’re talking to a special and wonderful woman. The stories she has to tell are brilliant and colorful, not because necessarily they are exciting, but because they’ve opened a completely new world and culture up to me in a way that no amount of reading or self-experience could. When my mother opens her mouth to speak, the words that come are entirely from the heart, and the windows they create are like panoramic views of the work God has done and is doing in her life. I’ve never thought I could watch and adult grow. From my perspective as a growing girl myself, I’d always known that “growing up” happens our entire lives, but I’d never seen a real tangible example of that, or been able to fully and completely understand what that meant in a real sense. Watching my mother grow has been one of the most inspiring and humbling things I could ever witness, much less imagine. When I came to live in her house, things were… well, they were very different from the home I’d been used to; my Chinese mother is very invested in her work at the school. “Before you came,” she once told me, “we would often forget to come home and eat dinner until very late!” she would laugh and continue, “The kids would stay in the classrooms at the kindergarten until 9:00, 10:00 in the evening before we remembered dinnertime.” Her work is important to her. Very, very important. And it was obvious in the way the home was run. And from the conversations I’ve had, and the small moments in which I’ve seen parts of her heart, I’m not always sure she’s very proud of just how important it had become in some past years. But as God has grown in His general BIGness for her, and as the kindergarten has seemed to overflow with blessings from Him. Things have really changed, and His love shines more brightly through her with each passing day (yet considering just how brightly it shone through her to being with… well, let’s just say the effect on her relationships is blinding in the most beautiful sense). It seems she’s even come to treasure her identity as a mother and wife in tangible ways. I came home one day to see flowers on the table. The couch now has pillows. My brothers’ legos now have their very own box. The guest (and vegetable storage) room has been dusted out and cleaned. The washing-machine fills the house with its homey humming on a regular basis. And every so often, I’ll hear music drifting down from her office. But perhaps the most heartwarming change is the way she’s plucked up her courage, thrown off years of unease and discouragement, and cooked. To some, that may sound like a menial endeavor. But when you’ve lived your life off the beaten path as a brave and daring business-woman… while the rest of the world looks down on you for your lack of prowess as a housewife, well, providing a meal for your own family can be one of the noblest adventures of them all… and she, bravest quest-er in the realm. Bread, fried fish, vegetables, pear-and-honey soup, porridge… all of it started at first slowly, with unsure and hesitant spurts of culinary creativity… then more and more quickly, until… all of a sudden, every week, we have a full dinner table of meals she’s taken humble pride in.

From the deepest parts of the heart and soul, to little touches like pillows, light and love has grown. I think I love my mother most simply because of that. Because the love she shows is vulnerable, yet uncompromisingly strong and profoundly wise; it is, and always be a testament to the glory of God being man fully alive. My mother is fully alive, and growing each and every day. And God has blessed and multiplied his blessing hundredfold by merely allowing me to be a witness and, I say with pride, a daughter to this amazing woman.