We sit on the last row of a country church. I squeeze Ann’s hand, hardly believing that I get to be here with her and her whole family. We have been friends for years now. Separated by geography and close in heart.
The elements are passed.
The bread. His body broken for us. And I smile in amazement at what God has done with two broken word girls. How he has seen fit to use us and make us whole.
The cup. His blood spilled out for us. And my heart fills with joy because I realize this is what joins us. This is how I came to be here in this little country church.
When she passes the cups to me, I lean in and whisper, “Blood sisters.”
That’s what we are.
She and I.
You and I too.
Blood sisters and brothers. Joined together in a way that’s even deeper than what flows through our veins. Of all God has given, the love we share with each other still stuns me most.
After the service we stand beneath trees and we capture this moment with cameras. We stand close to a cross as we do so. And it seems right.
We laugh, talk late into the night, share dreams and struggles. I tell her that her family is extraordinary. I tell her the more I see of her life the more beautiful she is to me. I tell her that I love her not just anyways but always.
All too soon we’re pulling away from the drive. But nothing can pull us apart.
Because that’s the way blood ties are.
And my heart swells with happiness and thanks at the miracle of it.