Excuse me for the second post in a row about the birth of someone I love. Just go with me, here, friends, and blame the busy month of May. I'll refer you to my previous post about how and why birthdays are ever more important during these Covid days.
Now that we have that settled...today, my baby brother turns 40.
FORTY. I know. How is this possible?
I am the oldest child, and probably if you ask the people who know me best, I'm a textbook first-born. I follow the rules. I am, and have always been, independent. I was responsible well before I probably should have been. I'm goal-oriented, organized, and I always proceed with caution (to a fault). I drive a reliable car, and I certainly color within the lines.
Being his big sister has been one of the most important roles of my life. Not because of all the good guidance and rule-following wisdom I shared with him, but in all the ways I have observed his courage and fearlessness. It's in his ability to do things I could never imagine or dream remotely possible. It's in his mixing hues to paint with colors I didn't know existed. My pragmatic viewpoint has watched him bravely conquer new places and spaces, stretch some limits, meet all kinds of interesting people, create beauty from the plain and ordinary, feed others with bold and unfamiliar flavors, laugh at absurdities, and love with all his might - even when it leaves behind some painful scars. No one has taught me more about the growth that comes from cutting away.
And look, I get that all of this birth-order stuff is probably just conjecture, but there's probably something worth paying attention to. Perhaps our Creator composes our families with care and intention, bringing to our homes and our lives the people and identities that we need to learn from. Perhaps God knows that we need both structure and play. We need both the safety of a good book and the adventure of the middle of the woods. We need a detailed itinerary and a surprise stop at the antique store. Indeed, we need both a tuxedo and tattoos.
Like many siblings with about half a decade in between them, the growing up years were probably full of unimportant aggravations and calls to Mom and Dad to settle a dispute. And while I'm a little disappointed that neither of us recognized the gifts of our imperfections during that time, I'm so grateful that these hardened adult years have produced a special richness that brings instant connection, meaningful conversation, and a thousand shared memories. No one else knows that smell of a home on a Georgia dirt road, or has the same pair of skinny, freckled ankles. No one else remembers that Mom was making brownies when he busted his eye on the fireplace, or that his noisy Knight Rider car spoiled Santa for me. Only we share this kind of special brother and sister bond.
So while we find that our place in birth-order and in life are in different time zones (both literally and figuratively), the things that we share and the lessons we've learned from one another bring us solidly together.
Jer, I am so glad to be your sister. I am so proud of your wonder and bravery, and the journey you have taken. I'm sure I can't imagine what you'll create next, but I'm certain it will make us think, it will taste delicious, fill our hearts with love, and make us all smile for what's to come. Happy birthday little brother!
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