My sister got married last week. Way back in December after she became engaged, she asked me to be her matron-of-honor. I wonder if she knew I had to choke back tears when I answered yes? I didn’t choke back the tears Saturday night when the doors of the church auditorium opened and she headed down the aisle with our father on her arm. Even though I’d spent the better part of the day with her, watched her bridal transformation from first curl to final lipstick check, helped her down the steep stairway from the “ready” room to the lobby and handed her her bouquet, I couldn’t help but cry tears of unabashed joy at the site of her.
Not long before that moment, while we were laughing and primping and chatting with the other bridesmaids, she said I’d been the best matron-of-honor ever. I nearly cried then. I certainly hadn’t felt like the best matron-of-honor ever. I had fretted over whether or not I was doing right by her. I wanted her to feel special and loved and like the center of attention but I’m inherently selfish and feared that maybe I had done too much spotlight stealing. I was humbled by her statement and relieved and grateful. As long as she was pleased, then I was pleased.
God made us sisters, hearts made us friends.
Sisterhood is a special thing. I’m so blessed to have my sister in my life.
I’m also blessed by the online sisterhood that I share with so many of you. A couple of weeks ago, I shared my heart with you about The Magic of Potluck. The post was inspired by a writing contest, with a prize that I dearly hoped for. But the heart and soul behind my words was real and unprompted. I think, in some ways, I’d been carrying that post around with me for a long time, it just needed the right reason to be written.
Much to my utter delight, the judges of the contest liked it! I was awarded a runner-up scholorship to the Type-A Mom Conference in Asheville, NC next month! The funny thing is, as much as I wanted the offered prizes, that wasn’t what thrilled me when I saw the e-mail that my submission had been selected. Instead, it was that “you really like me!” kind of delight. I’ll be honest, it’s one thing when y’all tell me that you like what I write. I truly do appreciate it, it warms my heart, it inspires me to keep writing, it helps me know I’m not writing in a vaccuum. But it’s something else entirely to have your work judged and then awarded. Wow. Especially knowing who else entered. I’m humbled and amazed and honored and thankful.
I grew up going to church potlucks where dish after dish after dish were lined up on long tables. The aroma was enticing and the waiting was excruciating. The funny thing about potlucks is that none of those dishes really go together. It’s a mish mash of dozens of different meals plus the obligatory bucket of fried chicken. You wouldn’t necessarily pair those recipes when making dinner for your family. But when you get your plate and make your way down the table, taking a dab of this and a dollop of that so that you can try as many of the dishes as you possibly can, that’s when the magic happens. You sit down with your heaping plate of potluck fare, dig in and find that while each dish has a uniqueness of it own, they all inexplicably go together to create a delicious, comforting and satisfying meal.
On a beautiful spring night, a little over two years ago, a group of women bloggers came together for food and fellowship. We all brought a dish or two to share, your typical potluck meal. And again, the magic happened. The dishes ranged in variety from ethnic to vegan to garden fresh to grandmother’s old recipe. I think the only thing missing was a bucket of fried chicken! As I sat back in my chair and relished in the food and laughter and conversation, it occurred to me that we had our own blogger potluck sitting around that table.
If you were to take the blogs of each of the women there that night and place them on a table, you wouldn’t necessarily think that they “went together”. The flavors and aromas, textures and tastes would not, to the unaware palette, seem appealing. The world would want to put labels on us and tell us that we could not get along because of our differences in political views, religious beliefs and so forth. On the surface, we should have clashed and been unable to even get along.
But we didn’t, because we know the magic of potluck. We’re a sisterhood of bloggers who are as seemingly different as macaroni & cheese and molded jello salads and PB&J sandwiches cut in halves with the crusts removed and a bucket of fried chicken. You wouldn’t think to put us all together around a table and expect there to be laughter and joy and harmony but it happened.
You know you’re a sister when you can come together in a potluck of acceptance and friendship found in the most unlikeliest of all circumstances. Sisterhood is a delicious, satisfying and comforting meal, shared together.
This is my entry for the ‘I Blog With the Sisterhood’ Type-A Mom Conference contest, hosted by The Sister Project.