Welcome to Facets! We’re glad you dropped by. We think you’ll enjoy this month’s topic: finding family. Tracy shared about finding family through a DNA test, Kim is crafting thoughts for next Tuesday, and the following week we have a guest to introduce.I (Jennifer) have memories: playing outside until dusk in the little suburban neighborhood; games of football, frisbee, and tag in a vacant lot across the street; neighborhood kids in that lot after school, Saturday afternoons, and more often in the summer. When the street light on our corner lit up, it was time to go home.

I, with my short legs, wanted to tag along with my older sisters; truth is, as a little sister, I wasn’t cool enough to run with the big kids. I’d show up, only to be sent home. That stage went on for at least three forevers.

In a blink, the oldest sister was off to school, then the second. By then I was drowning in turbulent high school years that transitioned into college chaos. The last sister was on her own journey four years later.

The nest eventually emptied; we all found our flight patterns. I migrated furthest away. We still gather when we can, and I’ve found the transition in these years to be refreshing. It’s been a long time coming, this season we’re in.

You can live with people and never know them.
Never assume. Lesson learned. I lived nearly 18 years with my sisters and thought I knew every detail about them. The truth is I held a caricature of each sister in my mind. One was “the smart, responsible one.” Another was “the smart, social one.” Another was “the super-talented one who could do anything.” Those descriptions were accurate. The distorted caricature took shape over layers of sibling arguing and competition.

Lately, the time spent with family has been different. We’ve flown and grown. Time apart allowed for new experiences and individual growth. I’m not the same person. But, guess what! They aren’t the same either. Some threads in the fabric are distinct, maybe bolder or shinier than they were. The character traits are intricately woven. Many threads have changed or been removed altogether, a little like intricate cutwork. Much of who I am (and who my sisters are) may come from our shared environment as kids, but now I know we didn’t experience the same things in the same way. Many life-changing experiences were never shared at all.

Three phone calls changed my relationships.

Road trips are revealing.
Two phone calls on very different days.

The first asked if I was willing to go on a road trip to Massachusetts. I had spent time with my sister, but nothing as long or in such small space. I had the time, and I love road trips. We’d do a little sight seeing, but there was a new baby to see, too. An adventure! With a sister? Okay. Our rental car had no key fob, stormy weather followed us east for two days, and we talked most of the way. I, being an early riser and too noisy, learned about my sister’s morning routine. And we had fun, except for that one morning. (I learned to be quieter!)

I wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything! Driving through two days of downpour, almost running out of gas, the precious newborn, the walks through Boston, the once-in-a-lifetime lunch. All of it is treasure!

The second call was different. The road trip was short enough to do in a day, but long enough to make it difficult. This one was tricky; the “official ask” didn’t come. I made the assumption I wasn’t needed but took it back when a voice whispered, “Would you write about finding your family without leaning in here?” No. No, I wouldn’t. We padded the trip with a relaxed evening, knowing a long day waited on the other side of sleep. An evening, a long day with a mission, and driving home overnight. That’s an opportunity to get to know someone.

This trip was different: there were moments when it was just two sisters, and then there was extended time with a third family member I spend no time with. And it was all really good, as tough as the trip was. We were short on time and long on miles. The weather would shift, but it was tough to know how and when. Add snow to the end of a long drive, and it just wears on a driver. We did it, though. And for me, finding family on this trip was about little conversations in pockets and longer conversations when the hours crawled.

I wouldn’t trade the road trips for anything. I learned shared experience isn’t completely shared. The caricatures I held in my mind cracked, and pieces began to fall away when I understood my sisters’ perspectives. The relationships between us have been shifting for years—they still need tending to grow—but I can see and understand why things became tense and how they can become healthy. I simply agreed to a couple of road trips.

Share the best me with family.
In less than a month I’ll celebrate one of those birthdays—you know, one where the math gets really simple to calculate the age. *wink* I’m not that little girl running after my sisters’ crowd anymore. My legs aren’t too short—they touch the ground when I’m standing, and I can wear four-inch heels. My natural, metallic roots were given the freedom they always wanted. I’m more comfortable in my own skin. (It’s about time!)

I’ve learned lessons in this stage, and each one is precious! This one (presenting my best self with family) was harder. In order to do it, I had to offer the real me, something JEN-uine. I can’t be on a hunt to find my family without offering authentic me.

Families may play a wicked game of “best self” with overdone, fake, cleaned-up images. No one is interested in that, but authenticity and vulnerability only happen in safe places. That means listening more than speaking, noticing more than ignoring, and validating more than preaching, teaching, or explaining. And then there’s taking ownership of the “stuff.”

The “best me” gets real and accepts all the ridiculous shortcomings.
The third call was hard. I dialed a sister who had to be deeply wounded by my words and actions. I was aware, and I wanted to try to repair. It was a good conversation. There was the initial brush-off that can happen when one asks forgiveness, but I pressed in gently. I asked about the pain and emotions connected to my words and actions. I apologized. We both cried. I found family in another way.

We lose relationships over years of disconnection. Ignored hurts are relational landmines, and those are only deactivated in quiet, intimate, carefully-selected moments. Beneath the rubble of a harsh past lies a potentially beautiful future for family. It takes time and intention.

Friend, I don’t know your story—but we have been placed in families, and it can be amazing and wonderful and challenging (and downright hard!). Have you gone looking for your family? Do you know them? Really know them? I find the search to be tough when I haven’t taken time to listen, notice, and validate; but it’s really rich when I do.

Thanks for reading all these words, friend! I’d love to know more about your own journey to finding family. Will you comment below or the Facebook Page?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

P. S. Check the comments for additional thoughts on finding family from me!