March rushed in like the wind sweeping down the plains here in Oklahoma. We braced ourselves, and our flower beds, for the whiplash that often comes with fake Spring and premature Summer. Shakespeare says to beware. I say remember.

This is (the ides of) March and here are the things I don’t want to forget.

#1…when you don’t have a brother

I did not grow up with brothers.

In fact, the closest thing I had to a brother was the boy across the street who I now call my husband. My father is a gentle man and one who lived well with a house full of rowdy women. I still remember one Sunday morning as a teenager, in what can only be described as my glitter-as-eye-shadow era, I came bouncing down the hallway with purple lipstick freshly lathered on my lips only to walk straight into my Dad who had just donned a crisp white oxford shirt. My purple lipstick left a precise imprint on the pocket and it was immediately clear that there would be no salvaging things.

I take a bit of delight in the fact that my son is living a similar experience. He has a mother who is by most measures into girlie things—although I have toned down the glitter—and God blessed him with not one, but two sisters. I tell him often that it takes a special kind of man to have multiple sisters, not many are cut out for it. He smiles knowingly and I’m reminded that he is much like his grandfather in both kindness and patience.

But there are times I wonder what it would be like for him to have a brother.

Over spring break, we traveled with some dear friends who have an opposite family makeup—mostly boys and one sister. We love this family so much and time with them is a breeze. Much of the weekend I spent smiling to myself over the fact that for once in his life, my son was not outnumbered. And oh the ways he embraced it wholeheartedly! Roller coasters, bare chests, basketball, mini-golf, stinky laundry all over the floor, and nearly constant eating. He shared a room with his buddy and one evening as I was helping tidy things up, I noticed they had hung their wide-brimmed golf hats on the lamps of their respective night stands in a sort of synchronous way—a subtle, but adorable gesture.

It’s a funny thing to watch your kids grow and wonder about how your family dynamic is shaping them. What aspects of who they are were born when they came squealing out of the womb and what aspects are being formed as they sit in the middle seat to keep their sisters from fighting on the way to the grocery store? So much of my son’s temperament is perfectly matched for having sisters and I like to think God had this in mind as He formed him. There may be a time he resents his lot in this family of mostly girls, but I do hope he’ll come to wear it as a badge of honor. One that my husband is currently training for on the precipice of raising teenage girls and one my father wears like a medal of honor from his years in the trenches.

If nothing else, he could not be among a more esteemed bunch in my eyes.

#2…a helluva Costco run

I have a love/hate relationship with Costco.

Sometimes it’s sort of exciting to come home with a van load as if I am some kind of pioneer mother coming back to the fort with a big loot. I holler to my kids to come out and help me unload the wagon like I’ve been gone for days trading goods the next town over.

But sadly it’s usually more of a modern day ordeal that takes no less than 2 hours, plus 30 minutes of driving and 58 trips back and forth between my kitchen and the trunk of my car. Because I bemoan going, I like to drag out time in between trips as long as possible so as to make subsequent Costco trips that much more logistically complicated. I have never spent less than $500 and if that gives you sticker shock, let me remind you that I have 3 elementary aged kids who insist on eating every day.

Monday mornings at Costco are about as good as it gets. I don’t want to brag, but I am an executive member. It turns out if you spend enough money, it cues the cashier to ask you about an executive membership and I was asked every single time for a year until the lady behind me in line at Christmas said “oh honey, just do it…” So I did and every time I walk in an hour before it opens to shop in peace I think about that woman with great affection.

On my most recent pilgrimage, the man posted at the exit took my receipt and started the performative counting they do to ensure you aren’t sneaking by with an extra bag of 500 tortillas. He was less rushed this day because it was a unicorn Monday and midway through his counting, he shook his head, smiled and said “You did a number….no, you did a helluva number.” Then he chuckled so loudly it echoed against the warehouse walls. I suppose I could have taken offense at his reaction to my cart, but instead he had me giggling the whole way through the parking lot.

That’s right sir, I did do a helluva number today at Costco and frankly, I needed someone to name it.

Sometimes the drudgery of Mondays is enough to ruin a whole week, then we layer on the heavy loads we’re all pushing around hoping to gain momentum, and it can sour a whole season. Most of the time we can’t shirk our responsibilities (the kids have to eat, remember?) so I wonder if what we actually need is some counterweight, something to balance the heaviness in the form of laughter and being seen by a stranger. The Costco employee wasn’t mocking me, he was validating me with a shaking head that came from what I can only imagine to be a place of knowing. I bet he’s pushed a cart or two in his day.

So if nothing else, let people acknowledge your load, try to name theirs, laugh a little, and for goodness sakes, get yourself an executive membership.

#3…a letter to the editor

One of the gifts of growing older, or perhaps realities, is the ability to see things through adult eyes that you once only saw with a childlike sort of wonder. Turning 40 is but a breath around the corner for me and I’ve lately been thinking about my grandparents, wondering about their lives as real people rather than the heroic figures of my childhood. Most prominent among them is my Grandad who died when I was coming of age in the early years of college and who looms largely (and ever so fondly) in my imagination as a little girl.

I recently drove back to the town where he lived his entire life and where as little girls my sister and I would trek into pastures unknown with our cousins—a bunch of city kids getting a taste of country life and relishing the freedom that came with galavanting around without parental supervision.

Among the hallowed section line roads of Creek County, my Grandad served his community as teacher, principal, superintendent, farmer, realtor, and eventually for a brief stint, as State Representative. I remember campaigning wearing a red t-shirt that said “Vote for RC Lester, my Grandad” and passing out RC Cola to the locals. I suppose it tracks that the thing I remember most is the soda and the t-shirt rather than the fact that my grandfather was respected and beloved by his community such that he beat out the incumbent on his first bid for office.

Recently, I stumbled upon a local newspaper article from 2005 among a pile of other nostalgic things being organized at my parent’s house. It caught my eye because it had obviously been laid out to read and the opening line to this Letter to the Editor said “Dear Editor, RC Lester wore many hats.” A entire half page had been devoted to espousing not so much the accomplishments of my grandfather, although those were certainly mentioned, but more so his character as a friend and educator. Grandad died rather swiftly to pancreatic cancer in 2005 and this letter had obviously been written with great care by a longtime family friend who had known him both personally and professionally.

We treasured conversations with him and trusted his sage advice on just about any subject, personal or otherwise. RC spoke not so much with authority as reason. He was not one to shoot from the hip. You might ask him a question and experience several moments of silence as his hands mused about rubbing his palms diagonally.

We often quoted him and to do so would settle an issue.

- Steve Lalli, The Bristow News, September 14, 2005

I smiled through tears later that night as I read the article aloud to my husband and oldest daughter, remembering some of his familiar and timeless mannerisms, ones that I see reflected in my own father now and find so utterly endearing. The beauty in discovering this gem of an article is that it confirmed for adult Emily what little girl Emily knew to be true of her grandfather. That he was kind and serious and uncomplicated and sincere and, most of all, lion-hearted.

It is a strange thing to build a life where people most dear to you are not known by those who were once most dear to you. I wish my children could know Grandad, that they could experience him waiting at the gate for us to pull up wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, hear him whistle as the cattle come running up the pasture because they know his voice, or watch him mercy kill a turtle who swallowed a fishing hook like it’s just a regular Tuesday.

I suppose this will always be one of the great mysteries of the Kingdom to come. Will we get to know, really know, those who shaped our lives before they started? Will we one day hug their necks in a knowing sort of way and will their eyes see the story of our lives as we get to reflect on theirs?

I’m banking on it and in the mean time, I’ll try my best not to forget.

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. - 1 Corinthians 13:12

To my dear WHTH regulars, I feel like I have been somewhat MIA this semester and I attribute that almost entirely to seminary classes. I recently finished a New Testament class and it was equal parts drinking from a fire hose, equal parts wonderful. I hope you’ll stay with me, read, please do comment, and share with friends as you’re able.

I have a one-off article to share hopefully next week that I’ve been painstakingly distracted by and then plan to finish up the study on Proverbs before the Summer!

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