Can I tell you how much joy it gives me whenever I drive by your home and see you and your children out in the yard? I experience such delight seeing you guys sitting on the lawn, putting up that tire swing, loading in and out of your minivan, or even just seeing your kitchen light on, knowing that someone is still up, making sandwiches or reading or talking. I wish you could know that every time I see you guys outside or even see the light on, I want nothing more than to stop and join you, to swing on that swing, to help you unload groceries, to sit on the grass and leaves with you. But most of the time, I keep driving, to the clinic or nursing home, where a client or two or three awaits me, but every part of me longs to be with you instead.
Maybe I won't tell you that, but maybe I can thank you for letting me into your lives, into your homes, into your family. For letting me into your home both invited and uninvited, for the leadership, food, drink, violin performances, girl scout nut mix, hugs, tears, laughter, prayers, wisdom, and listening. For asking the right questions, for letting me wrestle and figure things out, for understanding my feelings, for advising me, for correcting me, for encouraging me, for being my allies, for accepting me, for being excited for me, for loving me.
In the few months that I've been a part of your life, we've learned so much about one another. You've seen me cry three or four times, and I've seen you cry once, and I've heard both of you curse. What a blessing is this kind of intimacy, this intertwining of lives. Maybe I will tell you that, the next I stand at your sink washing your dishes or at your counter grating your cheese. Maybe I will stop and join you on the tire swing next time.
My future family will thank you for all of this some day.