Before I got married, I didn’t know that I missed my family so much. I was used to the independent run. After all, I’d left home at 18, moved west, and started doing my own thing… for thirteen years.
My circle of friends became my family. Not because I had bad relations with my own, but because of proximity. Because family is the people you lean on and spend time with. And my family was thousands of miles away.
When I would come into town and spend a concentrated chunk of time with them, it always felt special. The family would carve out time for me, and I would join them for everyday events like Jazzercise and grocery shopping. Or we would do something dorky like build outrageous gingerbread houses and go ice skating. At at the end of the week, we’d exchange hugs and say, “See you next year.”
It’s astounding how normal that routine became. I never noticed the lack in my life. I had grown accustomed to long-distance relations, including missing out on Sunday suppers and simple gatherings. That was just the way it was.
But when I got married, I found myself with a little bonus I never expected. Not just an incredibly loving husband, but an incredibly loving family. Close family. Family I can drive to and spend time with. Family I can see monthly, not annually.
I have to say, it is a beautiful gift that I most grateful for. It certainly reminds me that I have an awesome Father who knows the deepest desires of my heart.
Thanksgiving with the Arnolds…