Pearson x7

Love and love and love and love. It’s become about resurrection, restoration, and repetition.

I became a big sister when I was two, then again when I was eight. For ten years, it was just the three of us. Three kids in one brick house, picking stickers out of each others toes and pouring chocolate milk into cups from the top shelf.

So after ten years, when I was eighteen, it was just me in one small dorm, late nights,  and long phone calls when my mother calls me and tells me about two more. Loss brings life, or however it goes. In my biology lecture the next day, the professor explained ecology: “In order for new life to inhabit the earth, some life must die.”

Biology doesn’t teach about God, but God was teaching me in that moment. In our family, we only got the opportunity to grow because someone was taken away from all of us. For eighteen years, I was Grant and Gage’s big sister. Now that I’m nineteen, I’m Maddie and Chance’s sister as well.


I used to do calculations in my head (Gage, when I’m 26, you’ll have just graduated high school)! Now I think about it and know that the twins will have just gotten their learner’s permits. We now have two seven year olds who still believe in Santa when Gage has just now grown out of it. It feels ridiculous. And it’s overwhelming to think that this one brick house was finally becoming quiet.

I felt selfish for always wanting a little sister. I felt anxiety about having three little brothers. You start to wonder where everyone fits in.

But I love it. Love and love and love and love. I love learning about my brother and sister just as I learned to love Grant and Gage. Maddie really likes to sing, and she knows every Taylor Swift song I play when I pick her and Chance up from school. Chance is very fast, and he likes to read with me at night. Gage and Chance wrestle a lot, and Gage has finally found someone who likes to jump on the trampoline as much as he does. Grant is a quiet favorite because he can reach the top shelf, and he doesn’t pick on anyone.

There’s enough noise to fill every room. There’s toys on the floor, shoes everywhere. Someone keeps taking my pillows. But I like to think it’s home to all of us, or at least it’s getting there. It’s a working in progress, a restoration, renovation.

Love and love and love and love.


March 21, 2017

I walked to class this morning with dew on my shoes. The soles flattened each shoe-sized patch of grass, taking the cold and wet of the early morning drops along with my quickening steps. I thought about how when I was little, my mom would drop me off at my grandmother’s before she went to work. It was always early like this; the sky is light blue and expanding.

 I remembered how my mom would carry my brother inside, holding my hand as she walked into my grandmother’s house. I would trot behind her with my shoes in tow, baby feet squishing through the grass. Once inside, I fell asleep on my grandmother’s couch with damp heels waiting for the later morning, when I would wake up and pick out the grass shards from between my toes. 

I guess that’s why I ended up slipping off my sandals before class this morning. I saw the dew, and I needed to know – everything still reminds me a bit of home.