More than I asked for

If the first sentence of my last post has taught me anything, it's that you don't joke about hating someone. At least not someone who works for a church and is beloved by the masses.

The things is, I figured I could say something like "I hate my friend Erin" without worrying because it's so obvious IT'S NOT TRUE. It's akin to saying after a while you'll get used to the smell or God is a Republican. (Kidding! We all know he's a Socialist.)

I've mentioned somewhere in my musings that, while I have many friends, it's rare that, like Anne of Green Gables, I find a kindred spirit.

I moved back to Athens, my hometown, nine years ago. I had my wonderful husband and my parents around me, which was and is an incredible comfort. But I felt the absence of a really good friend. So I started praying about it.

It took a while, but God answered that prayer in the form of two people. My friend Elise (who deserves her own post) and Erin.

Elise and I think scarily alike. We say similar things. We like similar things (excepting her freakish love of marching band music). We travel well together.

On the other hand, Erin and I really aren't all that alike -- at least not on the surface. She accessorizes the house according to seasons; I do Christmas. She's very sensitive and nurturing; I've never cried at a wedding and I'll nurture you if I HAVE to or if, you know, you're my kid or something. She remembers everyone's name; Now who are you again?

When we first met, I felt drawn to her but didn't figure there was much of a chance we'd be close friends. I was wrong.

Almost five years ago, she reported (in what I recall being a shell-shocked manner) that she and her husband, Jon, were expecting another child. Up until that time, she was just my friend, Erin, who had three kids. It was with the birth of Caleb nine months later that she became My Friend Erin With Four Kids.

Two months after Erin's announcement, I learned I was pregnant with Connor. In the years that have passed between then and now, our families have gotten increasingly intertwined. They love us and our kids, and we love them and their kids. I've viewed that fact as a blessing for a long time now. But it really settled in my heart last week.



Connor and Caleb both attend Angel Keepers a few days a week (a Mother's Day Out-type arrangement). Those two adore one another, which is a joy to my heart. This particular morning, Erin was running a bit behind, so she dropped Caleb off at my house, and I took both boys to their class.

We sang together in the car on the way there. Caleb requested Johnny Cash. I prayed over both of them. On the way down the hall, I held Caleb's hand and he held Connor's. Outside the room, I put lunchboxes in their spots and then knelt down to hug them both. Kiss them both.

"Love you boys. Have a good day," I said. And they marched in where they were greeted by a chorus of "Connor!" and "Caleb!"

I smiled all the way back to my car as I thought how much I love Erin's son, and what a precious gift that is. I wouldn't hesitate, nor would Roy, to take not only Caleb but every one of those four children as my own.

That's God for you. I asked for a friend, and he delivered a family of six.

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