I have two brothers. God knows I could not have stood any more. And I don’t mean that in a mean way.
My brothers spoil me. They are extravagantly generous to me. If I had one more brother, I would pop.
First, they endured my obnoxious childhood foibles as a sister. I know they learned their extreme patience from living with me for all those years. If I wasn’t trying to get them to play dress-ups with me, then it was playing school. Which was worse? With me taking charge of everything, it didn’t matter!
Second, they grew up to be strong and loving husbands and dads. They gave me wonderful nieces and a wonderful nephew, and have raised and are raising them right. I rejoice in knowing they all, all, all are my family.
Third, they call me, visit me, write me, and bring or send me gifts. Just recently this lovely bouquet arrived at my door. I can hardly believe it. When they visit, the closest one travels about 500 miles. This is devotion, friends. I wish I could grow to deserve it.
But I see similar devotion in my sons, for their sister and it gives me such hope.