Reckless & Abandon

My sister's name is Reckless. And my cousin is Abandon. That's how they were packaged from birth, came into this world just four days apart, on two sunny days in May.

Tomorrow marks the day that they embark on their journey into the real world as they begin college at the same small Christian school in a little Pennsylvania town.

I want to dedicate this post to their childhood, to our childhood, spent together during summers on a crystal lake in Maine and on carousels at Knoebels, in transmission-blown minivans and 25-year-old station wagons, on boats and trains and planes and above and below waterfalls; I give this post to those good times. We've climbed mountains, raked millions of leaves and shoveled tons of dirt; we sang to the old and sick and laughed with a traveling, snorting acting troupe. We've walked on bridges and through tunnels, eaten thousands of ice cream cones together, and applied countless squirts of sunblock. We've giggled through twenty minute long prayers in church and got lost in the wilderness. We swam through snapping turtle cove, and have gazed at trees one hundred and thirty-seven times our height. To Jess and Shannan, our Reckless and Abandon, you made childhood one heck of a ride. Thanks for the joy and the tears and for your freckles and beautiful eyes. You are a pair that have made our family complete.

A fitting quote that I read today above the sink in a dingy college apartment at around midnight tonight states simply this: Once you get to where you're going, don't forget where you've come from. Girls, remember this as you venture out into this next state of your life. Remember who loves you more than life. We're all here for you, we're praying, and we know that you are going to brighten up the lives of those around you. Keep shining and growing and let others see your passion for Jesus.

Live life with reckless abandon.

My Reckless.

My Abandon.