Seems I’ve been tagged by my son.  I’m supposed to name my favorite book of the Bible, and tell why it’s my favorite.   Here’s the thing…I don’t have a favorite book, only favorite verses.  I mean, I like to read the books in the Bible, but I can’t really say I have a favorite.   So I’ll share my favorite verse.  It’s Philippians 4: 4-7.  Okay, so it’s more than one verse.  But the first line, verse 4, never fails to speak to my heart.   Rejoice in the Lord always.  Again I will say, Rejoice!

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

I’m reading John Adams by David McCullough.  It’s a love story in the truest sense of the term.  These amazing men, Adams, Jefferson, Washington, loved this country in the deepest part of their heart.  They were learned men, (Adams read books in the original Greek), and they were very aware that what they were attempting to do, start a government from scratch, had never been done before.  Not only that, but they knew that if this attempt failed, they would all be hanged as traitors.  It’s a little known fact that after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the document was hidden away so no one would know whose signatures were on it.

Well, we all know how it turned out, the British surrendered and the United States of America was born.

But there’s another love story in this book, and it’s the amazing love between John Adams and his wife, Abigail.  They were separated for long stretches of time, the longest when Adams was in France with Jefferson and Franklin trying to get aid from the French.  The letters written back and forth between Adams and his wife are full of such longing for each other, yet the suffering and longing was bearable because they both understood the bigger picture…they were working for freedom from tyranny.

This brings me to the point of this post…the beauty of those letters.  People knew how to write in those days before the telephone and internet.  Let me give you an example.

(Abigail, writing to Adams)

“I have amused myself in reading and thinking of my absent friend, sometimes with a mixture of pain, sometimes with pleasure, sometimes anticipating a joyful and happy meeting, whilst my heart would bound and palpitate with the pleasing idea, and with the purest affection I have held you to my bosom ’til my whole soul has dissolved in tenderness and my pen fallen from my hand.”

Whew!

Later, when Adams was President and nearing sixty years of age, Abigail cautioned him about his health and overdoing it.  His reply:   “If I were near I would soon convince you that I am not above forty.”

Whoa.

It was unthinkable to throw letters away back then, and I’m so happy they didn’t.  What treasures would have been lost.

And so I’m thinking, what am I leaving behind for my children and grandchildren, that they can hold in their hand and say, “This is my mother.  This is my grandmother.”

At first I was going to write about how my sister is turning into a stalker.  But I changed my mind.  Maybe I’ll tell that story later, when you get to know us a little better and won’t notify the authorities.  Instead I want to talk about the bond between siblings.

In my family, that bond is deep, and I’ve been wondering why.  There have been times when we’ve hurt each other deeply, and yet as we get older the bond just seems to get stronger.  I mean, there are people who have stabbed one another over who gets the last pork chop, there are brothers and sisters who hate each other and won’t even let their names be spoken out loud.

I think in our case the bond was formed during our childhood, when sometimes it felt like we were all we had.   My mother had a nervous breakdown when one of her children died in her arms at the age of six months, while choking on the nipple of a bottle.  Things were never the same after that in our family, my mother became distant and my father had all he could do to hold things together.  So we turned to each other, my brother and two sisters and I, and the bond was forged.  I guess after what we went through during our childhood, nothing ever seemed too bad that we couldn’t get through it.

But what about other families?  How much do parents have to do with how close siblings are?  I would love to hear some stories.

There are thousands of blogs out there.  I have Stumble on my tool-bar, and am constantly amazed at the sheer quantity and variety of blogs.  Want to read a blog about shaving?  It’s out there.  Dog training?  You can read all about it somewhere.  Not to mention the trillion blogs about politics, religion.  So why add another one?  I’ve been asking myself that question for the last two days.

You see, my two sons, avid bloggers both, have been after me to start one of my own, and I finally caved.  I thought at first, this could be interesting.  Share ideas, perhaps meet interesting people, perhaps meet scary people, and it would be something to do on the computer besides play Scrabble, pay bills and read endless forwards about guardian angels waiting to bless me if only I’ll send this e-mail to 600 of my closest friends.

So, like I said, I caved.  My youngest son set me up with WordPress, and I’m using the Unsleepable theme that my oldest son created.  I’ve entered the blogosphere, for better or worse.