Little Jessica

Kyle called me from work one morning last week. He said, "Hey, so I just got a call from ________ (random guy from church), and he got called into work, but his daughter is flying in at 10:30. He asked if I could pick her up from the airport, so I said I would call you and see if you'd be willing to go get her?"
-"His daughter? I've never met his daughter. How old is she? She'll probably be scared!"
-"She's like 14. Her name is Jessica, and her dad already told her someone from church was coming to get her. She's a nice girl. I'm sure it will be fine!"
-"Uhhhhh, okay!"

So I bathed and fed the girls as fast as I could and jumped in the car. I was on the phone with Kyle when I got to the airport. At the passenger pick-up zone, there weren't any little girls in sight. I said, "I don't see any girls, Kyle. What does she look like?"
-"She has long brown hair---" I DROPPED THE PHONE. Standing there, in Zone 2, was my dear, dear little sister, Sierra. Sierra had been planning a trip to visit us for months, and just like she has so many times before (all while we lived in Utah), she pulled off yet another surprise visit to my house. I brought my hands to my mouth to stifle my gasp, and went running. I hugged her so tight and held her beautiful face and said, "What are you DOING HERE!?"--over and over again.

Sierra and I took the girls to the zoo for the day.

And walked to the park.

We drove to Enumclaw, my favorite little town in the country, for The Pie Goddess.

And London and Sierra made their best fall artwork.

(Yes, the turkeys are 'married and kissing'.)

Her last day with us, there was a terrible wind storm that knocked out the power. We lit a fire in our fireplace for the first time, and cuddled up by the light of flickering candles. 

I once heard the phrase, "A sister is God's way of proving he doesn't want us to walk alone." Sierra is so precious to me. I think about all the times in our lives when I've held her hand, or when she's held mine, and all of a sudden, we weren't alone. It's a closeness that only comes after twenty-three years as sisters, and six surprise visits to my house.