Sarah Jackson: Rebecca and Marc: Happy Birthday, Sister and Brother of Mine

A pair of glittery fairy wings from my recent Halloween costume is sitting on my couch, winking at me in the afternoon's soft light and reminding me of our dress-up escapades as little girls, Rebecca. Remember how we'd parade around the house as Disney princesses, ballet and tap dancers (mom's kitchen floor was never the same after that), and whimsical fairies? We were dress up queens, you and I, but you—you were a dress-up diva. You. Just. Had. It. That flair for fashion, eye for beauty, and fingers that tingled with creativity.

You could coax a princess costume out of a piece of plain fabric with some ribbon and a few safety pins, and understood the power of color to transform even the plainest garb. And so it's no surprise that exactly 21 years ago, on your fourth birthday, you greeted your best birthday present—baby brother Marc—in a bright pink, flowing wig and blue Cinderella gown.

You wrapped your little arms tightly around your red, scrunchy bundle of birthday joy, gathered him close to your lacy frills, and in that moment showed your little brother what it looks like to really embrace life—something you've been showing him ever since.

You've shown Marc that tight squeezes and playful pinches are one of the best ways toexpress affection (because sometimes little brothers just need to pinched!), and that life is too short not to squeeze and pinch your family at every possible interval. You've shown him that running around the house with a blanket draped over your head can be fun, and that part of life's excitement is being surprised by the unexpected things, like smacking fast and hard into the furniture your blanket blocks from view. And of course you've shown Marc how to welcome the surprises, how get up and keep running after falling down, and how to let life in by laughing over painful mistakes.

You've shown your birthday buddy that a soccer ball isn't worth kicking unless you kick it withenough umph to put the umption back in gumption, or however that youth group song goes; and taught him that some forts are so spectacular they're worth keeping erect in the

living room for a week. You've taught him that life needn't ever be dull, and that the best way to spice it up is with a little mischief (the men in our family aren't the only ones with twinkles in their eyes!), and that the best way to sing is loudly, with gusto, dramatic flair, and the windows down.

And you've taught him that roses aren't just for smelling and admiring; they are for

picking, because this thorny life is exquisitely beautiful and we must gather up its beauty and drink deeply of all it has to offer. I think this is one of the greatest lessons your little brother could learn from anyone. For a love of beauty points us to a love of God, the one from whom beauty flows; and so, as you have let life's beauty teach you to love the Beautiful One, you have shown Marc what it is to hunger and thirst for God.

Marc, your sister is a good seed-planter and the Holy Spirit the best seed waterer, because you have learned to embrace life fully—to live well by loving the people, places, and opportunities God gives you as you hunger for and seek after him.

I've lived 1,000 miles away from you for over eight years now, but one thing I know, Marc: every time I come home for a visit and walk into the church sanctuary on a Sunday morning I will see you grinning big with a throng of kids at your heels, on your back, in your lap, climbing up onto your head—confident to use you as a jungle gym because they know you think they are pretty special. You've learned the secret of loving "the least of these," the little tykes whose souls make them just as valuable as your adult friends, whose malleable hearts yearn for good men and women to show them they're important.

If I'm ever a mom, I hope my kids use you as a jungle gym because, they could learn from you—the way you learned from your older sister—how to embrace all that life has to offer.

You would show them that a family dinner is not a family dinner without Nacho Libre impersonations ("Get that corn outta my face!"); that when they feel like puking and blacking out in a hurdle race, they must dig deeper and push harder toward the finish line; that timing is everything with comedic expression (and dinner is nothin' without it); that attending to the smallest details when finishing a task is one way we pursue excellence and offer our bodies as a living sacrifice; and that playing with legos and dismantled appliances is the best way to learn the importance of the little things.

You would teach them that they must welcome even the crankiest customers at work with

grace and dignity; that hands are for working hard and creating beauty; that creating music is both hard and beautiful, and is one of life's greatest pleasures; that playing the drums is the best way to remind the neighbors that life's daily rhythms are perfect for dancing, especially when no one's looking (and booooy, when you're not drumming, I love walking in on you dancing to a beat that only you hear;), and that it's important to call your family regularly when you move across the country for school.

Most importantly, you would show them that the manliest men are the men who grow the fruit of the Spirit; who are willing to wait patiently when little kids take longer than adults; who know that the best way to diffuse conflict at work is with kind words; who know the yield of maintaining self control when tempers are tightly wound; who have learned to be content with the great gifts God has given them; and whose friends stick around for decades because they have been loved well.

Marc and Rebecca—my most favorite birthday buddies—you have taught me what it is to grow a family legacy of loving life and living fully by pursuing Christ whole-heartedly. Thank you living with infectious enthusiasm and joy.

I hope I'm like you both when I grow up.