Unexpected Family

I spent the past weekend in a cabin in the Catskills over looking the Delaware River with my family buried in 3 feet of snow. We ate, drank, went sledding, cuddled, listened to the Frozen soundtrack a thousand times, watched performances by my favorite two-year-old, built pillow forts, and relaxed. It was beautiful. 

Though my family is not who you'd expect. None are related to me by blood or share a last name. But I share life with all of them. The family I was born into was not functional or loving and the family I imagined with Marcus is gone. The family I have been adopted into is semi-functional, loving, and always there. Some I have known for 10 years, some just one year. There are married couples, kids, single women, and dogs. Most of them live in Harlem, but some in Brooklyn. There are artists, writers, actors, stay-at-home moms, social workers, educators, computer people (I don't even know the right term), sound engineers, camp directors and nurses. Our differences are what make the unexpected beautiful. At first glance we don't have that much in common, except we all share a love for Christ and for each other. 

So many people since Marcus's death have asked why I stayed in NYC. It's because of these people. God continues to add to my family, continually blessing my life in new ways. Sometimes the word "widow" conveys sad, single, alone. But this is one widow that is none of those things. 

I am surrounded by unexpected family.