This morning I am thankful for my extended family—my husband’s family, in particular.
My husband and I grew up in different “cultures,” although we grew up approximately four miles from each other. He was from a first- and second-generation immigrant family; I cannot trace any family member, other than a set of great, great grandparents, outside of the States. He grew up Roman Catholic, I grew up Baptist. He was the youngest of five, and I was the oldest of four. His family was quiet and reserved, and mine was the talk-over-each-other, hugs and kisses galore type of family. Perhaps needless to say, when I first met and began attending gatherings with his family I suffered a bit of culture shock and wasn’t exactly sure where, how, or if I fit in.
I’ve now known my husband for close to twenty years (October!), and his family close to nineteen years. And I’ve grown to love them. They are not quite as reserved as I once believed, and their hearts are filled with love, laughter, and respect for each other and for me. They come together for holidays both major and minor, and pull together in tough times like they are doing now. I am so thankful and blessed that God has put us in each others’ lives, and pray that I can be a support and blessing to them in the days to come.