This week I have had a little anxiety as family has started to gather for a family reunion. I don't know why I do this to myself, but I do. I'm anxious because I don't have enough time to be everything for everybody. My house isn't clean. We are a little bit dysfunctional and I never know who's going to go off or be offended over something completely silly. And it was my family's turn to plan the extended family reunion of some 200 people, all with strong personalities as well as strong opinions as to how things should be done.

Yeah, you're right. Reading this I'm starting to understand why there was a little anxiety.

So the immediate family thing went OK. There were a few little digs of the not-so-subtle why aren't you spending more time with me? kind from the very people with whom it is hardest to spend a lot of time. And there were just good laid back moments with the ones who take you as you are and with whom you do the same.

And the extended family thing was OK, too. There were disappointments. The campsite wasn't all it was cracked up to be (no water, no plumbing, and the grass I'm sure everyone assumed when they looked at it last winter would be actual grass, instead of yellow dried up neglected pokey nothingness). And it was hot. And people didn't bring what they said they were going to bring so cooking dinner for 150 people was a bit of a trick. But no one starved. No one had heatstroke. There were only a few thinly veiled complaints. And we all got along.

Which is saying something.

But here's the cool thing. My immediate family kicked out for much of early Saturday for a family baptism--my youngest son's baptism. We tried to keep it low-key and didn't expect anyone else to show. We were all seated and it had started when my dad's brother and his wife walked in. And I completely lost it. Usually I try to be happy with what's right there in front of me. Grateful for who and what I have. Instead of missing those who've moved on and left us behind. But all of a sudden I was overcome with the realization that my Dad was missing. And that he's always missing from these signficant events. And that I have missed knowing him and watching him know my kids. Teasing them, tickling them, holding them up on his knee. And being really proud of them.

I later told my aunt and uncle both how much it meant to me that they would come. That they are always there for me. My aunt replied, "Well, you are our kids." And I realized that without my knowing it they had taken us into their family and loved us even more deeply than I had understood. Partly because they loved my Dad and staying close to us was a way to not lose him so completely. But mostly because they didn't want us to lose him so completely.

I'm still humbled and touched by their love for us. I want to be like that when I grow up.