Before I realized what was going on, my nine-year-old head was attached to the fan. “Delissa!” I remember painfully calling out in the midst of all the high school students climbing on to the bus taking the pack to church camp. My best friend, Heidi, and I were the only third graders--- we would be attending Sherwood Forest, the kid camp, while everyone else from the bus went to High School Camp.

After a break in the drive, as I climbed back on the bus, I stopped, turned, and faced the rows of seats only to have my hair rapidly (and painfully!) sucked into the fan attached to the bus dashboard.

“Let’s just cut her hair,” someone said.

“Perhaps I can rip it out,” the bus driver said, and began her attempt.

Before anyone else could put their hands on my head, Delissa, my older sister, interfered, pushing away the bus driver and other people, demanded a screw-driver and she and my brother Landon removed the fan from the dashboard of the bus.

Oh. My. Gosh…I’m going to have to wear a fan dangling from the back of my head for the whole week of camp, I thought.

Instead, Delissa patiently sat down in her seat with me beside her and painstakingly unwound every single hair for the next four hours.

“Why don’t you just cut it off? It’s never going to come out…let's just shave the back of her head...” People kept saying.

“No! First, our mother would kill us if we brought her back without all of her hair. Second, she would hate that.” Delissa said resolutely as I sniffled and nodded. My fears of a bald spot on the back of my head dissipated and I slowly realized I was safe.

And that’s jus the thing when you have older siblings—you’re safer. You feel that way anyway. For most of my life people have asked me why I so fearlessly dive headlong into situations that others might find intimidating (or stupid)---it wasn’t until I began reflecting on my memories of Delissa that I realized why I do that.

I grew up in the middle of six children with three older siblings fiercely devoted to my protection and well-being. It’s like getting special suit of armor as a child—one that’s light, airy and unnoticeable. And one that gets frequently taken for granted.

My memories of Delissa are pretty much entirely made up of her serving me, worrying about me, clucking over me. When we came home from studying ballet across the country she would have re-decorated our bathroom, or our rooms, so that they were beautiful and new-looking. When we needed rides to dance or school or whatever—she would take us. In my college years she would come to school and bring me lunch or have me to her house and cook adorable, yet large, meals for us to consume in her breezy kitchen.

And the one trip I can remember where it was just her and me, headed to London to visit our brother, she still took care of most everything even though she was ill and needed me to attach little electric nodules to her body for the duration of the flight. Yes, that’s another story. But the point is—she is brave and protective and takes care of things and people (sick or well), and always has. She has an M.Div. but I think her pastoral skills were gained long before she ever went to seminary.

Her kids are extremely lucky--- and so am I.

Happy Birthday Lissy!