Glad for Distance

The vast majority of my extended family lives far away. I see them once every four or five years, or in between if some of them happen to visit Canada.

There have been moments that I’ve resented this distance – this separation from an entire part of my heritage. I’m a historian. I can’t help it. I value family and family heritage quite highly.

But what I really need to admit is that most of the time I’m very glad that they live in another country. That particular part of my family is the very epitomy of the word “dysfunctional.” I once described certain members of that side of my family to a friend who is never without a joke. After I finished, he kind of stared at me for a second, paused, and wryly said, “There’s just no punchline – they’re their own punchline.” To be honest, I think the constant drama, the constant issues, the emotional and spiritual tension would weigh on me far more heavily than it already does at times if I lived nearby. I feel called to love broken people, and break silences that oppress, but a lot of the time I struggle to extend that compassion to my own family, so mired in silence, so seemingly beyond restoration.

May God grant me a growing heart of mercy and restoration not only for the world, but for those within my own family.