I don't remember the day you were born. I do know I was 2 years, 2 months, and 9 days old. I have been told I was very sick, but was quite curious of this thing people called my "sister." So, probably despite Mom's better judgement, I met you in the hospital room. Shortly thereafter, Mom says I asked for you to return to her womb because you really threw a kink in life as I had known it. Don't worry--clearly Mom told me no. She also said no when I asked if we could leave you with Grandma when we took our first Norman shopping trip after you came along. She told me you were ours. We had to keep you and take you with us. This sister thing was hard for a 2 year old.
Something changed drastically along the way. At age 2 (I was 4), you were quite the biter with a mouthful of chompers. You would dig into my arms and leave bruises that would make a grown person wince. Mom tried to break you of this terrible habit in a variety of ways. You're Mack--stubborn as all get out. You didn't give it up easy. The last time you bit me, she didn't spank you. She didn't put you in time out. Nope. Just like any amazing mom would do, she pulled your arm over to MY mouth and told me to bite you back.
I couldn't.
You'd left marks and bruises on me for months on end. I'd never retaliated. Mom was asking me to this time to show you how bad it hurt. I wouldn't. I couldn't imagine causing you pain. (Mom did it for me--thankfully. It worked--you never bit me again!)
That was the theme of our growing up. You'd pick a fight with me, for instance--the one time you grabbed my ponytail for no apparent reason while I was minding my own business and cleaning out the dishwasher. I quickly gained the upper hand, but wouldn't hurt you back. I hustled out to the salon to inform mom that you started it and I chose not to finish it.
Do you know how many times I took spankings because I fought Mom and Dad to NOT give you well-deserved ones?! That'd be about HALF of all the ones I ever received. I'll also point out you never took ONE for me. That was okay. It was my calling as the older sister--unconditionally love and protect baby sister at all costs, even if she's wrong, no matter who I'm up against.
Tomorrow, (now I'm crying) I will pass my job on to the only guy I'd willingly give it to. I liked Zane from the very beginning, before you knew he existed and all throughout the lie of, "we're just friends," you fed everyone. When he declared his undying love for you at what seemed a poor time, I was thrilled. He valiantly pursued your heart and I quickly knew you would be his wife.
Just as I would like to think I've done for you the last 23 years, he makes you more Mack. And Mack is the best thing you could be. He makes you laugh the same way I have--even when I would make fun of it. (Scream, laugh, snort, AND repeat). He gives you a better run for your money in your stubborn state than I EVER did. (He'll definitely need to keep that up). He forgives you immediately. He cheers you up. He calms your fears. He protects you. He prays for you. He points you to Jesus. And he will become your husband tomorrow evening.
I'll probably bawl my eyes out as I stand beside you. They won't be sad tears. They'll be happy tears. I'll be reminiscing on every moment up to this point and thanking the Lord I've had a front row seat and a role to play in preparing you for the moment as your MOH, your sister, your roommate, and your best friend. I'll be praying that Zane realizes the weight of such a calling to protect and love you. I know he'll do the best job.
No matter the change in our last names, we'll always be "The Gillham Girls!"
I love you, Mackenzie Leigh Deviney.
Oh. I almost forgot something. You are SUCH a COUGAR! ;)
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