I am one of three sisters.
We are very different but with a similar upbringing we are very much the same! One thing is certain we are close and treasure our relationship...........pure gold.
Some would say it is because we live far apart although we all three live in South Africa. It is a day's journey to visit whether by plane or coach, but oh so worth it when we are together. We think along the same lines and underlying our personalities we are creative women, we value our families and we have our foundation in the Lord our God. We experience him as friend and regard him with reverence. A happy mix.
Our dad was the one who took us to Sunday school. Once there I loved it! All that singing with actions. I still remember belting out the chorus "Shadrach Meshach and off to bed we go......" (in the original the 3rd person in the fiery furnace was Abdnego!) Then at Christmas I was enchanted by the carol in which the angel visited, in glory, the shepherds who were 'washing their socks by night'.
There was an important occasion in the City Hall of Pietermaritzburg when all the Sunday schools of the town were called to gather to honour, and impress, a visiting dignitary. Dressed in our BEST matching green, smocked dresses with pretty lightly woven white hats we three sisters sat proudly in the balcony watching the solemn (and oh so boring) proceedings.
Our eldest sister by several years was in charge and very conscious of her important role. As the assertive middle child I found it very difficult to accept but discipline counted in those long ago days.
Half way through the long speech by said visiting dignitary we heard a faint choke from our left. We both turned our heads to find that our youngest sister, four years old, had removed her bonnet and put it on backwards trying to entertain herself. The wide brim looked like a comical cape pointing to the ground. she had managed to tie the satin ribbons around her neck and as she began to struggle with them they were tightening in an alarming manner, actually throttling her, in her panic.
Masterfully, and wonderfully I thought, my older sister grabbed her by the wrist and wrenching her out of her chair frog marched her up the few steps to big swing doors that needed both our shoulders to open and out we swept into a wide deserted corridor. Between us we were able to force the bonnet off her head and although her ears were scraped violently, her life was saved and gradually her puce face regained its normal pink colour.
It was then that we began to laugh, rejoicing in the fact that not only was she alive but that we were FREE.
We fled, my little white handbag with a gold dog on the front, bouncing on my back as we set off down the pavement whooping for joy,......HOMEWARD BOUND!.