My older three children participated in a race last week. It was a quarter mile. My oldest son is a natural athlete and was older than most of the racers. And so, he broke away from the pack immediately, finished, and then went on for another lap. My husband and I fight over whose genes he has. In all my spare time, I work on getting over my disappointment that he hates the piano.

My oldest daughter is not an athlete, but if you remember, she is just like her mother. So she rose to the top of the heat by sheer determination and not of any athletic ability. She pushed through her tired, heavy legs. However, with only a couple of yards to the finish line, she heard crying and turned around to look.

It was my third child—a lamb, a doe, a gentle dove—far behind all the other children. (That’s code for “last.”) She is not athletic. She does not like races. She once paid a girl named Emma to be her best friend. This race was too long for her, and so she cried as she ran. I felt bad for her, but I watched and said nothing. On the forehead I kissed my baby, who was in my arms, and wondered why people want to push their babies out of the nest so early into the arms of the Nanny State.

My oldest daughter–poised to finish well—turned from the finish line and ran back to her sister. She grabbed her by the arm, told her that she could do it, and then proceeded to drag her across the finish line.

They finished last.

One benefit my larger-than-average family possesses is the comradery and genuine love they have for one another. Where are examples of Christ’s body, the Church, here on earth? Here amid the deep laundry and bothersome colds that make their rounds, there is blessing. We are called to bear one another’s burdens at personal expense to ourselves. David declares in II Samuel 24 that he will not offer the Lord sacrifices which cost him nothing. What is a sacrifice that it doesn’t cost us? What is love if it seeks its own?

My oldest daughter and I have the same temperament. Where my older daughter and I differ is that I would’ve finished the race and then turned around to help. But I can admit this and repent. There is hope for my daughter, alas.