The Family That Prays Together...

By Mary Lou Reed, Torrance, California

As appeared in

My younger sister, Lauren, and her husband, Scott, pulled up to my house in their 18-year-old car, their belongings piled high in the backseat. I took a deep breath and walked to the door to greet them, trying to push aside the worries that had besieged me since I’d agreed to let them move in.

“Could we stay with you for a little while?” Lauren had asked. “Until we get back on our feet?”

I’d known the question was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. A year earlier Scott had been laid off. He’d searched and searched for work but had come up empty. Although they didn’t have kids to support, they didn’t have much savings either. They could no longer afford the rent on their apartment.

It wasn’t like Lauren and I didn’t get along. We talked on the phone all the time. But we were opposites in terms of temperament. Lauren was chatty and outgoing. I was reserved. I was eight years older, the responsible big sister who got married and settled down.

Lauren was more of a free spirit. She had dreamed of becoming a singer and still performed sometimes. She filled up a room with her big personality.

I didn’t have room at my house for us each to retreat to our own personal space, especially with my son David having recently moved back in after splitting up with his wife and having trouble financially.

Could Lauren and I live under the same roof? We hadn’t since I had gotten married and moved out of our parents’ home...and that was almost 50 years ago.

I still lived in the two-bedroom house my husband, George, and I bought back when we were starting out. We’d raised three kids here. George had passed away 10 years earlier. I’d been lonely at first, but I’d come to accept being on my own, even like it. I led a quiet life, had a comfortable routine. I loved sitting with the paper and my coffee in the morning. I took my dog for walks, tended my rosebushes. I had art class on Tuesdays—oil painting. I helped edit a scuba diving magazine my oldest daughter and son-in-law publish. I also volunteered at a medical clinic.

I’d been careful financially and even though the recession hit hard here in California—you couldn’t turn on the news without hearing about the unemployment rate and foreclosures and businesses closing—I thought I would be okay.

Now hard times were knocking at my door anyway. And I had no choice but to open it. This was my sister, for heaven’s sake! I felt guilty for even hesitating.

“Lauren, Scott, come on in,” I said, throwing my front door wide. “Can I give you a hand with your things?”

They were partway up the walk, lugging two huge bundles of...tent fabric? What on earth?

“Thanks, we’ve got it,” Lauren said. “Can we put up these tents in your backyard? We can’t afford to rent a storage space for our stuff. Don’t worry, we’ll put down paving stones.”

I cringed. My lawn! “Well...okay,” I said. I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot by saying no.

Scott and Lauren trooped back and forth carrying clothes, dishes, linens and books. They stuffed everything into the tents. It occurred to me that we had never set a time limit on their stay. Well, there was no going back now.

“David has the spare bedroom,” I said. “I set you guys up in the den. It’s got its own door so you can have some privacy.”

“You’re a lifesaver, hon,” Lauren said.

David watched the move-in with apprehension. “One bathroom” was all he’d said when I broke the news to him. I hoped he’d come around. I hoped I’d come around.