Kitchen Table Wisdom

The bond beyond blood that holds us together

Last night, I sat quietly as my granddaughters got ready for bed. Their laughter drifted down the hallway—light, playful, full of life.

There was something sacred in that moment.

It would have been easy to miss. Just children laughing, just another evening. But it was more than that. It was the sound of connection… of belonging… of sisterhood.

And I found myself thinking—this is what I want to hold onto this month.

When we think of May, we often picture blooming flowers, Mother’s Day celebrations, and the quiet gratitude of longer, warmer days. But this year, my heart has turned toward something just as meaningful and often less noticed: the gift of sisterhood.

Scripture gives us glimpses of this bond between women—beautiful, complicated, and deeply human.

There are sisters like Leah and Rachel, whose relationship carried both love and tension. There is Ruth and Naomi, bound together by loyalty and devotion. Esther and Vashti show us courage in very different forms. Moses’ mother and Pharaoh’s daughter remind us that partnership can arise in the most unexpected places. Mary and Elizabeth share wonder and promise. Martha and Mary reveal that even in our differences, there is room for deep connection.

Again and again, we see it—a quiet thread tying women to one another through shared experience, strength, and understanding.

I have seen that same thread woven through my own life.

Before I was a mother, I was a sister.

I remember the closeness my sister and I shared with our female cousins in a family full of boys—the laughter, the unspoken understanding, the way we learned from one another just by being together. And now, after losing our parents, we find ourselves reaching back toward that bond again—choosing, intentionally, to strengthen it.

I think of my grandmother, too. She once told me how her older sisters guided her through life—walking with her into womanhood, standing beside her through her first pregnancy, holding her through miscarriage, and staying near when she lost my grandfather.

They were her support. Her strength. Her steady presence.

What a gift.

I remember, too, my mother and my aunts gathered around the kitchen table. They weren’t sisters by blood, but by marriage—and like many relationships, theirs carried its share of strain. But it never fully unraveled. By grace, it held. They shared life in all its fullness—marriage, motherhood, heartache, and joy. The smell of coffee always filled the room, and to this day, that scent brings me back to that table and those women. As a young girl, I remember watching them and longing to be part of a circle like that someday.

And over time, I found it.

In every place life has taken me, there has been at least one woman who became a sister of my heart—someone with whom I could share life beyond family ties. These women have meant as much to me as the sister I was born with.

That’s the thing about sisterhood—it isn’t limited by blood.

It grows in friendship. It deepens in shared burdens. It strengthens in quiet conversations. It shows up in simply being there for one another.
And while May rightly calls us to honor motherhood, I wonder if it might also be a time to celebrate this broader, deeper gift.

Because many of us would not be who we are without the women who stood beside us.

The ones who offered a shoulder when life felt too heavy. A steady hand when we were unsure. A listening ear when words wouldn’t come.

Their presence has been, in so many ways, the hands and feet of God; a presence of the divine when we needed it the most.

So, I invite you to pause.

Who are the women who have shaped your journey? Who has walked with you through joy and sorrow? And just as importantly—whose sister might you be called to be today?

It is a gift we are called to share.

May we cherish it. May we nurture it. And may we never underestimate its quiet, enduring power.

Cathy D.