Three towns, a spread of about eight years in age, and with many ups and downs in life, we are brothers and a sister who do not want to lose touch.

We grew up together — experiencing a few different houses and at least as many towns and pets — and somehow ended up building lives sixteen hundred miles apart as adults: a high-desert valley in western Colorado where the Gunnison and Colorado Rivers cut past orchards and vineyards and through red rock while being thoughtfully watched by a 10,000 foot mountain plateau, a northern Virginia suburb just outside of Washington, DC that sits on the constantly humming I-95 corridor where, almost 400 years ago, the first Europeans set foot on the continent, and a Black Hills community in western South Dakota wrapped in pine, the outdoors, and Wild West tale that is sprinkled with dreams of gold. Different climates, distinct backgrounds, unlike zip codes, and wildly dissimilar work-a-days.

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This place on the interwebs (by the way, the city tabs will tend to slow load because lots of info is being collected into one place) is our way of pretending the miles are a little shorter than they are. Somewhere along the way, "we should visit more" became a real commitment — once a year, sometimes closer to two or more, but always eventually. In between, there are phone calls that start with weather reports and end an hour later on something completely unrelated, group texts with terrible photos and memes and gifs, and the same stories retold so many times they've basically become family scripture and lore.

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Our parents are no longer with us to encourage the four of us to circle back on each other — so we've decided to do it on purpose for ourselves instead. We have been together a few of the last summers, and it was good - the kind of good that comes with a few surprises along the way. For example, there was a recent fresh new start for one part of our family - the youngest twins - which made us happy. For now, oldest brother and middle sister carry on with the twins by being thankful to God for provision and protection.

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We don't take any of our lives and family for granted. Different towns, different seasons of life, and still — somehow — we keep finding our way back to each other. We see God's hand in the timing of our visits, in second chances, in having and sharing stories about our growing up years, in the ordinary faithfulness of a phone call or text that didn't have to happen but did.

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This is where we've landed, and we do not know for how long, but that is okay with us. Nor do we know exactly when we'll all be together again — we never really do, but it always seems to happen anyway. In the meantime...