My sister is a flute.

I am a French Horn.

She is tiny and dainty and has a pretty sound that is pleasant, leading from the front row. Not overly loud and obnoxious. But without her, something is definitely missing in the music. They put the flutes on the front row for a reason, and my sister belongs there.

I am heavy and awkward to carry and feel more at home on the third row, behind the woodwinds. Granted, the band needs the French horn to fill in the gaps, to complete the sound, and on occasion, the French horn shines, but most often, the French horn supports and finds satisfaction blending in without being in the spotlight.

My sister tries new things. I am opposite. I like what I like and that well-worn spot is comfortable.

She takes trips to lands she has never been. I am satisfied, for the most part, experiencing those lands from the comfort of the couch.

She eats the adventurous. I eat the very ordinary.

She set her sights on changing the world, motivated to make a difference and be heard. I set my sights on changing the sheets, or the channel, motivated by very little and just wanting to not make any waves.

How can it be that we were raised by the same parents in the same family, exposed to the same environment…and yet we are so very different?

I used to be jealous of her and her black Bundy flute case that weighed all of 18 ounces I am sure, that she had to carry from home to school on our daily walks. When it was my turn to try the instruments in 5th grade and I matched the French horn to a perfect bell, I lugged that used, scratched gold instrument -I was so excited – until I had to lug that beauty in its hard-sided brown case that weighed 58 pounds I am sure, to and from school every day. Mrs. Ramsey, my all-time favorite band teacher, felt sorry for me when I got to junior high. She made me the drum majorette. She could feel my pain – she was a French horn master and had my back.

I am grateful for Mrs. Ramsey.

I am also grateful for my sister on the front row. She is the kind of person people love – she “sings” a beautiful song and the band follows her lead.

I am grateful for my Holton Farkas, heavy as it is. It brought me a lot of joy so many years ago.

Finally, I am grateful the way God made me, perfectly happy on the third row, blending in behind the woodwinds.