My family is ramblingly huge. We keep track by counting rather than by naming. We are learning to share with one another, learning to sacrifice for one another, learning to submit ourselves to one another for Christ's sake. It is difficult, and we fail.
We are messy and loud.
Some are daunted by this leonine pride. They are used to small, well-ordered things. They are quiet. Their furniture and floors are spotless. They display fragile, valuable mementos on end tables, on low bookshelves and Christmas tree branches. When we visit, their pretties lie there before us like old antelopes.
Our furniture is old and second-hand, our walls dented and dingy. Our Christmas trees are top heavy. We have nothing of any great value ... except one another.
And I am happy.