Over the course of a lifetime, parents are usually present for the first half. Spouses and children join along the way. Friends pop in and out all the time.

But brothers and sisters walk together the longest.

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And a Christmas morning polaroid of tousled-haired kids in PJs captures the essence of that relationship perfectly. Whether they’re half or step or adopted or surrogate or twin or just plain ole regular siblings, brothers and sisters have a way of keeping us humble. Because they know all our stories.

They know everything that shows up on Christmas morning — our deepest wants, our most basic needs and what a mess we are — all at the same time. No matter how big and important we grow up to be, no matter what titles or degrees or accolades we receive, when we look in the eyes of our siblings, we remember where it all started.

There is a set of siblings in my life who have always fascinated me. I only met my father-in-law, James “Jim” Echols, one time before he passed away. Even though his voice wasn’t at full volume due to illness, to me, Mr. Echols was wildly intimidating. He succeeded Rudy Scheidt as president of Cargill Cotton. He was chairman of the National Cotton Council as well as Cotton Council International. He had a commanding presence with a legendary laugh.

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And more than one wooden gavel with his name on it.

His brother, Robert Echols, still lives in Nashville and has icy blue eyes and well-coiffed hair. Despite his pressed appearance, there’s an unmistakable kindness in his voice. In 1991, President George H.W. Bush appointed Bob as federal judge of middle Tennessee. He has a Wikipedia page.

And no shortage of wooden gavels.

There’s a sister in the family, too. Anne Murphy — the youngest. Anne grew up to be a teacher. She and her husband, Dave (a former University of Tennessee defensive back), now have horses in middle Tennessee. Horses and students can both be a stubborn lot, but Anne navigated childhood with these big brothers, so a little hard-headedness never scared her. In a classroom, the teacher is in charge.

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And that gave Ann a gavel all her own.

The thing about this chairman, this judge and this teacher is they haven’t always had gavels. At one time, they were just kids running around doing things kids do. Their dad, the very first Jim Echols, ran a Sinclair gas station in South Memphis, and all three kids graduated from Southside High School. They passed the time in the ‘50s and ‘60s hanging around McLemore Avenue and eating with friends at Leonard’s Pit Barbecue.

Ken Echols, my brother-in-law, says, “Anyone who has ever had a sister knows that she is the most prized of all children in the father’s eye, and this was most assuredly the case with my Aunt Ann. Neither parent ever had to go to school to answer for any sort of high jinks. She was never in a fight; she never skipped school; she never did anything to bring on prematurely gray hair. She was definitely the apple of her father’s eye.”

Because of this, Ann’s older brothers nicknamed her “Poor Little Ole Ann” and called her P.L.O. for short. One afternoon, the older brothers convinced P.L.O that it would be fun to launch her across the yard as a human cannonball. (I’ll stop here to say that these are the stories that devices and screens have robbed us of.)

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As Ken tells the story, “To make a human cannonball, you lay down on your back, curl your legs up, have someone sit on your feet, and launch. Being several years younger, she was able to cover quite a distance.” P.L.O. Ann broke her P.L.O. arm, and I’m guessing Jim and Bob learned what the “Boom!” of a cannonball really sounds like.

Another summer, the brothers ran a paper route on their bicycles. One slow night, Jim had the grand idea to wake Bob at midnight and tell him it was five in the morning — time to get going. Bob got dressed, mounted his bike and went out to retrieve his papers while Jim had a good laugh at home.

A laugh that made a memory for years to come.

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On another occasion, this time at school, Jim convinced a friend of theirs to lie down and pose on the ground beneath the second-floor classroom window as if he were unconscious. Then, he told the teacher the boy had jumped while pointing to the open window. This resulted in the poor, traumatized teacher passing out in front of the class. It also crafted another great story for the family memory book, a book filled with treasures that are passed on for generations.

Brothers and sisters have the unique ability to keep us tethered to the light side of the truth about who we really are. They know all the incredibly stupid things we’ve done as part of growing up, and, with a heavy dose of grace sprinkled in, they’re able to love us anyway. They are not impressed by our accolades and titles, but they love that we hold their histories just as they hold ours.

And we still like to connect on Christmas.

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A lot of presents encircle that tree, but most will be forgotten by summer. The very best gifts on Christmas have messy hair, wrinkled PJs and a ball of wadded-up wrapping paper ready for launch. Those are the ones that stick around for a lifetime.

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Both the one who makes people holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters.

Hebrews 2:11

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