I grew up in a time before social media, a time when families’ lives were a bit more private. I couldn’t see the stuff other kids had, the vacations they took, or the pictures of their perfect family. I had nothing to compare my family to and, honestly, that might’ve been a blessing. I saw the kids with nice clothes at school, sure, but I didn’t know their home lives. I didn’t know their parents. I didn’t know I was growing up in dysfunction because I had no functional family to compare mine to.

 

We lived on somewhat of a compound. We called it “Anthony Hill.” Anthony was the last name of one of my step-dads, a man I grew up thinking was my biological dad until a DNA test revealed otherwise. He and his whole family all lived on this one hill—everyone in their own trailer, respectively. I was still in elementary school when my mom and step-dad sat on the edge of my twin bed and told me the truth. My step-dad had tears in his eyes as he said he wasn’t my biological father. They told me I’d be meeting another man, Bobby, who might be.

 

I remember meeting Bobby. He was my mom’s high school sweetheart. He drove me to the hospital for my second DNA test, telling me about his family and how excited he was to meet me. He couldn’t wait for me to go on vacation with him and his family. For a moment, I thought maybe I’d found where I belonged. But the results came back, and Bobby wasn’t my dad either.

 

I wasn’t just disappointed about the DNA. I was disappointed because, for a moment, I’d gotten a glimpse of what a functional family looked like. But truthfully, my very first glimpse was the first five years of my life with my grandparents. I was treated like a princess—the first granddaughter, the first niece, the first daughter. Those years planted a seed in me of what family really looked like.

 

When my grandmother passed and I moved to Anthony Hill, everything changed. There was yelling, fighting, and drugs. Life on that hill was hard, and I grew up sooner than any child should have to. Over time, dysfunction became normal—but normal doesn’t mean healthy. I always wanted more. I craved more. And, by the goodness of God, I finally got it.

 

I married my husband at the age of twenty-three, and together we built a family that looked nothing like the one I came from. It wasn’t perfect, but it was stable, safe, and functional—a mixture of blood and water.

 

Over the years, I separated myself from the dysfunctional parts of my biological family. I wanted better for my kids. Some relatives called me “too good” and reminded me that blood was thicker than water. But God was showing me a different family—one that wasn’t built on DNA, but on discipleship, love, and loyalty.

 

A huge part of the family my husband and I built came through our church. These were the people who stepped into my life and showed me what real family looked like. They didn’t just show up on my doorstep, though. I had to go find them. How I did was by joining life groups. Every group I joined or led brought me a new friend, someone who eventually became like family. Water family.

 

People love to quote, “Blood is thicker than water,” but the Holy Spirit kept reminding me of a moment in scripture where Jesus redefines family. When told that His mother and brothers were waiting outside, He pointed to His disciples and said, “Here are my mother and brothers. For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” (Matthew 12:46-50)

 

Jesus is the living water—the One who satisfies every thirst. So, in a sense, my water family is made up of those who have also drank from that living water. My daughter, Makayla, likes to say that oil is thicker than blood. She says the anointing oil is what seals relationships together—not blood, but calling.

 

I have been blessed with many brothers and sisters in Christ, but none feel more like family than a group of seven women. I call them my Strategic Alliances. These women didn’t just become friends—they became family.

 

Angela and Jessica were the first two God placed in my life. We met around the same time at a Mommy and Me life group Angela was leading, back when I was a new stay-at-home mom with a toddler and still learning what healthy community looked like.

 

Angela was our children’s pastor then, and she didn’t just pour into my kids; she poured into me. She baptized my son and stood beside me as I baptized my daughter. She’s walked me through parenting fails, biblical questions, and insecurities. She has been my biggest cheerleader since day one. I am blessed to call her mentor, friend, and family.

 

Jessica came right alongside her, and she quickly became a little sister to me. She hates attention and will probably turn three shades of red reading this, but she’s been with me since our kids were babies. Our daughters are now best friends. God knew we needed each other, and He knew they’d need each other, too.

 

Then came Sherry—my refining fire. She refined me, and I refined her right back. I may be older (just barely) but she’s the older sister in our relationship. She calls me higher, keeps me grounded, and refuses to let me settle. Some days we both wanted to run, but we kept showing up. Now she’s stuck with me.

 

Over the years, God added more sisters: Tiffany, who taught me about deliverance and identity. Lydia, a trauma counselor turned pastor who helped me find freedom from generational trauma. Nikki, who thought she was just tagging along with Angela, but ended up becoming family—prayer partner, counselor, and co-leader of a tween girls life group. And Logan, the newest addition, a little sister I didn’t see coming but desperately needed.

 

Each of these women has shown me family in her own way. No two are alike, just like no two family members are alike. We complement each other in ways I never expected. Sometimes we disagree—and by “we,” I mean me—but what family doesn’t? We may not be blood, but we’re water—Holy Water. What makes us sisters isn’t DNA. It’s our hearts toward each other, our desire to make a kingdom difference, and our commitment to the plans of our heavenly Father.

 

These seven women have helped shape not only my life but my family’s life. They go to war with me and for me. They’re the ones at my kids’ birthdays, graduations, and any time I need them. They have discipled me, counseled me, cried with me, and pointed me towards Jesus. We’ve done holidays together, vacations, and the mundane. They are my biggest cheerleaders, and I am theirs. I can’t imagine my life without them. They are the family that I got to choose, my blessing from God.

 

If you’re like me and you grew up in dysfunction and don’t know what real family looks like, let me encourage you. When you accept Christ, you are born again. We now share the same Daddy God. You just inherited a whole lot of brothers and sisters, so don’t just sit around. Go out and find them! Join a life group and get connected. They’re not going to show up on your doorstep.

 

Remember, sometimes family isn’t blood. Sometimes, it’s water. So take a dip in the water. Drink of the water—the living water—the water that’ll never leave you thirsty again.

 

Welcome to the family.