Absence gives a gift. Unexpectedly. I see his clothes hanging in the closet, unworn and unmoved. I go about the tasks that are normally his–waking early in the morning to shovel the driveway, taking the trash to the curb. All these reminders of him. It has been nearly two weeks since I’ve heard his voice.
Then there’s our girl. She’s the one who could run the house–the one who knows where everything is. I call her name by accident. She’s not here.
At dinner the rest of us laugh and talk. About how Daddy thinks he’s funny but he’s really not, and how in the end, that’s really funny. About how we’re going to make them a “Welcome Home” poster and fill it with all of our inside jokes and stories.
We have filled the week with happy distractions. Time with friends. Time on the slopes. Painting projects. Camping out in the family room.
But each day is filled with a new longing.
Yes, there are lessons in this and I want to be a good student. Every day brings a tutorial in trust: trust that His grace is enough and the He will provide the needed measures of strength. Each hour brings an admonition to hug often and to speak grace. Every night when I close up the house and turn out the lights, I think that it’s one day nearer to reunion.
As I type, I watch the flight tracker on another window. Their plane is edging northward over Africa, this huge continent that looks all Lilliput on my laptop screen. And I wish that the plane could just go faster.
Oh that I might have the same yen for heaven . . . that I would long for Him with the same sense of joyful anticipation. Tomorrow my husband will be home. My daughter will sleep in her own bed. We’ll be together again and it will be a little picture of forever.
But my Lord has made a better promise–far sweeter than the greatest earthly joy. He is coming soon. He won’t forget. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!