When God Calls. And Son Returns Home Again.

He sits upstairs. Strumming. Quietly.

Bellowing through this mom space.  Notes filling….all that’s been lost.  This last year.  Without him.

And why is it.  Letting go is easy in words or theory?  But, when left.  Alone. Without son. Or spouse.  Or home.  Or any last resort.  Letting go is the hardest thing to do?

And wondering if I would feel as much?  After a year a part?

Would time somehow steal the beats of my heart…while son has been away?

But, the day.  The day I pick him up from the airport. All walls of strength.  And courage.  And self-preservation….fall apart.  And I am changed.

Changed.  There. In the airport.  His face. Darker. Thinner. Man born from the child I sent.

And this missing uncontained by pretense.  All emotion now resurfacing in one big, powerful wave.  Drowning me with truth. Shattering any hopes of being brave.  Raw emotion splashing through my very soul.  At last.

Yet, time not changing.  Deteriorating. Or braking faith full son.  Clinging to The Stone.

Here. Now. My man child.  Coming back into the world.  After serving for almost a years time.  On mission.

And although pictures are nice.  And cards.  And text.  And skype.  There is nothing like holding the flesh of your flesh….heart to heart….cheek to cheek.  World turning again in perfect time. Because the one you love returns. And is near. Finally.

And oh the losing.  But, oh the gain.  Arms wide open….before the throne.

But then, he bends.  There at the airport.  And I wonder what he is doing?  He places around his little sisters neck…on her birthday…..a lei he made….after picking and stringing each pedal through string.

And as wreath clings tight to little ones neck….I know.  Everything will be alright.

Driving home.  Temporal place.  Where stories are told. Food is shared.  And all feel safe.  At last.

But, I will never forget.  My Mother’s Day.  After eight months apart.  No phone call.  No text.  Communication barren.  But then….a picture comes on my screen.  The same thoughtfully picked blossoms he saved….and carried through the airport.  Lay out carefully….like the heart of a mom exposed on the grass.

And maybe pictures are worth a thousand words.  For the same flowers that string my daughters neck.  Align perfect.  In a note. On the green.  And I am overwhelmed by grace.  His grace. The grace from this act. This act without words. 

And, it was worth it.  The goodbye to serve.  The hello.  And everything in between.  All of it. Worth it.

Hours spent teaching.  Homeschooling.  Learning.  Walking from infant to toddler, to adolescence, to man.

All of it…worth it.  As I hear him play.  Upstairs on his guitar.
 

Together again. At last. 

Until he follows once more….wherever God calls.

And this is faith.

Love with…open hands.