Winter hosting is about to begin. We are starting to count in hours instead of days now. Flight apps are downloaded. Weather websites are being obsessively stalked.
And across the globe, children are gathering to get on flights very, very soon. Tomorrow night as I sleep (or don’t sleep), Sunshine will be boarding a plane. On her way.
And although I am not in contact with her, people I know are…and I know that she is just as excited as I am.
Two people who have never met, both waiting impatiently for the day that they get to be together.
It is enough to make it hard to breathe.
I cannot wait.
I keep trying to imagine our greeting, but all I can see is the face of a little boy that lit up when he saw me through the crowd and I can almost feel the weight of him in my arms as he fell into them.
And he will not be there. Not this time. Maybe not again ever. Oh, the weight of him.
But she will be there. And I will have a first-moment of faces seen, a greeting so very long in the coming.
The weight of her has already entered my heart.
And I think that this is how it is. You carry family. When they enter into the tenderest places, simply removing their physical presence never lessens their essence, etched on your soul. Marks of pain and pleasure, both carving a forever niche.
And I thrill at this new niche forming for this girl, now with the quickness of anticipation, soon with the deep waters of daily living…and in four very short weeks, with the cutting pain of goodbye.
Maybe for forever. Maybe for a moment. Either way, the ache of it. This time, I walk into that airport knowing the depth of the missing that is to come.
And still I go.
Because I want the weight of her to change me. I want the work of the coming days to make me more like the One who gave of himself for me.
And I want Sunshine to go home with the weight of my love in her heart. I want her to know she is tucked into a space in my soul chosen willingly just for her.
It’s a space that will be hers forever.