Missed

It's dinnertime, and everyone gathers together to eat. Around the old, well-used table they sit, happy to be done with another day, perhaps laughing over an inside family joke, perhaps sighing in relief to be home. Home where each belongs, where each is valued more deeply than anything else. Home--in its truest sense--is one strong word.

Chairs fill as they gather and everyone is here. But...not everyone is here. A chair is empty. Barren. A hole in the circle 'round the table. And the mood saddens a little as each realizes that the circle is incomplete.

The family's incomplete when one is missing. Even if it's just for a day, just for a meal.

But when they're missing for years? For decades? That's years and decades worse.

Could it be--I think it is--that every day there are empty spaces around a big well-used table where we belong? And that every day the rest of the family's mood saddens a little because the circle's incomplete?

"And the Spirit and the bride say 'Come!'...He who testifies to these things says, 'Surely I am coming quickly.'" (Rev. 22:16, 20)

You are missed. I am missed.

Every day we're here, and not there. There, where we belong. There, where everyone was meant to belong.

It's almost time to go home. May we each want to go home, to our real home, forever!