The thing about going home is that there is never enough water.
In my sister’s kitchen–mouth parched, throat dry. Sitting in the grass with my father…sun scorched; cracked and dry. Rubbing shoulders with my mother, holding my baby nephew, hugging my sister-in-law…
There is not enough water to slake.
Insides become brittle. Eyes burn.
I stand on the threshold of visit and I dread the impotability of the air—start to crumble inside.
Dehydrated just thinking about it.
I have prayed for grace, for transcendent love. Still, they think my faith a lie—my salvation a trick of the devil.
And it hurts, oh how it hurts. For, if I may not speak of my Jesus without the room falling silent…of what may I speak? How can they even know me if they don’t know that I KNOW Him.
Oh, yes, I know Him.
And He knows me.
His heart beats inside of me. I’ve cradled His body; tasted His blood.
But because I don’t believe as they believe, then I am wrong; I am deceived.
Anyone else I could shrug away. Anyone else I could let. go. of.
But the one whose womb I rested in? The ones who hold my heart?
I must find a way to sate this desiccation. I have to keep trying. We are bound by this blood.
I go where the Water is.
Blackwater Falls State Park, where the boys and I spent part of our spring break this week.
And love covers. Love covers all.
I am drenched. In need of a good wringing.
It’s laughter, and fresh air, and sunburned skin that needs kissing. It’s working in the kitchen beside my mother and staring into the fire with a brother I once thought was forever lost to me. It’s the sound of my boys singing with their cousins and descending mountains together and wielding sticks.
My boys with my nieces and nephews at Blackwater Falls.
I didn’t need to say His name (okay, I did anyway…) but He was there.
The sun shined on us the entire time we were together, only I wasn’t dry. I was dripping. wet.
And in the wee hours of the morning when I crept past sleeping bodies and inched out the cabin door, anxious…to meet with Him—
He said, see? See how easy it is? You don’t need their approval. You don’t need their acceptance.
You have Me.
Last night the storm chased us all the way to the place I now call home. The place where love waits for me. The storm chased us but it didn’t catch up until late this morning. I was driving home from the grocery store and was stopped by a funeral procession passing by. The air was heavy and the gray sky pressing down as I peered in the windows at the grief-stricken faces and wondered about the body being carried in that long black car. A young boy stared back.
When suddenly the sky opened up.
Oh, blessed rain.
I started to cry—for the grieving people in the funeral parade and the little boy with serious eyes. For the little girl in me who wants her mamma to accept her; for relief that the thirst is quenched and for love–His love raining down. And then I laughed for the sheer joy of it, because He was showing me.
I know, Love.
You are here. And you are there.
I love you crazy.