i want to go home

it sounds strange to say it. i want to go home. i remember as a kid when i would hear old people say how they just wanted to go to heaven, how they wished that God would just return, i would get upset. i wondered how they could want that. i was terrified when when Desert Storm took place in 1990. the end of the world was being circulated across the tv and in dinner conversations and i was so afraid. there was so much of life to live. children to have. worlds to see. starving people to feed. books to be written. so much was out there for me to do. i never understood this desire that some people had to leave this world. i understood heaven. i understood it would be fantastic but there was plenty of time to get there and that was the point. plenty of time in the here and now. i wondered how people could want to end their life, because after all that is what they wanted if they didn't want to live here now but go on to heaven.

and i almost hate to say it now for fear people will question my mental or emotional stability.

it does almost sound suicidal, but it's true.

i want to go home.

there's an ache in me. it's been there growing over the last couple years. i think it started with the tearing of a marriage, the ripping of two souls, the shock of finding yourself sleeping with someone who never was. and most days i think that is where the ache lies. it the hole that was created. the lack thereof of what God intended between man and wife. and most days i figure the ache will get less as life reshapes itself, redefines itself and God takes in the pain.

but some days, lately, i wonder if the ache is more than that. i wonder even if God brings someone down the road having filled me to overflowing with Himself, if there may still be an ache. see i have this theory. we were made for eternity. we - the guts of our soul, the inner mechanics that make you you and me me, and the spirit that moves through it all like gasoline or fire - are eternal. the eternal bound in objects intented for eternity but altered due to our sin. and so we strive against the present, here and now, and that which is eternal knowing somehow in our inner being we are part of the Eternal.

desinged for it. built for it. created for it. meant for it.

and so the ache begins.

and the ache grows. to go home. to crawl up into my daddy's lap.

i had a daddy once. a real earthly fatherly one. he died the spring before i turned seven. he was a good daddy. a good man. and i remember sometime that spring and summer that blend into one that i wanted so bad to see him again. to go to heaven to see him again. and i realized that there was no way i could. i could never be good enough. never do enough chores. never be nice enough to my sister. never keep my dog from killing her bunny rabbits enough. never enough to make it to heaven. i needed Jesus. and Jesus would come and live with me and someday He'd take me to see my daddy. i thought of this this past week as i, yes at 31, sat down next to my mother and cried. i wanted my daddy. but this time. this time i wanted to run past my daddy straight to the biggest armchair there is (they call it a Throne) and crawl right into my Daddy's lap. there'd be no explanation expected for feeling the way i feel. no need to justify why i felt the way i felt. no judgement for not having moved on.

just arms. big and strong and loving. secure.

and so the ache continues.

and i think it grows as we grow. we grow to see life in bigger pictures.

eternity.

eternal.

and we know that nothing will be set right or made whole without Daddy. and we know this day, this pain, will one day be healed from the touch of Daddy's hand. and Daddy won't send us away. send us off to Uncle Peter to take us fishing, but will sit on the deck of the dock with us and tell us how it all began.

the sun. the moon. the stars.

eternity.

and the ache grows till then.

until we're home.