I miss you

A few weeks ago I was talking to Pastor Peter on the phone when unexpectedly, he gave his phone to Micheal. He said, "Hello.". I excitedly responded, "Hello, Micheal! How are you?" He replied, "I am fine. Tell my brother and sister hello" Then there was an awkward pause. Talking to Michael is something I treasure, but our conversations are very short since we don't often understand each other very well over the phone. But, after a pause, Michael said, "I miss you."  "Oh Michael, I miss you so much too!" And I was undone. The conversation ended and I needed to go take the dog for a walk.

So much of the time I think I'm OK with the waiting. Maybe I have just adjusted to the ache. Maybe I just try to ignore it. I don't know.

 

This is our first picture together. I have it in a frame over my computer with the title: Weight of Glory.

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, 

works for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. 

2 Cor. 4:17

I remember the first time I held him, the phase that came to my mind was "this is what the weight of glory feels like". All the praying and dreaming and imagining what it would be like to hold this child that holds my heart was mine to have. I could hold him, kiss his head, pray over him, sing over him, rock him, play with him and tell him over and over how much I loved him. I had the sweetest gift of holding him as he slept in my arms. As I left Liberia after that trip, I starting weeping as soon as the plane took off and cried all the way to Ghana. I sat in the middle of the middle row completely exposed. And I wept. 

And there are days, probably more than I would like to count, that I get that far off look and blink back the extra moisture. There are moments when the African American neighbor boy is playing with Dawson or I see a child Michael's age, or celebrate the coming home of a friend's long awaited child. There are times when I look for him- one two three four, where's... oh yeah, not here yet. 

But he is here. Ask my children. There is rarely a family prayer that doesn't include him. Just last week in VBS, on the day the kids learned about how God answers prayers, Grace's prayer was "for Michael in Liberia. That Michael would be safe." A couple days ago, Mark looked at the picture of me holding him and starting praying for him to come him. 

I miss you too, Michael. More than I let myself embrace. God is good. I know He is. There is reason and purpose in this pain. For now, sweet dreams, and may angels guide you through the night and wake you in the morning light. Amen.