Thanksgiving is behind us, and now we are hurtling
headlong toward Christmas.
I don’t know about you, but I had a full house Thanksgiving weekend. Full, as in wall-to-wall air mattresses and pallets on the floor
at bedtime. Full, as in take-a-number for a shower in the morning. Full as in “Is
this the third pot of coffee we’ve brewed this afternoon, or the fourth?”
I love a house filled with family and friends. I love
crowding elbow-to-elbow around the table. I love long conversations over
coffee. I love the kitchen weave of many cooks preparing a meal together.
I had a full house for Thanksgiving, and it was
awesome.
But then, everybody left.
As Thanksgiving weekend drew to a close, I stood on the front porch and waved goodbye as the last set of red taillights headed down the driveway.
Now, the beds have been remade with fresh linens.
The air mattresses are deflated and put away. Floors are vacuumed and swept;
mountains of towels, washed and folded; ginormous baking pans, stored until
needed for the next family gathering.
The great big chaotic fullness of a family
holiday has been replaced by a great big empty quiet. I already miss the
conversations on the porch swing, the long walks on the farm, the laughter over dinner, the snuggles on the
couch with the grandkids.
I don’t know about you, but for me, the shift
from noisy to quiet, from full to empty is a little traumatic.
Perhaps it’s the physical fatigue: a house full of
company is a lot of work! Perhaps, like a Sunday-evening child haunted by the
thought of Monday-morning school, I am reluctant to return to life-as-usual.
Perhaps the noise and chaos distracted me for a season from unpleasant
realities in my day-to-day, and now, those realities once again clamor for my
attention.
Whatever the reason, post-holiday emptiness and quiet
settle over my heart like a shadow, like tears at the end of a beautiful love story.
Don’t you wish the fellowship and feasting could go on
and on forever?
This droop in spirits as I transition from a
packed-full house to lonely ol’ me at the computer is a gift, though, because
it makes me mindful of Glory. It stirs in a me a longing for that day when
family and friends will gather together to celebrate…and never have to say
Goodbye again.
This goodbye shadow over my heart reminds me that I was
created - indeed, all of us were created - for unbroken fellowship with our
Creator.
C. S. Lewis, in They
Asked for a Paper, put it this way: “A man’s physical hunger does not prove
that man will get any bread…But surely a man’s hunger does prove that he comes
of a race which repairs its body by eating…
“In the same way, though I do not believe…that my
desire for Paradise proves that I shall enjoy it, I think it a pretty good
indication that such a thing exists and that some men will.”
The goodbye shadow that comes after time spent with people I
love makes me long all the more for that great day when there will be no more goodbyes. So, I’ll take today’s shadow: it points me to the sunshine.
(This is taken from one of my first "Porch Swing Perspective" articles, written just over a year ago. Has it really already been a year? Time flies!)
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