It’s been an age since I last wrote a blog post. When your brain is as filled with stories as mine, you tend to avoid the struggle and strain of real life to focus instead on worlds of wonder where the mess of the day-to-day cannot so easily dim the light of hope nor stifle the call to joy. Thus, each spare moment is given to the stuff of legend and imagination, a safe respite from the hatred and division that seems to flourish in the waking world.
It is a wonder, then, that I have recently found myself watching videos of military men and women returning home to loved ones or, more specifically, surprising them by showing up unannounced. Each video is just a variation of the same, sweet moment. A lover, a spouse, a parent, a child, sometimes even a pet…overwhelmed with emotion and joy at the return of the one they have missed for so long. Each time I watch, I am flooded with conflicting emotions: thankfulness for the service that requires such a sacrifice, happiness for those overtaken by the sweet release of their loved one returned to them safe and sound, and sorrow for the families denied such a release, shackled by the loss of some brave man or woman who gave their all for people who will likely never know their names and, in some cases, a few that will not care.
As I find myself drawn to these moments so taut with emotion, I feel my perspective shifting. I hug my kids a little tighter, kiss their sweet heads a bit more often, spell out for them how proud I am of the people they are fast becoming…of their talents, their kindness, and their God-given willingness to love without fear. I have always been proud, but I now have a deeper understanding of how blessed I am to see them every day. To be a part of their worlds. To not be hundreds or thousands of miles away as they feel their way through their own stories. I am here with them because some other father or mother is not with their loved ones. My joy comes at another’s expense. So I will treasure each moment and honor that sacrifice as best I am able.
Yet, it isn’t just the parent’s perspective that I share. You see, every time I watch a child run to their parent, they are overwhelmed by the emotion they have pent up for so long. There are tears and often sobbing. Every fear for that parent or sibling’s safety, every missed ball game, every parent-teacher night with a noticeable absence, every birthday with only a card or FaceTime call from the one they most want to hold them…it all comes tumbling out as they weep. All the joy is there to, of course, along with the sweet relief that they are reunited at last. All the things that there just aren’t words for are found in those sweet tears.
I live with absence every day. My son tells me a story and I hear tiny fragments of my brother, Jason, in the tale. He’s been gone so long that sometimes I have to focus on a memory just to recall his voice. A song will play on the radio that I recall singing along with on my dad’s knee as we rocked next to the behemoth wooden stereo that filled my childhood with so much music. He’s near in those moments…just not near enough. My daughters often fill my mind with memories of my mother…their wit and laughter, their kindness…and she too seems near but it is a passing nearness and gone, like her, too soon. So many people gone now…so many faces I long to see again, and voices I long to hear. Many hard days have come and gone since their passing, and I have often found myself longing for their arms and the affection I too often took for granted.
One day, nearer now that it has ever been—something true for all of us—I will leave this cruel, dim world behind and journey on to a place where cruelty has no foothold…where fear will be forgotten and sorrow barely a distant memory. A place where the Lord, Himself, shall be our light. And I will see, in the distance, those faces I have longed to see…and arms my soul has long ached to feel wrapped around me outstretched and waiting for me. And I will run to them. And I will weep with a joy that I can barely fathom amid the numbness of this broken world. And every emotion that I have no place for now, will spill out in that sweet moment. And we’ll be together again.
These are the things I feel when I see soldiers coming home: thankfulness for their sacrifice, appreciation for the time I have with my children because of that sacrifice, and a profound longing for a reunion to come…when goodbyes will be a thing of the past, and family is, at last…forever.
Until then, may we love and honor those who lay themselves down for our good. May we cover them in prayer. May we minister to their families. May we wait, with patient longing, for every reunion yet to come.
Peace be with you,
J. Patrick Lemarr
