They're not even gone yet. They don't leave until tomorrow morning. Yet while I savor these last moments before our daughter and three youngest grandchildren move to Louisiana, I am already missing them, anticipating this transition in our relationship. No matter what we do to remain connected, and I know we will do much, I know it isn't going to be the same.
Yet I'm also being careful not to over-anticipate. It will be different, but it isn't as if our relationship with these dear ones is ending. It's wonderful to live in the 21st century. We already expect to see them in late April as we pass through on our way to San Antonio, for instance. We're scouting air fares. We have phones. We hope they'll soon be equipped with a computer, so we can keep in contact in even more ways.
But the real lesson of this day may be something I said Sunday evening, leading prayer for Jubilee before we prayed the Way of the Cross in our parish: this is just the beginning of a glimpse into the love in which God holds us. Today I can't help but be aware of how God longs for us, and thank him that I get to long for my beloved ones, too, knowing as it fills me to overflowing that it is still nothing compared to his love for us.
And though my Easter expectations may be slightly less than usual because of their absence, yet I feel that this farewell is a fitting part of my Lenten journey.
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