Each Sunday a program is printed for our local congregation and on the back side is a list of those serving missions. Next week it won't look the same. A couple of names will be missing.
And I'm going to miss that.
But only a little.
Just over 29 years ago I wasn't a dad preparing to pick up his son. I was the one preparing to be picked up. I remember certain things about that day. Our plane made an unscheduled stop in Oslo which meant we missed our connection at JFK. Which meant we had to spend the night in NYC (the one and only time I ever set foot on New York State soil...) and caught a flight to Chicago. We then went to Casper (or Cody--I don't remember which...) then finally we made it to SLC.
I was very tired and extremely jet-lagged.
But I remember and hope to never forget the feeling I had getting off the plane and seeing my mom, and family waiting to welcome me home. There are few feelings that can match being loved by those you love and returning to those people after an extended absence. We've been preparing for day all week. This afternoon we took three blank poster boards and turned them into easily-recognized messages. It's a physical symbol that will inadequately express how we really feel.
So tomorrow our lives will change again and our son will come home. Just as everything that has a beginning must have an end. Tomorrow each of us in my family will have endings and new beginnings. Lives will change; doors will close and windows will open. Yes, I will miss some things about the life we've lived these past twenty-four months.
But only a little.
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