maybe it is
common to cry
when you are going
home–it is not crying,
welling. Welling, as I listen
to stare out the window &
watch sun fall below my view,
as I go back into the dark unknown.
Listening as You
tell me: I love you. You can be
sad. I’m not letting go, but you
I don’t know how to explain how I’m feeling right now, except I hurt. This is a poem about leaving Texas this week. From walking into Trisha’s house to hummus her niece Claudia made (so good). Being asked by Joshua to play Rummy and instead playing Go Fish, because I have no clue how to play rummy. To Sam, who took every opportunity to stand or try to stand on my cane because you know, it’s fascinating. And having no power to say no because his eyes and smile are 😍 and that curly hair. And how he held my walker for me when getting out the car. I seemed to leave my phone behind constantly, stayed up late rambling on (because my nerves turned into excitement and pumpkin spice latte was all: Julia, you ready to stay up?!) about life and Jesus.
This trip reminded me a lot about how love is patient & kind. How it will stay up late for/with you, how it will remind you it is okay to ask for help, nothing to be nervous about. How it remembers. How it listens. How it asks for your thoughts. How it laughs. How it yearns to comfort. Help. And you know, give you chocolate chip cookies and pieces of left over Halloween candy. And popcorn. And kale salad (sooo gooood.)
And how time slows down when you’re fully present & not panicked this is it, time is running out. It felt like an abundance was given when I stared at the sky or walked or laughed or listened.
It all felt so precious. So different than what I’m used to, which is sobbing because it’s over, this time because I said, I’m getting sad, God seemed to guard my heart and give subtle hints this wasn’t it. Still doesn’t take away that I miss Joshua and Sam playing tag in the morning. Or listening to Claudia break out in song. I never expected to fall in love with someone’s kids. Or for the most part feel more myself than the scared little girl who’s afraid to ask. It felt okay to laugh. It felt like I’ve been there before. Like I’ve been friends with Trisha way longer. And her husband, Michael’s bursts of laughter always took me aback.
I feel like it was a welcome and a linger. A homey feeling that still is lasting coming back into my unknown. But I do know Jesus’ love for me is keeping a firm gentle hold.