Three Months Out

Three months. It's been nearly three months since Katya and I arrived at Dulles. Coming home has never been so sweet. I imagine the sense of being reunited with your nearest and dearest is a foretaste of what it will be like when the veil lifts between earth and heaven. The feeling of barely bridled anticipation as I waited in the line at customs and then watched suitcase after suitcase go round and round before mine and Katya's appeared - this is what I want my life to be in the "now" as I anticipate what is to come in the "not yet" - barely bridled anticipation, consumed with preparing, ravished with love, and poured out for His Kingdom.

As I pushed our heavily laden cart through those metal doors and my family ... my family and many friends were waiting for us. Cheers erupted from this group of faithful friends, precious progeny, and my dearest love. I couldn't get into his arms fast enough. I imagine it will be like that when the time comes for me to pass through the ultimate metal door and into the arms of Jesus. Though I've never seen Him with my eyes, I have seen Him. And as absolutely breathtaking as it was to find myself wrapped in the arms of my husband, that will pale in comparison when the veil is lifted, faith becomes sight, and I see Him as He really is.

Three months out. At unexpected times, the stories come. Today Piper was sick. She awoke this morning with a fever that spiked at 103.2 this evening. Through the day, Katya has been concerned. "Five times," she shared, "I was sick like this. Five times I went to the hospital."

They don't keep sick kids in the orphanage, fix them chicken soup, monitor their fevers, tuck them in on the couch with their favorite books and a smoothie. They don't brush the hair out of their face and give them Motrin and pray with them. They send them to the hospital. This way the germs don't spread.

"There was a mean girl at the hospital," she told me this afternoon. "Grandmother brought me food, but this mean girl threw it out the window."

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know..." And off she headed with Cameron to play in the sandbox.

So much hurt. So much pain. So many ashes. Oh, how I long for Katya, my daughter, to experience the deepest heart healing that comes from Jesus alone, to claim the good news He offers as her own, to walk in the freedom He has bought for her, and to see Him with eyes of faith so that as she waits on the other side of the heavy metal doors, her heart will leap in anticipation. And then as she crosses from one side to the next nothing will stand in her way as her faith becomes sight and she flings herself into His arms, the arms of the Bridegroom with joyful unbridled abandon.

"No more tears,"

He'll whisper

"You're home."

He'll say as He strokes her hair.

Wrongs will be made right. No more wars or rumors of wars. No more hurting children who feel the need to thrown another's food out the window. All will be well. All will be new.

And she'll revel in the good news, the liberty, the sight that were won for her.

Drink, my Beloved, drink from the spring of living water, the wellspring of your salvation. Drink deeply.

She'll be in his arms. The crowd will be cheering. "Welcome Home!" the signs will say ... And coming home will have never been so sweet.