The porch light illuminated the faces of my brother and his family as they stood by the back door, waiting for me to grant them entrance. I hurried to open the door.
“Come in, come in. It’s so good to see you!”
I hugged them tightly, then moved aside to let them enter our little house. As their feet crossed the threshold, the atmosphere changed from one of quiet preparation to that of a barely controlled chaos.
I listened to the loud chatter of varied conversations as everyone sat down to devour the meal I’d prepared. My earlier weariness drained away and a grin covered my face that I couldn’t erase if I wanted to.
I had been looking forward to this all day; being with the ones I love and who love me. No matter that the house was small, and we couldn’t all fit around the table. We could adjust and make do with less than perfect. The most important thing was that they were finally here.
There were not enough beds in our little house to hold all the wealth of family, so when the meal was finished and the kitchen set to rights, floor beds were laid out, taking up almost every square inch of the living area. Boys stretched out their large frames and uttered sighs of satisfaction, still talking to one another. I sighed contentedly too and headed to my bed.
And the next day, and the next, the lovely chaos was repeated. I was thankful for all of it. You cannot put a price tag on solid family relationships.
Then, before I was quite ready, it was over. Blankets had been folded, pillows placed in a stack, and suitcases were carried out of the house. The last hugs were given, and the final goodbyes wafted away in the wind.
A deep stillness greeted me when I rose from my bed the next morning. I wandered into the kitchen/living area and looked around. A stuffed refrigerator and folded blankets were the only telltale signs of our boisterous Thanksgiving holiday.
And in the pit of my stomach, surrounded by the memories of good times and the exhaustion of playing hostess, was a nagging touch of sadness. The joyous anticipation of the previous days has given way to a moment of restless despondency. It’s hard to return to normal after such a special time of connection.
I think of Jesus’s friends, standing in the shadow of the empty tomb.
Jesus was gone.
The only thing left to show he had been there were a few linen wrappings and a face cloth, neatly folded in the corner.
Peter and John looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Then they trudged back home, feeling rather disoriented and maybe a little despondent.
They missed Jesus.
But as they were soon to learn, Jesus never really left them. When He reappeared and breathed out his Spirit on them, they finally understood. From that moment on, they felt his life beating in their chests and they realized they could never really be apart from Him.
I think that even though our own good times must come to an end and earthly goodbyes are hard, the spirits of our family and friends remain with us too.
Because the voices of my family are still ringing in my ears: my sister-in-law’s contagious giggle, the incessant chatter of boys trying to prove they are young men, and my brother’s low voice, muttering one of his silly, sarcastic comments.
As long as those voices are with me the visit never truly ends.