The Oregon winter is truly something to behold. Magic at play in the forest, freshly-washed and shrouded in fog, each branch cloaked and dripping bright green. A cloudy day parts to reveal the majestic face of the mountain reflecting the last few rays of the day off her snowcap.
I take far less pictures. They don’t even come close.
Some days the difference is so striking. Others, it feels like we’ve just swapped houses.
The status quo a car ride, traveling smoothly. My eye catches a street sign: Ely Street. Little reminders of home coming as small, unexpected blows.
Being away isn’t much trouble at all. Not unless you think about how far, how seemingly impossible home has become.
“But I left home too,” the Voice whispers, “For you, for them, for love.”
And in this forest world so alien to me, this tide of homesickness binds me to my Savior. And though I may not fully count it joy, I refuse to settle for mere existence.
“There’s far more to life for us. We’re citizens of high heaven! We’re waiting the arrival of the Savior” (Philippians 3:20, MSG).
Again, our weary world waits. Pangs of longing thrum deep within the heart of the earth. Advent then, advent now.
Here in this homesick, rain-soaked place, I live, I love, I wait.