Until He Comes Home

We went looking for a quick lunch, but found Faneuil Hall instead, arriving in the courtyard just in time to hear the Marine Corps band playing the Marines' Hymn. By the time they marched past us at the conclusion of the song, my lashes were busy sweeping away tears. I swallowed hard.

The cadence, the BDUs, the chins up and eyes forward--it takes me back and sometimes forward to the places we have said and will again say goodbye. Hours before we heard the brass humming the halls of Montezuma, the place was my sister's house. And the soldier was her husband, the father to her three girls.

When I think of my sister and her soldier, when I remember how it felt to part with my own warrior, my heart beats a strange rhythm of hollow sad and bursting proud.


Since Uncle S. left a week ago, we have mentioned him each night in our prayers. But last night, I forgot.

Dani sat up. "Mom, you aren't done yet!"

"Yes I am, Hon. I said Amen. Now let's lay down and go to sleep."

"No! You porgot to p'ay to keep Uncle S. tape (safe). And for Gracie and Glory not to be sad. We need to p'ay again."

"You're right, Hon. We need to pray again."

And again and again and again. Until he comes home, until it is your Daddy's turn to go and to return, until lion and lamb share a pasture in lasting peace, until He returns. We need to pray again.


Sharing this Tuesday gift--this prodding (in the form of a 3 year old's bedtime stall tactic) to pray again--with the Tuesdays Unwrapped community at Chatting at the Sky.

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