And finally, home

Yes, I made it from NYC to Denver to Indiana in a one-week period. And now I'm home. (OK, I'm actually at a coffee shop right now that's about a 1/2-mile from home.)

It was good to see the city and the mountains, and yes, my family in the midwest--but it is time to nest for a few nights. To settle back into some sort of routine.

This last weekend, dad reserved all his energy so he could preach on Sunday. I didn't realize he would preach on the "Christian way of dying." He talked about how the apostle Paul's second imprisonment brought the knowledge that he would soon pass from this life to his real, true, eternal home. A place that was "better by far."

I have an author friend who quotes CS Lewis often: "If you feel in your heart there is a longing which nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that you were made for another world."

Dad's voice was weak, but his purpose was strong: he recounted how his doctors have given him a matter of months to live. Yet he reminded the congregation that he is prepared to go to heaven. He seemed quiet, yet authoritative and completely at peace.

For those of you who don't know, dad's pain has increased in his neck and lower spine. New chemo treatments have been ordered, and he's also undergoing daily radiation--measures meant to decrease his pain.

My 6-year-old niece joined me as I visited my parents, and dad gathered her on his lap and, though feeble, he read to her from the first book of The Chronicles of Narnia. I closed my eyes and listened, transported to my childhood days, when dad would read us chapters of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe right before bed. My sister Julie and I would beg for just one more chapter before shutting our eyes for the night. Many times dad obliged.

It wasn't until my adult years when the weight of the story's symbolism hit me with fresh force. In Narnia, Lewis instructed me on the sheer wildness and audacious grace of God. This heavenly Father came to me through the roar of Aslan and through his tender sacrifice on the Stone Table. And the story still speaks....

I titled this entry "And finally, home." I meant my earthly dwelling, of course. It is good to be home. But I'm also referring to my final heavenly home. Dad is approaching our forever tomorrow. It is hard for me to fathom that he is ahead of me on the race. And I long to run up alongside him, and as I imagined myself doing with Aslan, to bury my face in his mane--or in this case, to lay it lovingly on his shoulder.

But there is a letting go I am being called to. It hurts like sheer hell and brings a literal physical ache. Still, there is a part of my spirit that soars with the knowledge of his homegoing. He's sidling up to Jesus, keeping his eyes fixed on what matters, leaving for a far better, pain-free, glorious existence.

Yes, of course, so I am jealous. And my God--the Lord of heaven and earth--wouldn't want it any other way.

This life journey can often feel long, but the end of the rainbow promises much more than gold. Maybe our biggest problem isn't being "so heavenly minded that we're no earthly good." Perhaps if we were more heavenly-minded, if we remembered all that our heavenly Father has so intentionally and lovingly planned for us, we would be of far greater use in the here-and-now. Do you agree?