re-entry

Yesterday I traveled eight hours home from the beach. As soon as I pulled up in the drive, I noticed the tree sitting darkly in the corner of the den. My boys and Matt greeted me exuberantly. Skip licked at my ankles. 

We gathered around the dinner table, and I heard the stories. On the morning I left for Florida, Sam had awakened with fever and coughing. He was sick most of the week. Joshua was honored with an invite to play Varsity in an upcoming soccer tournament. Skip ruined his coif by rolling in something dead in the common area. 

The lights on the Christmas tree had met an early demise. Matt suspected a blown fuse. We’ve never had this many lights because we’ve never had a tree this fat. Over poppy-seed chicken, we talked about solutions. 

When we switched on Monday Night Football, Matt flipped open the tiny fuse box on the tree lights. He put on Sam’s headlamp to see the minuscule fuse better. A delicate operation ensued. Minutes later, the tree came to life. 

As we cheered hands in the air, Joshua yelled out at Sam in a booming voice: “You were wrong!” The moment of magic burst open with tears and howling. Unbeknownst to Matt and me, Joshua and Sam had bets on whether the lights could be repaired. Sam had hedged that the repair would not work. We sat for a moment in the relational ashes, Sam bellowing.

Re-entry is hellish sometimes. 

I sat and thought about Jesus leaving Heaven. He left home and perfection. He put on flesh and succumbed to stinky feet and cavities. He experienced longing, betrayal, and unfair accusations. 

Re-entry isn’t at all comparable to what Jesus did for me. I can be all the more thankful as I endure re-entry. I can imagine and count my blessings and let my heart expand in the waiting.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14