The Pain in Blessing

It feels like eons ago.
I remember it like it was yesterday.
The screams.
The tears in my laughter and joy.
The shock.
How I held onto him, trying to convince my mind that I really was in reality.
My brother, my friend, he was home!

It had been a long couple of months. It was the first time that our family had been split like that. Chris and I were best friends; the change was a challenging phase to walk through. Everyone surprised Jacob and me when Chris flew home for Thanksgiving break.

I was baking pies tonight. As I worked on some Thanksgiving preparations, that familiar pain and longing swept over me again. I wanted to run up to him and give him a hug. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to actually see his smile - not just hear his voice.

Sometimes I think that I have completely adjusted to him being so far from home. Then I catch myself doing silly little things because I miss him . . . I save every voice mail that he leaves me on my cell phone. When I miss him, I can re-listen to his messages and at least hear his voice. I find myself scrolling through pictures of him, wondering what he is doing . . . every time that we talk I walk on air for hours, sometimes days, afterwards.

This glimpse of pain makes me strangely grateful. Grateful that God placed me in a close family. A family that loves each other enough to experience the pain of separation. A family that knows each other well enough to be able to pick up where they left off when we come back together for seasons.

I think that a lack of pain would hurt more than anything else, because of what it would represent.