Welcome Home

It's hard to believe that just three short weeks ago I celebrated my 42nd birthday. When sorrow hits, it makes days feel like weeks and months feel like years. Yesterday we celebrated the life of the most influential man in my life. In some strange way we were celebrating his birthday too, only one that took him from this, into eternal life and his eternal home.

I remember meeting him as though it was yesterday. I was a troubled kid with a lot of emotional baggage, being placed in foster care for the very first time, scared out of my wits about what (and who) awaited me at the end of that drive with the social worker. I remember walking up the stone path in front of her with my one black garbage bag of clothes clutched in my hand and my heart stuck in my throat.

The door opened and he was standing there, with Laura right behind at his shoulder. He had a smile as warm as the sun and eyes that twinkled like they were reflecting stars. He opened up his big arms and wrapped them around me and said "Welcome home."

And home and family is what God gave me, everything my weary heart needed to heal and grow and thrive. When I left home, when they left the home we shared, wherever they were, whenever I showed up at the door, I was home and home was the most wonderful place to be.

For me every day spent at home was what I referred to as a Glory Day. It was always etched in my mind as something remarkable, captivating your senses and impressing itself into your soul. They were always the most special of days and there was no place I would rather be. I can't remember him ever saying goodbye without hugging me warmly before stepping back, squeezing my shoulders, looking me straight in the eye and saying; "I'm proud of you, Nic." What a gift that can never grow old or lose its value.

Yesterday we all got to say how proud we were of him. He was the most Christlike person I and any of us have probably ever met. He truly lived out the fruits of the spirit, daily, faithfully, as though it were effortless although I know it was not lack of effort but amazing exercise of discipline. Today I am "going home" but for the first time he won't be at the door with his smile and his hug. One week ago today he walked another pathway, another door opened for him and big fatherly arms embraced him, welcoming him home. I can picture his Heavenly Father squeezing his shoulders, looking him straight in the eye and saying; "Well done, son. I'm proud of you."

We all are.