Waiting

My family left at 5:09 am yesterday. I watched them drive off in the dark morning, feeling as though parts of my body were being torn from me. I had not slept much the night before, but I could not sleep after they left; weary and bereft, I could not get out of bed. I couldn't eat anything until dinner. I spent the day keeping busy, but longing with all of my heart to be with my family. My back injury was just not healed quite enough for me to join them and I was left behind in an empty house. The next day was better; a good night's sleep did a world of good. I have been busy today too, and feeling more like myself, but I am thinking of them almost all the time. My life is wrapped up in eight people, living with them, loving them, taking care of them. This house, as nice as it is, is really not much of a home without them.
And it got me to thinking about my heavenly home as well, and how I do long to be there. But am I longing to be there as much as I long to be with my husband and kids? Do I spend most of my day living in anticipation of one day being in Heaven? Honestly, no, I don't, but I should. The last two days have been all about living for my family: cooking and freezing food and preparing for their return. What if I lived that way for God? Convicting, isn't it? But hopeful, too, because I know what it feels like to earnestly and urgently want to be somewhere else, but to also be contented to wait. And so I wait for 4 more days for my family to return, and wait for Heaven someday; trying to live more for God and less for this earth, and searching for the balance between the two.

But it is really quiet here!