My parents' swing... where I grew up

My parents’ swing on the screened-in porch… where I grew up

It happened in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

My friend said it happened to her when she visited the beach after a long absence.

I was expecting it to happen at the beach too. But for me, it was when I stepped out of the Wal-Mart in my hometown.

All of a sudden it hit me, that heavy pounding and wave of nostalgia. And the tears came.

The combination of the soft night, the gentle winds, the mild weather, the early evening dark blue sky– and the people. It wasn’t about the people around me, as I listened to the hum of folks in the parking lot, but because of the people at home.

How can I ever know if this is the last time I’d be seeing my parents? One of them or both of them? How do any of us know, for that matter?

We don’t.

As they stood at the edge of the driveway and waved goodbye, I knew there was sadness behind the smiles– mine and theirs. I live 850 miles away.

Yes, it is true we live far apart. But are we out of reach? No, we are not.

Yes, it is true that we’re far from perfect.  But are we out of Jesus’ reach? Absolutely not.

It is true we fail and make mistakes. It is true we fail and fail again. It is true that we need to ask forgiveness and grace, again and again and again.  It is true that dysfunctions follow us and we perpetuate them.

But are we, any of us, out of reach of healing and Jesus’ grace? Absolutely not.

Is it too late? It is never, never too late. It is never too late, and we are never too far from Jesus’ reach.

I collected myself,  turned on the car and drove back home. I was home, if only for a couple of days, and they were there, within reach. And I didn’t want to take that for granted.

And if you are fortunate enough to have loved ones within your reach, hug them.


This post is written for the Five Minute Friday prompt “Reach”. Click here to read more.