I wake early and feel for him…reaching chilly toes to find his long-legged warmth. All I find is sheet pulled tight…unwrinkled, cool, and indifferent…void of his warm-skinned scent. Through sleepy fog, my brain begins to slowly cough to life and I remember…he isn’t here. Business called Seth to Oklahoma. His plane won’t get in until late tonight. I tick off, again, how many hours until his homecoming.

Tiptoeing down the stairs and peering out the window, I find a morning worship service already begun. Snow, falling down to pray; a multitude of witnesses to all that’s pure. Coffee cup in hand, I sit listening to the dark. Now and then, headlights from a creeping car upon the sleet-slick road pierce the veil of falling white, glide through our front window, and chase each other down the length of the living room wall. Then they are gone…sliding away to dance upon my neighbor’s window panes.

I remember lying in my childhood room at night…pink blanket tucked around tight. Our windows faced the road, and nestled beneath the windows were twin beds belonging to my sister and I. We would stay up late and watch the lights of the passing vehicles frolic to and fro across our walls. I remember making up little stories in my head of who was in those cars and where they were going. Sometimes Daddy was out for the evening, and still not home at bedtime. These were the best of times for watching the wall…for every passing car brought sweet suspense as we waited to see if the lights passed on by…or if they swung into the lane, bright with homecoming. Then we could sleep at last, vigil finished, for Daddy was finally home.

Dawn eases in slowly. Little boys, looking so much like their papa, sniffle and sneeze their way down the stairs. I have this day to live. But when twilight sweeps away the clouded sun…I’m going to be waiting. I’m going to be watching for the lights upon the wall.

Come home, my love…

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