The Homecoming

During the first year of our marriage, Rob was assigned to a naval ship based in Jacksonville, Florida. I enrolled at the University of North Florida while Rob began the long hours of a shipboard officer. Two days after our first anniversary, we kissed goodbye as Rob boarded the ship for a six month deployment. As a twenty-one year old newlywed who was crazy in love, the months loomed seemingly endlessly before me. These were the days before cell phones and emails. I could look forward to receiving a letter, usually one to two weeks old when it arrived, or an occasional phone call when the ship made port. Rob’s particular vessel had few breakdowns that deployment which meant very few ports of call. It was not unusual to go two months without hearing his voice.
Needless to say, when it came time for the ship to come home, families were ecstatic. As young wives, my friends and I worked on losing those last couple of pounds (those were the days!), shopping for a new outfit for the big day and buying every conceivable food and beverage we thought our sweeties would enjoy. The house was scrubbed from top to bottom, I had my hair cut and nails polished, made welcome home signs and spent a sleepless night waiting for the morning to arrive. At last, the big day was here.
As we crowded around the pier, someone spotted the ship crossing the horizon. Slowly the ship came into view with the crew lined up on deck in their best uniforms. It was a sight to behold. My eyes continued to search though. For there was only one sight I wanted to see – Ensign Robert C. Dowell. Homecoming is a wonderful time.
Flash forward over twenty years. Rob was deployed to Bosnia for eight months. Everything was very different. We were able to talk on the phone once a week. We exchanged emails every day. The ensign had become a commander. The newlyweds had become parents. Some of our offspring were even taller than either one of us. There were three more hearts very much involved in this difficult process called separation. Each of them handled the deployment differently, but all sorely missed this man who was and is a rock in their lives.
As homecoming time draws near, some of the same rituals appear. New clothes, cleaning the house, laying in the food are all repeated much as they were in those early years, just on a larger scale. This time the scene is an airport. There are four of us, scanning the horizon, waiting for his face. But the tears and the joy are very much the same.
So why are my thoughts reminiscing this Easter about these special days? Our homecomings so remind me of another, a concept which simply blows my mind. Sure, it makes sense that a young newlywed would excitedly prepare for her husband’s return or that children of a beloved father would anxiously watch for their father, but the Creator of the universe looking for me?

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.”
Luke 15:20b (NIV)

Seriously, Jesus is laying in the groceries for me? Cleaning the house for me?

“In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”
John 14:2-3 (NIV)

Amazing. But how do I find my way home? How do I know He is preparing this place for me?

“You know the way to the place I am going.”
Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”
Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
John 14:4-6 (NIV)

To paraphrase Charles Schulz, that’s what Easter is all about, Charlie Brown. Jesus came, died to pay the debt for my sins, so I could be in a personal relationship with Him. When I accept Him as the way, turn my life over to Him in exchange for wiping my dirty slate clean (repeatedly), He starts preparing for my homecoming. Cleaning the house, laying in the food. I have beautiful memories of very special homecomings. Days are locked in my memory that mean more to me than I can adequately express in words. I still tear up over almost every military homecoming I see in the news. Here is what boggles my mind. Quite frankly, I have not seen anything . . . . . . . yet.