Arriving Home

Arriving home is really something else when you think about it.  Maybe you’ve seen news footage before of someone famous returning to their home land; a political figure, a professional athlete, a musician?  A massive crowd is gathered and contained in the terminal as the jet airplane rolls to a stop.  Engines are powered down.  Tires are blocked.  Rolling stairs are in place.  The crowd is released onto the tarmac.  People jockey for position as they press up against the “rent-a-fence.”  The vacuum from the inner cabin regulates as the door to the jet is set ajar.  The crowd goes ballistic.  Security steps up, arms crossed, ready to take down the crazy guy with the dream of touching someone famous.  The door swings open…  That’s when I get out of my car.

No joke, this happens nearly every sunny day when I get home from work.  Okay, maybe not the whole jet thing…or the crowd or security.  But I can tell you I feel just as famous as the guy who, at that critical moment of built tension, dawns the door of the jet airplane grinning from ear to ear and waving his arm in the air to the rhythm of the crowds chants.

Often times I’m not even to my street when my kids see my car cruising toward the house.  Josiah’s Tonka truck hits the ground.  Hope’s chair tips over as she leaps to her feet.  Livia’s “scooter” is left abandoned in the grass.  And, as if the starter gun had fired, the three of them take off striding toward the driveway at sprint speed.  Hope usually gets there first, stopping short of the area where I park, respecting the size difference between her and my car.  Josiah usually gets there second, and with this slight-of-hand sort of elbow trick that you may see on the basketball court, he has Hope boxed out, taking over the prime position.  Livia gets there last and, dottling past both Hope and Josiah, reaches for my door handle; which is a trick in and of itself since my car is generally still moving.  As I turn off my car, the stillness that pervaded my sunny afternoon drive home is squelched by the gleeful chants of my three biggest fans.

Josiah helps Livia finally get the door of my car open and either he or Livia jump in my car with me before I even have the chance to get a foot out the door.  They laugh this victorious sort of laugh and grab the steering wheel as if they are actually in control of something.  If Josiah doesn’t get in first, he or Hope will go for the back door in hopes of helping carry in my bag or perhaps any groceries I stopped to pick up along the way home.  Many times Amy will join the kids by this time and just smile this beautiful pleasant smile that is sincerely glad; glad that the enthusiasm and joy being exchanged between me and the kids is genuine and part of her AND glad that help has finally arrived.  After a moment or two the coast is clear for me to climb out of my car.  I grin from ear to ear and wave my arm in the air…no, I don’t really.  But I do, often enough, just grin and take in the moment of arriving home.

Last night, somewhere around that moment when the day’s final waning light gives up to nightfall, a family acquaintance of ours arrived home.  And likely not with the fanfare we may be accustomed to or imagine.  Kara had battled cancer bravely for around two years, “[her] eyes undimmed and [her] vigor unabated” (Deut. 34:6).  And I guess I am now trying to imagine what that must have been like for her.  Not the leaving this world part, but the arriving home in heaven part, a home unhindered by space and unbridled by time and undaunted by issues of cancer or pain or evidently tears (Rev. 7:17; 21:4).

I bet her new youthful eyes popped open and she saw her Savior, Jesus.  Not the Jesus that hangs on our walls.  Not an affable man with glowing dark hair and distinctively American facial features.  Rather the Jesus who is as John suggests, the “one like a son of man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around his chest” (Rev. 1:13).  This Jesus is a massive man with white hair, not like that of old age, but whitened by an eternity of direct glory light, and He has eyes that blaze like fire blazes, purifying whoever receives his gaze (Rev. 1:14).  This Jesus has feet that gleam strikingly like bronze; beautiful like those feet that bring good news, and He has a trumpeting voice “like the roar of many waters” declaring things like “Well done” and “Fear not” and “Enter your rest” (Rev. 1:15, cf. Rom. 10:15; Matt. 25:21, 13; Rev. 1:17; Heb. 3 & 4)…all very good news to be sure.  This Jesus is Savior and Lord;  Kara’s Savior and Lord, and He unapologetically holds the messengers of His Church in his right hand like stars, the Word of Truth in his mouth like a severely sharp double-edge sword, and the light of heaven upon his face like “the sun shining in full strength” (Rev. 1:16).

And to some this Jesus may be awkward to imagine, even frightening.  But for Kara, whose battle with cancer made this Jesus famous, the fullness of this new and very real vision was most assuredly a welcome and gentle and peace-filled occasion.  In fact, I bet she fell to her new youthful knees upon a street paved with gold so pure is was as clear as glass and she worshipped.  I bet she sang something like the Revelation Song we sing in our churches, only in a new language known by every tribe, tongue, and nation.  And I bet it was just about then that this Jesus; the Jesus, put His hand on her shoulder and welcomed her home.

No, there probably was no door that swung open or jostling crowd managed by security guards.  There probably was no array of cheering fans, let alone a trio of excitable children.  Just one Fan...and Kara, one of His famous saints, finally arriving home.