July 24, 2012
My son has returned from Guatemala, after six months away.
His younger sisters are thrilled.
They hang on his every word as if he were a long awaited prophet from a distant land.
Words failed me tonight, as I watched my three children, reunited.
They teased one another, and filled my son in on the family events he has missed.
A starring role in the school play; a varsity lacrosse spot.
He reciprocated with tales of a Holy Week, spent traversing a Central American country.
He told of teaching seven-year-olds how to read at Safe Passage in Guatemala City, and tending bar at Mono Loco in Antigua
And playing baseball as the starting pitcher for a local all-star team, under the lights at the Guatemala National Stadium.
I sat quietly, enjoying the family dinner prepared for my son by his devoted sisters.
And felt, above all else, love.
Love for my children.
Love for the life that I have been blessed to share with them.
Love for the shaggy-haired traveller I picked up at the airport last week, whose compassion has earned him a place of honor in the hearts of many.
I was reminded of Gibran's quote, "Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself."
I know that this is so.
I know that this beautiful longing was wonderfully represented tonight.