An unsent letter to that missing piece.
I sometimes wonder how it’s possible that, out of all the far away people in my life, you are the one I miss the most.
In so many ways, I have know you for years. We’ve shared memories and stories and talked until late into the night (or rather early into the morning). We’ve prayed for each other and shared big life moments (verbally, at least).
But truthfully, in face to face, conversations over coffee and laughter over jokes, shared sunrises and adventurous hikes … Being present in each others company….
Barely a week.
4.5 years ago.
It was my first week in Mexico.
And your last week in Mexico.
That was the week that God watched us gently nudge the first domino in a massive, heavenly set chain reaction.
What a ride it has been, and I can barely wait to see how far this toppling train of unique circumstances will go….
But it still baffles me that you are the one I miss the most, when I don’t even know what it’s like to be in the same country as you anymore. When I barely remember sitting next to you…
Sitting there, only for what feels like a moment now.
In the back of a bumpy vehicle driving through the Baja desert with 13 other people, pretending you didn’t intrigue me because they already teased us both enough.
I remember one day, watching you quietly wander through the campsite, out through some trees, and disappear behind an old fence. Bible in hand, quietly contemplating something. Although now I wonder if perhaps there was a lively conversation happening behind your thoughtful eyes, with a God I currently wasn’t speaking with.
In that moment I felt equal parts astonishment and guilt. Like I was damaged goods and you were fresh and clean. I had no place on that shelf, and you had no place with me.
You were like no one I had ever met.
You were funnier than I expected. And sweeter.
Inexperienced with the oddest things; like instant coffee, and the type of music I used as a substitute for air.
You were well versed in things I had never dreamed of talking about.
And unlike my damaged soul, you weren’t afraid to carry your Bible or talk about Jesus or admit you needed saving.
I had no place with you.
Sometimes, I still see us in the same light…through the same mirrors. Yours wiped clean and polished; mine still grimy, covered in dust and old fingerprints.
And I wonder what the day we meet again will be like.
Will you see through the past mistakes, help polish away the dust?
Will I learn to recognize the work you do to clean away the daily muck?
I have never missed someone in quite this way. I feel a little lost, like I’ve forgotten what it is I’m looking for…
I wonder what it’ll be like, that day. I wonder what you’ll say…