The office is quiet.

I don't like it.

Teams have dispersed around the world. All are on the field but a couple of us. Those who usually make the most noise, are out serving.

It can be hard to feel you are a part of things when you are in a quiet office and the people you interact with are already believers.

Perhaps I should welcome the noise reduction. There is an edge of pleasantry to it.

Nope, I like the din of activity.

This is not too dissimilar from transitioning to a suddenly empty nest.

Deanna and I do enjoy the time we have together each day, but miss the sudden eruptions and volatility that children tend to bring to our current solitude.

It's quiet at home. It's quiet in the office.

With all the noiselessness, I should be able to get a lot done.

It's not happening. Apparently I need the noise to be productive.

Perhaps that is why I stayed up past midnight a couple of nights ago, driving my bride crazy, while discovering the 'noise' some of the apps on my phone will make. She kept laughing at me and telling me it was time to go to sleep. I wanted more noise. I still do.

Sometimes I am desperate to hear the noise of his perpetual conversations. It's coming up on six years, and it seems like we lost him yesterday. I just cannot believe it. I am inspired by his surrender. I long for him to lean on me again and call me "Poppy."

There were times it was just noise to me. Not any more.

When I reread his words, I hear his voice. It stirs something in me. A longing that has consumed too many seasons without expression.

To many, he is a face on a book alongside Macchu Picchu. An inspiration for a song never released. An example of 'how we should then live.'

To me, he is memory, and unforeseen dreams. A twinkle only relevant to a few. A longing deep within me that elicits unanticipated emotion. A joy. A searing pain. Love.

To my Savior, he is a warrior. A "kernel of wheat." An ever present worshipper. A love worth dying for.

It's too quiet.

I miss him.


dad