Originally written just before midnight but uploaded right after midnight.
Out of all the voices in a room, the cry or “momma” said from a little child and his/her mom can pick it up and be there for her child. The voice of a loved one like a spouse—even when nothing is said at all—can send emotions and say a lot more than the words uttered from the lips.
There is more to a relationship than a happenstance event that joins two people that sets their lives off in a joint direction or a new direction. A relationship is built and carried on with love, respect, words, a touch, and a lot more. It is because of that relationship that allows those involved to be supported through any war, can make a grown man cry, or can propel someone into destiny.
And a relationship—a good one—is built and carried primarily through what is said and how things are said. Strength in a marriage is found this way. Strength in a business or a church is found this way. Strength in a friendship is found this way.
But what happens when time and the moving on of life from a severed relationship makes the familiar become lost and unfamiliar. When strength, clarity, and love was once there, now it is as if a part of a person that completed them is absent and it is almost as if it will never come back. The absence isn’t just “out of sight/out of mind” but it is the kind of absence that creates a relationship that is no longer complete or back to the way it was.
Each one of us can recall the absence of someone special or significant who once occupied our lives. And whether that person was daily or constantly in our lives, or that person came in and out of our lives like the waves at an ocean shore, their absence changes everything. The sunset isn’t the sunset any more. The “permanent smile” doesn’t seem to be there any more. The familiar voice is silence. A look, a warm feeling, an embrace, all of that changed.
Recently I was reminded of my dear friend Steve Rodriguez and tears came to my eyes. Even though our conversations were limited to usually conference and men’s discipleship classes, him and his wife (and kids) left a mark in my life that can never be erased or replaced. And when my heart cannot seem to gain ground of “moving on”, daily my heart hurts because of the absence for both of my grandparents. Losing one longer than the other made no difference. And what I find myself—ashamedly to say—it has grown harder and harder to remember them as I once did, even the sound of their voice has gotten harder to remember. What occupied my mind to always take comfort, “Christmas and I will be there to see them” is now no matter the 1200 miles, my sacrifice or yearning to rekindle or reconnect remains forever unfulfilled. And some, perhaps many, may say “that’s life”. Should absence be accepted?
When I sat down to my keyboard to allow the Lord to flow His words into my heart and out through my fingertips, the words of God came roaring in (Genesis 3:9), “Where are you?” Carried on is the events of blame and what became a severed relationship that took thousands of years to be completed in redemption by Christ on Calvary. But I would like to focus on those three words: where are you. And truly if we were asked individually today if that question were asked of us, where are you? Are we loving? Are we learning? Are we serving? Are we giving? Are we too busy? Are we on fire for Jesus or have we grown cold and distant or are we somewhere in the middle? Are we fulfilling God’s will or fulfilling our will? Are we pursuing what we ought to pursue? Or have we accepted that God’s voice can be just as absent or just as unfamiliar or forgotten as the voice of our loved one gone forever? Has “moving on” meant moving away? Has moving on meant avoiding what we ought to do or be where we ought to be? Has moving on pushed out love and forgiving and in its place is bitterness and regret? Has moving on made the familiar and dear and cherished now—if we were to honestly admit—to have feelings of disdain, annoyance, almost an interruption.
My grandparents’ former property seemed huge as a child with its borders that seemed to extend past the horizon even if its borders were just beyond the next hill. But despite all that distance, never once did I explore that great place—unless accompanied by my dad or mom—beyond a fairly easy earshot of the house. And with that, brought comfort. Not only for my grandmother, but for me, too that I wasn’t forgotten or lost. And the same is true when we are within earshot of Jesus, there is comfort (and love) knowing we are near Him and He with us. The question remains, where are you?