Hungry

They come home and go straight to the refrigerator. What sight is more common than a college student just staring blankly into the fridge? And then saying, “We have nothing to eat”?  

My kids don’t want to make anything. Slapping some bread together with some meat and cheese takes Herculean effort.

But I wonder if this is a metaphor for something bigger. Our grown kids, standing on the precipice of adulthood. One foot hurrying to get in and the other sheepishly staying behind the line. Not willing to be done with childhood yet. They come home for nourishment. Not the kind that fills their bellies but the kind that fills their souls. They want stability, wisdom, comfort. They want the loyalty of family, the steadfastness of home, the unconditional love that parents offer.

Out there, they are one of many. But here, in here, at home, they are precious, adored, beloved. They are seen and known and wanted. They don’t have to clamor for us to look at them, we can’t take our eyes off. They don’t have to feel awkward or scared or unsure. Not here. Home is where they can be real and rest. I don’t think they know how much we love to see their backsides poking out of the refrigerator, their laundry piled up in the front hall, their car parked without care in the driveway, out of gas. I don’t think they know. How could they? How could they possibly know the way they look to us?

They may show up messy and disheveled and hungry…body, mind and soul. Ravenous even. Empty, exhausted, confused. And we see the baby God blessed us with and the toddler we cuddled and the school aged child we laughed with and the student and the athlete and the friend. We hear the laughter and see the memories and remember the prayers and the struggles and the relief. We see light and hope and possibility.

We see the person God made. And we get a glimpse into the way He sees us. He doesn’t care how we show up. He’s just Glad when we do. ️

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