“In my Father’s house are many rooms.”
There is a particular smell in the garden at night when it rains. Pungent. Woodsy. Like nothing I’ve ever smelled before. Every time I encounter it, I’m filled with a nameless longing—homesick for a place I can’t remember. Tonight I stood in a soft rain just to breathe it in; to feel that sweet longing.
“Dear God, my heart longs for something I can’t name. Something I can’t remember,” I said as the rain peppered my hair. I stayed out in the dark for a few minutes more, then went back inside.
I don’t know why I’m telling you about it, other than I think you know that longing too. It’s a haunting reminder that what we have in this life is of no comparison to what God is preparing for us when we return home.
I toweled off my hair and crawled into bed and settled down to sleep, perhaps to dream. “Good night, God,” I said and turned off the light, knowing that all throughout the night, He would be there with me, just as He is with you, until the end of time.