My wife’s thoughts on her recent mission trip to the borderland.
I stood at home and wept.
I wept at the sight of hostas and Queen Anne’s lace
and petunias and lambs’ ears
while I was in the desert.
I wept in gratitude for rain I did not see or hear
or feel on my skin
when it watered my gardens
in my absence.
I wept with shame that my garden can thrive in neglect
and yield tomatoes that I do not earn and flowers
that bud and blossom to my surprise.
I wept out of loneliness
in my empty house while my family traveled without me
jealous of those returning to homes
filled with family and animals while
my welcome was an overgrown garden
and a swarm of houseflies.
I wept for the intimacy of the journey
that we will not experience…
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