I am feeling vulnerable this evening. There are thunder and lightening, wind and rain. It makes me think of monsoon afternoons standing in the barn with my husband listening to the rain on the tin roof and feeling completely safe and warm in his arms. Carmon had big hands and strong arms and he was so caring and protective that it was easy to feel that, when I was enfolded in those arms, all was right in the world.
Perhaps it is the contrast between those afternoons and this one that is making me feel the opposite of safe - i.e., vulnerable. I haven't experienced that same feeling of being cherished and protected for nearly 33 years. Most of the time I just live out each day doing the task at hand as I best can discern the Lord's direction of those tasks. But on occasion I feel such a longing for home that it takes my breath away.
God blessed me with Richard a few years ago and, for a short while, I felt that safety and completeness that comes from belonging to someone heart and soul. But that time, while sweet, was short. He's been gone now longer than he was with me and some days it feels as if he were never here at all. It was as if God gave me a brief Nauvoo experience before sending me back on the prairie to pull my handcart alone.
I have been alone for more than half my adult life. All the good deeds, service, and accomplishment can't diminish that constant undercurrent of loneliness - a homesickness I cannot even describe in words. It is a blessing to know that I am sealed to Carmon for all eternity, but it is a bleak comfort on days like today.
Once again, I want to be taken in strong arms and held against the storms of life. Just once more . . .
