I didn’t know I loved you like this.
A lot of mornings, I grumbled before I saw you. It was a lot of work to get myself together, to get the rest of us together, to put things in order just to get to you. And when I saw you, I took you for granted, assuming you’d still be there when I was in a better mood, just as you always had been. Sometimes I picked at your insufficiencies or rolled my eyes at your weaknesses. You aren’t just like me; one day that’s a balm, another day it’s a struggle. But no matter how out of sorts I feel when I get to you, I’m always glad you showed up. Always glad I showed up. Always. I figured it would always be this way. This was just our life together. Was.
I didn’t know I loved you like this.
But now, I can’t see you save the moments your face is backlit and pixelated. Your voice cuts in and out depending on the connection. I squint hard, I listen hard, I smile hard, I cry hard. I wasn’t prepared for how much I would miss you, because truthfully, I never imagined a time in my life when I couldn’t get to you, when you couldn’t get to me. But here we are in our separate rooms with our separate loneliness, and I am surprised by the manner in which I miss you. Your voice makes me ache, and I long to see your face.
I didn’t know I loved you like this.
We’ve had our fair share of arguments and arms-length distancing. But better to work through our issues together than to miss one another apart. Truly, we are better together. You show it now with your calls and texts, letters and cards. In your absence, my heart grows fonder. I didn’t know just how interwoven your life was with mine. There’s a hole, an empty seat, a vacant lot, a void that’s only yours. I feel it more each day, and every day I’m surprised by the depth of it all.
I didn’t know I loved you like this.
I promise when I see you next, that I’ll see you, really see you. I won’t be afraid to tell you how much I love you because now I know that what gets me to you every week is what gets you to me every week: love. It’s what makes us who we are. Or it will make us who we are; we’re becoming who we are right now in this realization that what holds us together is stronger than either of us. It’s Christ’s love that binds us and makes us one, and nothing will truly separate us from that kind of love. Today, we love one another by giving each other space. I want you to be well. I know you want the same for me. But, oh, for the day to touch and see without barriers and screens and masks and gaps between our bodies.
Oh church, I didn’t know I loved you like this.
Perhaps that is the gift of our isolation.
There’s a hole, an empty seat, a vacant lot, a void that’s only yours. I feel it more each day, and every day I’m surprised by the depth of it all. Share on X
Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
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