On Friday evenings, I go and sit with the grandchildren. Daddy is a long distance lorry driver so, although he does get home on a Friday evening, it isn’t at any set time and depends on traffic and other factors that make timings unpredictable. Meanwhile Mummy needs to be out at six o’clock.
Last Friday, as Mummy closed the door as she left, small granddaughter stood in front of where I sat on the settee and looked at me with her puppy dog eyes filling with tears. “Mummy’s gone.” She sniffed. “Daddy’s gone.” Her lips quivered and a tear drop ran down her nose.
“But you’ve got Grandma!” I joyfully smiled and held her to me. Hmmmm! I could tell she wasn’t impressed. As I released her and wiped away her tears, the face I saw I imagined was a reflection of the face of a disciple as he realised Jesus had gone. Bereft. Unbelieving that such a thing could happen. Alone. Destitute. Mary sobbing in the Garden. Peter and John as they looked into the tomb. Abandoned. Hopes shattered.
Well, we played for an hour or so as she stoicly hid her sadness and put on a brave face.
Then I saw her stop in her tracks. She had heard the faintest of sounds. A footstep in the porch. I felt the tension in her ears as she strained to hear what she so longed for. The key in the lock. Yes! There it was.
Immediately she grabbed my shoes and handed them to me,” Grandma go now Daddy’s here!” He opened the door and she threw herself into his arms. Her smile said it all.
I’m sure that was the same smile that was on Mary’s/Peter’s/John’s face on Easter morning. Jesus was back. He had returned.
Would we feel the same overwhelming joy were He to walk into our house today?
“One day He’s coming, Oh glorious Day!”