In Those Long Nights

 

Time has been carving its name into me,

slow strokes I didn’t notice

until the nights grew longer,

And my body began telling its truth.

When the house was full,

my aches never dared speak.

The kids’ laughter drowned everything out,

their teasing each other after dates,

their stories tumbling over each other

as they raided the kitchen at midnight.

The smell of whatever they were “cooking”

drifting down the hall,

and that soft, grateful relief

when we knew every one of them was home.

But children grow up,

as they should.

They stretch their wings,

and my heart stretches with them,

proud, worried, hopeful,

all at once.

And then one day,

the last door closed behind the last goodbye,

and the quiet settled in like dust.

Now, in the wee hours,

I lie awake thinking of days gone by,

the things I meant to do,

the versions of myself I never quite met.

The aches and creaks speak louder than they used to,

but so does something else.

In the stillness,

I feel God near;

a warmth wrapping around me,

a light soft enough to rest in.

No judgment, no hurry,

just presence.

And in that glow,

the empty spaces don’t feel so sharp.

I long to lean into His arms,

to rest where time can’t reach,

to know that deep in the place beyond fear

that everything will be alright.

wcd