Headed HomeBlog / Produced by The High Calling
It takes an hour to drive from Lincoln to the airport in Omaha. I put gas in the tank and point myself into the night, settling into darkness as it swallows up my small, black car that hums along the road.
Right now my husband flies above me – probably returning his tray table and seat back to their upright and locked positions – making the final descent toward home. I pray his flight is smooth and safe. I pray that he feels welcomed home. I imagine that our silent prayers for one another link together in the sky; that our deepest dreams and thoughts and wishes rise like glowing paper lanterns floating high into the night.
Sitting somewhere above me in a capsule in the sky, he’s joined by others who are traveling through, from where they were to where they’ll be. While cabin lights are dimming in the aircraft up above, I share this road with just a few who navigate between the dotted lines.
The comfort of this night wraps itself around my shoulders. It seems this night is all filled up with darkness that surrenders to the warmth of glowing light waltzing ever upward.
I slow my tiny car to hug the curb where weary travelers wait with baggage and souvenirs. My heart beats fast and maybe even skips a beat as my eyes meet his. I roll the car to a stop, and he opens the door and joins me here.
Can others see the light that glows between us in the dark? He rolls down the window, and I turn down the music. We merge with traffic to leave behind fluorescent lights and shuttle buses and luggage on two wheels. And all of us – the ones departing, the ones arriving, and the ones who travel in the dark - we are all headed home.
Photo by Claire Burge. Used with permission. Post by Deidra Riggs.