A Lighted Farewell

This is the day.  The next phase in our family's move to Virginia has begun.

Earlier than she expected Claudia awakened this morning, showered and dressed and made final preparations for her road trip.  Shortly after her arising I, too, was up assisting with last-minute things: checking the dryer for a final few clothes to be packed, medicating the more anxious of our two dogs in anticipation of a day's travel, communicating with a very stressed and crabby nineteen-year-old with mental health needs.

Anyone who knows and cares about persons with mental illness knows that anxiety and new situations exacerbate innate conditions.  Claudia and I were subjected to a barrage of curses, foot stomping and plastic-cup throwing this morning as the vehicle was packed with final items.  Initially refusing to take his medication, our son finally acceded to our request, but not without considerable emotional intensity.  We bade one another our farewells.  I petted the dogs for a final time in Minnesota, hugged Claudia and called out to our chortling son that I loved him.

And then I went downstairs to the laundry room to continue the never-ending task of keeping our laundry clean and organized.  I realized once again just how hard it is to be the one who is left, and I didn't want to watch the Equinox's headlights drive away in the darkness of a cold January morning.

As I was filling the washer I glanced, out of habit, through the window's direct view of the parking area behind our house.  As I looked up Claudia was just backing up into the alley.

And then an interesting thing happened.  To understand why it's interesting, you have to understand the motion-sensing security lights on our garage.  After initially working quite well two or three years ago, they have in recent months become more sporadic.  We never know exactly when they will turn on and when they won't.  Most times as we walk by in the darkness it remains dark, and occasionally with no motion at all they will be limning the night.  So we have had little confidence in their consistency.

But this morning, just as Claudia was backing up and then moving forward to leave our Robbinsdale home a final time, the security lights flicked on, a bright beacon in the bitterly cold morning darkness.  I'm sure it's my overly active imagination, but for just that moment it was a calming sign to me, a lighted farewell from the One who is the Light of the World.  And a reminder that God's light shines as brightly in the south-eastern part of the country as it does here in the upper midwest.