“In my Father’s house, there are many mansions . . .” John 14:2

I wasn’t feeling that great.  I had a lot of plates spinning and hadn’t slept well the night before as a thunderstorm in the wee  hours of the morning woke me and my brain woke up and I never went back to sleep.  The weather for the last few days has been awful with ominous thunderstorms, and thick humidity that clings to you like a wet suit.

When I got over in the Delta, my neck and shoulders relaxed, and I backed off a little on my usual above speed-limit driving style. I reminisced about the 90s when I worked on a big fish kill and environmental cleanup on the Mississippi.  I spent most of the summer in the Delta.  I soaked in the sunshine and all the agriculture. First it was wheat, then corn, then soybeans, and early cotton.  Most of the crops were corn – deep green and over a head high – vigorous, healthy growth from the wet Spring.  My father used to say you could hear the stalks popping lying in his bed at night when he was growing up after a little rain.

I was headed for an overnight stay with a couple of old running buddies from my late teens and early 20s. I had been reunited with them almost serendipitously  last year. One of them lives on a farm in a barn dominium on an isolated plot close to the White River and not that far from the Mississippi.  This is an especially kitted and outfitted outdoorsman’s barn dominium with the walls arrayed with appealing outdoor art and an impressive collection of hunting and fishing gear; plus all the conveniences of a modern-day home.

When I pulled in a small low country boil on the back patio was underway for lunch, and the three of us jumped right into conversation, joking and picking at each other.  We sat out in the shade of the walk around patio of the house and  gazed out into the lush green vegetation and the big pond stocked with bass, crappies, and bream.   Later that afternoon we caught and released many largemouth bass. 

When we went back to the house (not going to keep typing barn dominium), I washed my hands and face, and we cooled off and started preparing for supper.   While we moved around, my brain had slowed down enough that I became lost in the moment.  I noticed how my two buddies’ voices and mannerisms hadn’t changed, and they really didn’t look that old, but they sure moved a lot slower and a had a few other signs of aging. (Better shape than me, though, lol).  In the quieter moments, I thought of the reference to “this earthly tent” from 2 Corinthians 5. These old “tents” are getting worn out.  In that same passage, Paul goes on to tell us the tent will be destroyed in the end but, “We have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”

Later, we would eat and tell stories – a lot of memories and belly laughs, and we all realized how fortunate we were to still be alive, surviving  the foolishness of our youth. The evening progressed with more storytelling, looking at photos of grandchildren, and thank goodness very little talk about current events.

The next morning, one friend had to leave kind of early, and I hung around and visited some more with my old friend, our host, until noon.  When I got home, I went to bed at 9:30 exhausted from missing some sleep, the 3.5 hour drive, but mostly,  from the non-stop conversations.  Men just don’t talk that much unless they are really engaged.

This morning, I read a devotional with a theme that “this is not our home”. No, it’s not.  Yesterday sitting out on a bluebird morning,  a gentle breeze kept it tolerable as we sat in the shade of the wraparound porch.  My friend got a phone call, and had left his phone in the house and had to go inside. I sat in the quietness of God’s creation for about ten minutes.  I prayed and on cue a robust breeze kicked up. I watched the leaves rustle and branches sway in the luxuriant green hardwood trees – a little love tap from  the Creator to remind me that He created the sky, the trees, and the rain that made the vibrant growth and verdant milieu that surrounded me. And, most of all, it was a reminder that He in that moment was present.

Reflecting on the trip, I thought about the friendship bond that had held true after many decades of being separated.   I prayed for my buddies, and I am thankful to the Lord for this reunion. 

Yes, this is not my home; yet every now and then – in the quietness and stillness – the Holy Spirit,  gives us a glimpse of the hope of heaven and what true fellowship looks like.  Just for a moment in this earthly pilgrimage. . . . When that happens, cherish the gift; remember the Lord and remember to love the Lord with all your heart, mind and soul.