For When I Miss Someone

Devotional

The house sounds different when somebody's not in it.

Maybe a grandparent moved far away. Maybe a parent is gone for work. Maybe a friend's family packed up and left your town.

The quiet hallway. The spot on the couch.

Missing somebody can feel like a hole right in the middle of your chest.

That ache is real, and nobody gets to hurry you past it.

You know why it hurts to miss somebody? Because the love is real. God made you to be close to the people you care about. So when they're far, you feel it.

That's not being a baby about it. That's love doing exactly what love does.

Now here's where God shows up in it.

David once asked a huge question: "Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?"

Then he tried to think of somewhere God isn't. He looked up. He looked down. He imagined flying to the farthest edge of the ocean.

And every single time the answer came back: "Even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me."

He couldn't find one spot in the whole universe where God isn't.

Now think about what that means for the person you miss.

God's hand is holding you in your room tonight. And God's hand is holding them, wherever they are.

Same God. Same hands. Both of you.

Moses put it this way: "Underneath are the everlasting arms."

Underneath. Not way up above watching from far off. Underneath, carrying you, the way somebody carries a kid who fell asleep in the car.

And Paul wrote one of the boldest sentences in the whole Bible about this. He listed every powerful thing he could think of. Death. Life. Angels. Rulers. Height. Depth.

Then he said not one of them "will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Not distance. Not time. Not anything.

That doesn't mean the missing stops hurting tonight. God doesn't promise to make the ache disappear on schedule.

But "he heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."

Binding up a wound is slow, careful work. You do it gently. That's how he handles you.

So if the house is too quiet right now, go talk to him about it.

Tell him who you miss. Tell him what you'd say to them if you could.

You're not bugging him. He already knows, and he's already right there.

And here's the last thing. Because Jesus came out of the grave, no goodbye gets the final word.

The ache is real.

It just isn't the end.