Watching The Hill

I live on a hill.  At the bottom of my drive, the road winds around a pond and beyond a grove of trees.  It is my custom, when folks leave my home to watch them from my driveway until they are out of sight.  My friend, Sandy, related that to my farm-girl childhood.  That’s what farm folks did.

True.  Four little girls climbed up the ‘buying post’ and watched until any friend or relative was out of sight.  I still do.  I’ve watched the car transporting one son to the Marines.  I’ve watched grandsons driving with new licenses.  Some ‘watches’ are too tender for words.

The disciples watched Jesus rise into heaven. Commissioned and challenged, they clung to that last glimpse.

He’ll return to no more good-byes.  Let’s be ready.

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