To Love subtlety, and not spectacularly

It hasn't been easy being away from home.  I've intentionally missed calls from loved ones.  Haven't listened to their voice mails for days longer than that.  Not sure what makes me worse.  Two worlds.  Someone should have written a letter to my family and warned them.

My family is proud of me.  I can't always tell if they are happy or upset with some of the choices I've made.  Not every phone call from my grandfather should be him praising me and telling me how proud he is of me.  Not every call from my mom is pleasant or memorable.  I learn about my family like studying some history class.  I don't actually live life with them.  Over time I stopped caring about approval, praises, and curtain calls.  Luckily my family has been more than willing to oblige that and give none.

It hurts to expend tremendous amounts of energy showing affection towards home and my loved ones.  That makes me feel like I have to apologize for the choices I've made.  I don't want to do that.  I pray.  I weep.  I grieve.  I glimmer in hope and joy for home.  I still get excited when I see Washington State license plates.  Stepping into Seattle/ Tacoma International Airport is still a mesmerizing experience of anticipation of being almost home.

So what gives?

Loving spectacularly hurts and often sets up a whole lot of people for disappointment.  The pressure.  The expectation.  It isn't very fun.  I don't do spectacular well.

Loving in bursts has always been easier.  And it seems to be a lot healthier.  I am a mystery to my family.  A pilgrim, and always a son.  I'll write about my life one day, and they expect that more than they expect me home.  I pray for them.  I daydream about how they age.  I imagine the heartiness of their laughter, the sharpness of their tears and sobs carries more weight.  I imagine happier faces.  I see older faces.  When I go home, I get excited about shoveling snow, splitting wood, washing cars, or pulling weeds.  I don't want fancy dinners, big speeches, or nickel and dime advice.

Love in the smallest of ways is more rewarding.  To love isn't about "look at me and what I've done", it's "your world, and life matters. So let me show it to you by coming into it in a way you understand it and know it to be true."

Answering a call recently from my grandfather, I realized, he doesn't care what it is I do, or how big of a deal I am. He probably won't ever get what it is I do or who I am.  But all he cares about is hearing my voice.  It's all he wants.  And that's enough.