House on the Rock

For the longest time, our family has had a group chat titled, “Wish You Were Here!” It was set up by Mom, of course, so that she could share pictures of various family vacations with our grandparents. It became a rite of passage for the add-ons — if you made it in the chat, you’d earned her seal of approval. And once Joe and Riley joined, it turned into a conglomeration of conversations far beyond just vacation: health updates, moves and marriages, accomplishments, embarrassments, funny stories, and family plans. It was, and still is, my most-used texting conversation. 

But I often think back to its roots: beachside family pictures clad in something coordinating that we’d share with our loved ones back home. There were snapshots of ice cream outings, sand castles, boogie boarding, beach naps. Almost always captured by Mom, almost always shared with whoever was unable to be on the trip at that time. It was a sentimental sneak-peak saved specially for the grands, long before the world of Facebook got its eyes on it. She would always send her selfies and snapshots with the heartfelt caption, “Wish you were here!” What a whole new meaning that phrase took on once Mama breathed her final breath. 

We’re on a family vacation now. It’s our first one since Mom went to be with Jesus, and of course, we went straight for the beach. As I loaded up our trunk with patriotic gear, pickleball paddles, and pool noodles, I couldn’t help but whisper, “Man, Mom. I wish you were here.” She loved all things family time, especially those weeks away where we could unplug from the real world, wear swimsuits from dawn to dusk, and bond by bursting through breakers on the beach. All of my very favorite memories happened there with her.

And it’s been a wonderful week full of competitive competitions organized by Cam, fun photoshoots courtesy of Christen, long walks and deep talks with Dad, and the joy of having Joe and Riley as part of our pack. But with every shrimp dinner, dance party, euchre game, and pool day, we can’t help but saying over and over, “I just wish she were here!”

These sentiments, I think, are right. Natural. To be expected. They weigh heavily on our every breath of this vacation and we mean it with our whole hearts: We wish our beautiful mom were with us. But if we sit down and really consider the phrase — to look at it with eyes fixed on eternity — we’d never actually wish to pull her from the glory of Heaven. I think of her body that will never again know sickness or sin, will never battle a migraine or bad mood, will always and forever only know perfect splendor in the presence of her Savior. And while we do (and always will) wish she were here, I think a far more fitting motto for us now is, “Wish We Were There!”

I can honestly say that losing our beautiful mama so early has given us an ache for Heaven like never before. It makes me desperate for the day that sky breaks open and Christ calls us home. Watching her pass from groaning to glory has served as a poignant reminder that this life is a blip. It’s the reason Joe insisted we get a calligraphied canvas for our new living room: “Not Our Home.” Sort of a joke, but mostly a way to remember that we can’t put our worth in this temporary world when an eternity awaits us.

This mindset changes everything. Having eyes fixed on Heaven makes the anxieties of this world seem so small. House is a mess? Not our home. Friendships not clicking? Not our home. Job stinks? Not our home. Have to buy a new car the same week you buy a new house? (Tragically speaking from personal experience…and yet still, not our home!). This doesn’t mean we throw the towel in and plod miserably through this life. It just means that eager anticipation paints over our fiery trials like the brightest of rainbows. We don’t let the woes of this world flatten us without quietly whispering “Wish we were there!” as we fall to the floor again and again. 

We remember, as best said by Tim Keller, that the “only thing death can do for Christians is to make their lives infinitely better.” And we work and play for another day in exile, Wishing We Were There, but trusting that day will be here soon enough, and we’ll have no recollection of the sorrows that plagued our days on earth.

So while we’ll always bear the sting of “wishing Mom were here,” we’ll instead choose to wholeheartedly sing that we Wish We Were There. And we’ll fix our gaze on Heaven until Heaven becomes our home.