on missing him.

He's away again. Away from home. Away from me.

The ache in my chest and the dampening of my eyes remind me of my heart's desire to always be near to him.

He slept next to the river last night, camped amongst the pine needles and frost, with a fire working to keep his hands warm. Despite its persuasive flames, his hands likely remained cold. His hands are always cold.

He'll wake up next to the river this morning, wrapped in a tight cocoon of down feathers and GoreTex. The sounds of the river will wake him, water dripping slowly over rocks, and the small pattering of rain on the roof of his tent will heighten his senses. He'll roll over and reach for his well-worn Bible, held together by the restriction of a rubber band. He'll open it's pages and read out of James, allowing himself to be instructed on how to better obey his Father. His heart and spirit overflow with the breathing-in of forest mist and air. He's a student. He's a disciple.

He'll spend a day on the river, grasping hands and ropes in the midst of rushing rapids, being trained even further to save a life in the harsh moments of potential crises. The strength of his arms will be tried and tested, reaching into icy waters, pulling others ashore from stranded rocks and rafts. He comes alive when his body is pushed, pulled and pumped full of adrenaline. He's an athlete. He's a warrior.

He'll eat next to the river, with others who also chose to push themselves further into the realm of lifesaving within the river's rapids. He'll sit in the lodge with those around him, being warmed by an old wood stove in the center of a wooden room. He'll enjoy the company and home-cooked food and he'll speak words of encouragement and kindness, strength and truth. He's a friend. He's a mentor. He's a leader.

He'll fall asleep next to the river again, curling himself onto his side beneath the orange fabric of his tent. He'll lie awake for a few moments and I know he'll think of me. He'll think of my face, my touch, my embrace. He'll think of Rowan, with his tiny hands and the way they eagerly grab his own feet. He'll think of how fast he's grown. He'll think of us fondly and he'll long for our comfort. He's a husband. He's a father.

Although my eyelids sting from the tears of missing him, I know he'll come home to me. He'll come home full of life, love and renewal. The days that he'll spend on the river will seep into his skin and bones, then, he'll arrive feeling more connected to our God than when he left. And when he returns to me, he'll guide me and lead me closer to Him... as he always does.

He's away again. Away from home. Away from me.

But he'll return soon, in three days' time.