There is something about the bond between a father and son that is unexplainably beautiful. We have the blessing of having a first-born son, followed by three daughters. My husband, Curt, is hands-down the best Dad on the planet and all our kids absolutely adore him. Every evening they listen for the sound of the garage door going up and run like a herd of cattle to tackle Curt with hugs and kisses.
But Curt and Grant have a unique bond that is so intimate I almost feel intrusive when I watch them interact. In many ways, Grant is a miniature version of Curt. They look alike. They are both super logical, analytical and calculated to the point that it drives me crazy at times. They notice everything and forget nothing. When I am just not "getting" Grant, Curt understands before he even has to explain himself. In the ways they aren't completely identical, Grant tries hard to mimic Curt and make those traits his own.
Curt travels occasionally for business and when he's gone, Grant feels his absence profoundly. A few years ago, Curt left for an entire week and as we dropped him off at the airport, Grant started sobbing, "Daddy, don't go. Please don't go." Curt had to tear himself out of Grant's grasp to catch his plane. Grant sobbed for twenty minutes straight before he finally cried himself to sleep. Their reunion was as joyful as their departure was sad.
I read today in Luke 23 about Jesus' death on the cross. Verse 45 says that, smack dab in the middle of the day, "the sun stopped shining." My heart broke as I let myself soak in the depth of God the Father's agony as He watched His Son suffer. The Father's pain was so great, that the sun just stopped shining and a blanket of thick darkness descended on the earth. Tears dripped on the thin pages of my Bible as I read the next verse, "Jesus called out with a loud voice, 'Father, into Your hands, I commit my spirit.'" In essence, Jesus cried out, "Daddy, I'm coming home. It is finished. We did it. " The sacrifice was great. The pain unfathomable. The separation unbearable. The outcome struck the death blow to Satan's rule on earth and ushered in a new era of direct access to God through Jesus.
My mind's eye can see their joyous reunion. Daddy God with his arms outstretched to embrace His broken, battered, exhausted, but victorious Son. And Jesus, stumbling in the front door, hair disheveled, nail-scarred hands, blood on His face, yelling, "Daddy, I'm home." Only the father and son in my picture don't look Jewish - they look a lot like Curt and Grant.