Tomorrow night he arrives from his gospel wanderings. He left the hiking boots, walking stick, and his waterproof bible neatly in the corner, and turned the light off to his room at the children's home. It's the beginning of Mike's way home to me and the family of five God made out of us two. 

His feet will still be shod with the preparation of the gospel, because we never take that off. We wear the garment of the gospel always. It binds us in ways that even marriage doesn't: death will separate us, but the gospel never will. It's a thing of rare beauty on this uncertain earth, this never. And surety is a true companion on the long way home, because the journey homeward is rife with myriad twists and turns.

There's no other pilgrim with whom I'd rather sojourn, so travel safely, Mike.

Until Tuesday, when we resume our travel side by side, as we should be,
Dawn



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