The Last Airport

Posted on: August 15, 2012 Written by
The Last Airport
      Photography by: Okea from iStock    

At the end of my last trip, headed home to my own country,

I unbuckle my seatbelt and stand when the light goes off.

A long, delicious stretch, as I release the creaks and pains from many, many journeys.

 

Here’s a difference: no gathering of personal belongings,

no lifting down awkward, heavy carry-ons.

 

The final tunnel has no curves or turns, just a long ramp sloping gently upwards

toward the airport and the sunshine.

 

I hear familiar voices of loved ones chatting as they wait at the gate,

beginning to call my name as they spot me.

I start to jog,

with growing excitement and energy.

 

I’m eager to hear the final “Welcome Home” from the final customs official,

this one smiling.

 

Other differences strike me: there is no security (no need),

No passport control (only citizens arrive at this airport),

No baggage claim (my special treasures have been sent on ahead and stored here for me).

 

Beyond the shoulders of the welcoming committee I suddenly glimpse

half-remembered places;

I suddenly smell half-remembered scents,

taste half-remembered flavors: a holy deja-vu.

 

Finally I’m out of the tunnel and into the arms of loved ones, my Loved One.

Kisses and laughter, caresses and JOY.

 

Eventually I am extricated from the smiling crowd by Him and we lead the way out of

that last airport.

 

“Well done, my love!  And you’re right on time.  Wait until you see

what I’ve gotten ready for you!”

 

We’re out into the bright sunshine and the rest of my life.

 

I’m home.

 

 

© 2012 Women of the Harvest.

Question to Consider: Poetry has the power to reach us deeply. How has this creative expression of heaven impacted you?



About the author

Anneke Painter serves in Brazil.

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