I’ve seen a lot of Death. I’ve held her hand, ran my fingers over her forehead; I’ve put my arm around those getting left on earth whilst the other in the room gets to shake flesh back into dust. For some reason I can always tell when Death enters the room and I know when she is a few days out.

But. Knowing her, sensing her, doesn’t make me any better at releasing the displaced persons who have made their way back to Free. Those that get to flee this place, so often full of ragged and broken. Those that return to Maker and find rest at last.

Us aliens? We set up refugee camps. We do the best we can to bring our little bit of Home here. We endure the occasional enemy attack. But most days we do our best to take care of each other. To carry burdens for each other when they need some help. To bring a taste of the Land of the Free, to the land of the oppressed. It doesn’t always feel like that though. Most of the time we are so surrounded by beauty we forget to notice. We pick wild flowers, we laugh with friends, we hold on tight to each other.

And we remember. Some day we will also journey home. It will be a marvelous reunion. Till then? We remember to press into the One Heart who makes us truly home. We quell our restlessness in Him.

Inspired by my extraordinary friend Michelle and other Aliens writing on this subject at:

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