I have possibly the best job in the world. By far, it’s the best job I’ve ever had – if it can be called a job at all.
My job this week is hanging out with some of the nicest guys there are, sitting while someone else drives, waiting while someone else plays and then – for forty-five minutes – singing and speaking about God. Like I said, not sure it can even be called a job.
Why so out of sorts then?
Maybe it’s the blanket of gray over Alberta today, or the sudden drop in temperature. Maybe it’s the flat tire this morning, or too much hotel food, or the forced fast from my cell phone sans international calling plan. Maybe. But I’m pretty sure it’s biblical.
Single people, listen up. Pay no attention to your mom or your well-intentioned friends. You don’t need to get married. You’re not half a person in need of someone else to make you a whole one. The bible says “two become one.” That’s two whole people becoming one whole person.
1 + 1 = 1
1/2 + 1/2 = 1
Strange math huh? God’s math.
Because now, when I’m not with my wife I feel like half a man. And, in a sense, in a way I can’t begin to articulate, I am. And that hurts. It’s supposed to I think.
It’s a pain greater than missing someone you love. And it’s too deep to heal with a phone call or e-mail. The only medicine is presence. Intimacy.
Two more days and I’m cured.