They were at the airport with the rest of the family to see me off to Senegal. I remember waving and waving, blowing kisses and going a few feet further, then waving again until I couldn't see them anymore.
After I left, things started to change. Choices led to more choices and eventually their family was heading down a very different life path.
When I came back two years later, they weren't at the airport to welcome me back.
When I moved here, they cut off contact entirely.
Love carries the inherent possibility of pain - of loss, of goodbye, of betrayal.
Sometimes I shake my head when I think of the many hours they spent around our kitchen table - the warmth, the laughter, the inside jokes, the shared convictions. They had been so deeply a part of our family. It makes the betrayal sting that much more.
But love is worth the risk.
And love hopes.
Hopes - in spite of what they believe right now, in spite of what they may tell the kids, in spite of what they are surrounded with - for the truth to break through. What seems impossible to me is not too hard for God, the One of relentless grace and love.
I look at the picture and wish there was a happy ending. Right now there isn't - and there may never be.
Still, I can choose love.
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