For years we met in the park. My dear homeschooling sisters and all our little ones. We dragged coolers, held the hands of our toddlers, pushed their trikes and toys, carried each other’s babies, and finally plopped down on outstretched blankets with tired sighs and deep breaths to match.
We ate. We prayed. We talked. We connected.
Over summer watermelon slices, skinned knees, sticky faces, dirty diapers and lots of laughter, we built a community.
Years passed and children grew. Some replaced their outdoor classroom with the walls of a school. Others moved far away. Many are still here but the separation from our own life events feels even more distant.
I’m back at one of those parks – at the playground with my now teenage son. He’s meeting a group of boys here to train for their sports team. They’re working hard and are gathering with purpose.
I just feel empty. Sad at the sisters I don’t see. Missing the cries and complaints of all the kids when it’s time to go. Longing for the depth of our discussions, and craving what we thought would be enduring friendships.