I was setting up chairs for a funeral reception last month when the deceased's brother found me in the parish hall.

He'd flown in from Arizona but they hadn't spoken in four years.

"Father, can I ask you something?" He was holding a coffee cup he hadn't touched. "Did she ever mention me?"
I told him the truth. She had, and more than once.

He sat down on one of the folding chairs, the weight of this truth landing on him. "I kept waiting for the right time to call. I had this whole thing I was going to say." He looked at the cup. "I thought I had more time."

"The thing is, she knew me. She knew my worst parts, why I stayed away, what I was ashamed of, and I think she would have answered my call anyway."

Being known, fully known, and realizing he would have been welcomed back was hard to deal with now that she was gone. The door had been open the whole time but he just never walked through it.

Four years of rehearsing the perfect apology, waiting until he was fixed enough to be worth calling.

Boy, did he regret it now.

Someone in your life might be doing the same thing right now--circling, rehearsing, convinced they need to be different before they can come back to you.

This week's invitation: Send the message that says you don't need the speech. You don't need them fixed. You just need them. Let them know the door is open.

God Bless.
FF