where has the lunar been?

So I’m sitting on the covered front porch in a rocking chair, and though I can’t see it from here, I’m enjoying the illumination of the moon, reflected off the clouds and making visible even nocturnal critters crossing the road. Wait a minute, why am I on the front porch? My deck is certainly “chair safe” by now. Could it be that in my resolution to move to the front porch during the deck’s unavailability I’ve gradually become satisfied with the lesser experience. You know for two weeks after the painting of the deck, I actually pulled a rocking chair out onto the sidewalk or driveway to get out from under the cover and see the stars. Here I am out front, blinded by streetlights and content under the roof. Gradually, I’ve drawn myself further from the real thing and with each step, remembered less of what I’m missing.
Then like a gentle tap of the breeze on the shoulder, my attention is turned to what I used to have on the back deck. I don’t have to be asked twice. I go back through the house, open the back door and step back into the real thing. Open sky, stars all around, moon through trees, swift, wispy, backlit clouds, frogs singing out-of-tune, “O they tell me of a home far beyond the skies, O they tell me of a home far away.”
How could I have become content with the lonely front porch and forgotten the embrace of the deck, the view of the unfathomable expanse that exposes my miniscule self? What am I that you care for me?
Back here under the moon there is a completely different kind of loneliness, a contented longing made bearable by promises, faith, trust, and surrender.
Above, the round, silver disk, a symbol of distant intimacy, calls out and encourages the reclamation of the real thing. Can you see the moon? Are you looking for it? Come see it with me. Let’s watch it together. Stand beside me. Hold my hand.