A vivid memory I have from my childhood is of when my father returned from business trips. I can still remember how my heart would pound as I heard a car approaching from the street—my ear was tuned to pick out his engine from among other cars that would drive by. Then the garage would open and, after what seemed like an eternity, he’d finally walk through the door and I’d jump off the couch to hug him in the entryway. I can still remember exactly what he smelled like: travel and office and, well, daddy—jet fuel, printer paper, aftershave.

I was remembering that today and found myself suddenly overcome with a terrible longing for my Lord. I really want my Daddy to come home. I know when it happens that I’ll know, really know, that it’s him and no other. It’ll be unmistakable, unlike any other homecoming. After his wrath is poured out then “the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, and with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God” (1 Thessalonians 4:16). With a single word he’ll make things right again. In an instant we’ll be flying to greet him, called by the sound of his approach. How I look to that day!