We just returned from spending a few days in the Southern California area for my best friend’s wedding. It was a beautiful and joyous occasion, and I’m so happy for her and her new husband. May God grant them many years.

It was delightful to catch up with college friends I hadn’t seen in quite a while. Although so much had happened and changed since I last saw most of them, we laughed together and discussed topics in typical Torrey fashion (if you know, you know) just like old times. And just like old times, we owned the dance floor, singing along to the music at the top of our lungs.

We were able to see family friends for dinner on Friday, and we stayed with my in-laws: Michael had so much fun playing with Oma and Opa. He loved reading the “knock knock” book with Oma, and playing with the dryer balls and looking at icons with Opa.

I also was blessed to attend Saturday Vespers at St Michael’s in Whittier. It was here I first discovered my home in Orthodoxy. As much as I love the Eastern Rite, the Western Rite is where my heart is at home.

It was beautiful to see Michael running in the courtyard of the church where I met his father five years prior (almost to the day!), and playing by the statue of his patron saint.

It’s always difficult for me the day after a trip like this. Distance is a hard thing. I don’t like being far away from the people we love, and our visits are limited by time and resources and logistics. Reunions are joyful, but parting is difficult. Our family and friends are scattered across the state, the country; the globe.

In our spread-out, disconnected society, distance is a fact of life. I would argue technology has played a large role in increasing distance between people. There’s a reason our age, the most technological, is also the most lonely. Even with the benefits of technology to bridge distance, nothing replaces being in person together: sharing a meal, or a hug, or a laugh.

And in a fallen world, distance is unavoidable. Until Christ comes again, there will always be distance to traverse. Distance between us and our loved ones, between us and our family; between us and God.

I find it helpful to dwell on the journeying instead of the distance. Instead of thinking on how long it’ll be until my next visit, I consider every call or text or letter as a small step towards my friends or family before we’re reunited in person. Instead of thinking about how far away I am from the holy person I want to be, I consider what my next step should be: morning prayer? Attending to my rule of life?

When having dinner on our journey with dear family friends, we sang Dona Nobis Pacem in a round. Older voices, younger voices, confident voices, quiet voices: all taking part in the music. For a moment, it felt like the music had drawn together those who were not with us because of distance or death. It was a foretaste of the meal and the music that await us in the next life, by God’s mercy.

Give us peace, Lord, and be with us on our journeys until all distance is behind us.