“There is no joy like the joy of reunion because there is no sorrow like the sorrow of separation.” - John Eldredge

We arrived at the ferry dock with plenty of time to kill, and it felt great to be outside wearing a hooded sweatshirt on a cool, foggy morning in August, especially considering the weather back home. So I leaned on the railing of the dock overlooking the Puget Sound, sipping on my coffee, reading a book and waiting on the arrival of the ferry that would take us over to Anderson Island for the day.

As I stood there, I couldn’t help but overhear part of the conversation between a woman on the bench behind me and a man in uniform walking past. She was asking about the arrival of a ferry from McNeil Island, wanting to know if she was in the right place to meet those coming, and wondering at the expected time of arrival. The guard was somewhat impatient with her, and the impatience grew the more she stood and repeated her questions, as if she didn’t understand the answers he had already given her just moments before.

“It will arrive at 10.30 and the releases will come out at 10.35, once we have completed the paperwork,” he said.

“And he will be walking past here?” she clarified.

“Yes, once we have done the paperwork, the releases will get off and walk through here.”

At this the guard walked away and the woman sat back down on the bench, but I could tell she was somewhat out of sorts.

Our ferry was to arrive at ten, but after overhearing this conversation I wished I could have been around for the 10.30 arrival. I knew from previous trips that McNeil Island has a state prison and the “releases” the guard was talking about were prisoners who were about to breathe the fresh air of freedom again after their time behind bars.

I stood there pretending to mind my own business, reading my book, but out of the corner of my eye I watched this lady as she’d sip anxiously on her coffee, fidgeting with her newspaper. She would stand up every minute or so to see if the ferry had yet appeared across the bay, and then she’d sit down in disappointment and would go back to her coffee and her newspaper. This continued for quite some time, and she was still at it when I had to head back to the car to make sure I’d catch my ride.

It has always been fascinating to me to witness reunions at places like airports, when people haven’t seen each other for a couple of weeks, months, or years, and to see the hugs, the tears and the looks of familiar unfamiliarity as friends and families are reunited after their time apart. And so I especially wanted to stick around the ferry dock for the reunion of this woman and her husband or her son or whomever it was she was expecting to be released from prison on this cool, foggy morning at the ferry dock in Tacoma.

The whole thing struck me as a tremendously metaphorical thing to behold, the kind of thing aspiring writers live for, but I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was primarily a metaphor for the return of the prodigal son or more like waiting anxiously for the return of the One who paid our debt, but I knew it was something weighty.

As out ferry made its way across the water, the rising sun burned away the morning fog, and I wondered if anyone else was back at the dock to experience the weight of this reunion - yet another reunion hinting at the coming Reunion to end all reunions.