I hate goodbyes. I really do. And unfortunately, the World Race is full of them.
Every month ends with trepidation as we all prepare ourselves for another round of goodbyes. We try to balance the clash of emotions within us – sadness about leaving but pure excitement about the next place. The fight to sort through that clutter of emotion usually results in lots of tears for people like my teammate Chelsea, and for people like me it usually produces hours of silence and journaling. We still haven’t figured out the best way to cope with it.
This month the goodbyes have been some of the hardest. That makes it sound like I’ve been saying some elaborate and eloquent speeches to people as we cling to each other and reminisce about the last four weeks together. But usually what my goodbyes look like are: me standing awkwardly with someone, debating whether a hug is appropriate or necessary, then I usually give the hug at the last second and say something like, “It was great meeting you. Have a nice life.” It sounds so insensitive and probably a little cold, but that’s how it almost always works out. Apparently saying goodbye just never gets easier, even after six months worth of them.
(awkward goodbyes)
One positive side to some of these goodbyes is that there is a good chance that it’s not goodbye forever. Many of the goodbyes are really just “see you laters” because a lot of the most notable people I’ve met this year are Christians. So we might be saying goodbye for this side of eternity, but there is a refreshing hope of a reunion sometime on the other side of this earth. It’s so extraordinarily comforting to know that someday, I’ll meet some of these people again and we can sit and catch up on the decades that have passed and remind each other of all the great memories we had when we were living in the same place at the same time. That’s how I imagine heavenly reunions at least.
Not everyone I say goodbye to is a Christian though. Those goodbyes are certainly the hardest. On my last day in the community this month, I walked around with a volunteer from Networks. We did some routine house visits and wandered casually through the garbage dump neighborhood. Kids ran up to us and flung their greasy hands around our waists, climbing up our legs as we greeted them by stroking their dirty hair. Each time this happened, I made it a point to pray over those kids, even though they didn’t understand what I was saying. As I stroked their heads, I said, “Jesus I love this little kid. Cover him (or her) with your blood and bring them into your Kingdom.” That simple prayer is probably more effective than I realize, and I hope it does make a difference.
(Going away dinner with most of the Networks volunteers)
But the fact is, I have absolutely no way to know with confidence that I’ll ever see those kids again on either side of eternity. I couldn’t tell you if someday I’ll see them in heaven and they’ll run up to me with just as much enthusiasm, and we’ll sit and talk about all the decades that have passed. As much as I hate to admit it, there’s a chance that such a reunion will never happen.
And that sucks. That’s when the goodbyes get really hard. That’s when I want to just stop this. I want to stop packing up my bag every month. I want to stop traveling. I want to go to one place and live there forever and never say goodbye to anyone. I don’t want to be a rolling stone anymore. I want to gather some moss.
But I suppose I can’t avoid goodbyes. Even if I do settle down in one place for the rest of my life, goodbyes will still come. That’s part of life. That’s how it works.
And I suppose that the best way to measure the depth of your love for someone is to measure the difficulty of your goodbye with them. If you love deeply and fully and unrestrained, you inherently expose yourself to heartache and pain. But it is better to love and experience pain as a consequence than to never love at all.
And so, here’s to loving boldly even though a goodbye is inevitable.
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it in tact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in a casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” –C.S. Lewis
