The One Constant
You know that feeling when you say goodbye to someone you love not knowing when you will see them again? That pit that forms in the hollow of your stomach and presses against you as if it just might take your very breath? Perhaps it is the known final goodbye, one at the end of long suffering. Maybe it is the tragic and sudden shock of goodbye with its sting overwhelming, leaving you numb. Or the goodbye could simply be, until we see each other again.
Nothing in life really prepares you for those goodbye moments, even the moments themselves, and yet they are inevitable for all of us.
As a child who literally moved throughout three different states and fifteen different houses by the time I was eleven, I was no stranger to saying goodbye. Despite the immediate sadness when we would come and go, I learned to welcome the change and enjoy the celebration. My mom was a faithful party planner with every transition – a goodbye party on one end and a welcome party on the other. The hope of newness, whether in my new bedroom or a fresh adventure in a new state was always exciting. The thought, however, of a foreign school, an unknown teacher and a potential new friend group wasn’t so much.
Fast forward to starting life as a newly married couple 1,400 miles from where I grew up and everything familiar. I tried to muster up and utilize all of my life lessons on creating a life in the promise of new and exciting. Every few years in the city of Manhattan we would form life around our tight community as we knew it. Similar to a college experience, most city dwellers we encountered were expats, so the pressures of the city and the trenches of new parenthood in our 20’s and 30’s led us to form tight bonds and swim to the depths of relationships. But it was almost like clock-work, every two years not one but several of our very closest friends would say goodbye. A new job, a place closer to family, a better opportunity, a new child, whatever good reason it was, it was still the sting of goodbye and a starting over of sorts.
We are left with the tension of how to live in the joy of today but with a very present and real sadness of the remaining void.
Just over two years ago, we ourselves moved and made our way back to my hometown and closer to parents and family on both sides. We grieved saying goodbye to what had been home for 13+ years but also welcomed what was to come, a place that had the potential of permanence and long-term memories. Several key relationships were such a blessing for us during this cross-country transition over the past year: a childhood friend, my sister, and the head pastor of a church we would soon call home.
First, being back in Texas meant I could live in closer proximity to family as well as a few childhood friends I had known since the age of 7 and whose friendships felt more like sisters because of our long history. One in particular had been diagnosed with cancer the year prior. Now only an hour and a half away, we had more frequent visits face to face and to say it was sweet would be an understatement. I often thought if she was the one reason God allowed us to move back, it was all worth it. To walk alongside of her in what I now know were her last weeks on earth, will forever be one of the greatest blessings of my life. But that day came. I didn’t get a chance to say an official goodbye, yet it was final none the less. We had talked and prayed through it, but when that phone call came it felt sudden and the sting felt insurmountable. I wasn’t prepared for goodbyes here the way I had come to expect it in Manhattan. And this one topped them all.
Then, several months passed and casually over the dinner table, my sister, who is as much of a best friend to me as anyone, cautiously shared that she and her family were considering a move overseas. This is the sister that has always been in Dallas, told me she was always going to be in Dallas and was a huge reason we came back to the area. As any sister would, I cheered her on knowing how much growth comes when you leave your area of comfort and as a wife when you walk alongside your dreaming husband. Inside I grieved. I wrestled. I doubted. Why did we just move our entire lives to a place to finally be near family and then a significant part of that family just announced they were going to move? I started realizing it doesn’t matter what season of life you are in or where you are living, change is inevitable. Goodbyes come and with them, grieving. Some grieving is short-term. Some is long-term but it is grieving none the less.
Lastly, we are always intentional when we move somewhere to find a church home, a place to worship, to serve and to be fed, and this time was no different. In our smaller town outside of Dallas, David and I were pleasantly surprised to find a head pastor who is from New York originally and had lived and served in ministry in the NYC area for several years. He and his wife helped us to transition our thoughts, expectations, and children’s emotions from one culture to another in this season. Last week, he announced his departure after 13 years of ministry at our church. Even though I only knew him as pastor for a little over a year, there is still a jolt of grief that re-calibrates our system as we say goodbye, yet again.
All of these goodbyes in various magnitudes happened over the course of a year. One morning, as I sat with my kids during our morning bible time, we read this verse together.
“Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.”
When I asked my four children what significance this verse has for us, my newly seven-year old answered confidently, “It means we always have a Savior.”
I couldn’t have answered it better myself. No matter the season. No matter the level of grief. No matter the number of goodbyes we have been forced to utter, there is one that does not change.
Colossians 1:17 reminds us that God holds all things together. You mean when it feels like your whole life is unraveling like a stray piece of yarn, there is someone bigger who is holding your mess altogether and will put the pieces of your heart back together again in time? Yes. He is before all things and in him all things hold together. If that isn’t good news, I don’t know what is.
There is a God that was, even before the creation of the world and will remain long after, from everlasting to everlasting.
I cannot think of goodbyes without being reminded of a comforting comment from my husband after a painful miscarriage in our early 30’s. I was an exhausted new Mom to one at the time, and the loss of this new life began to wreak havoc on my emotional state and my physical body. Filled with anxiety and doubt and too many questions to answer, my husband gently reminded me that the same God who brought us together and sustained me thus far is still the same God.
He doesn’t change even though our circumstances do.
Maybe it isn’t a goodbye but a big change, an unknown, the grieving of a life you wish was yours, and today you need to be reminded that there is someone constant who was and is and will always be, yours. He is near. He hears you. He sees you. He never sleeps. He remains on his throne. In the midst of your grieving, in the midst of your goodbye, lean on the one constant - the God who is everlasting. Forever. Eternal. Let that blow your mind just a little and help carry you through another day.
Selah.