In the Grief of Goodbyes, I Lift Up My Eyes

In the last seven months of 2020, we said no less than seven goodbyes.

That's a lot of people leaving in a relatively small amount of time.

That's a lot of tears.

And grief.

And loss.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: nothing could have prepared us for the never-ending parade of goodbyes in this missions life, and it is one of the hardest aspects of this calling.  We've been on both sides of the coin.  We've been the people who've left - from family and friends in our home country, as well as from friends and colleagues at our first ministry site.  We've also been the people left behind - left to hold down the fort at our ministry site, left to stay the course when other people's courses have changed.  It's not easy on either end of the goodbyes, but it's particularly strenuous when the goodbyes topple on top of each other in short order.

Last weekend we said another goodbye, the first of this year.  One of our graduating residents officially moved away, taking his beautiful wife and precious baby boy with him.  They moved on to their next season of life, to a place where God has led them and provided for them, to a place where they will sow seeds of love and kindness and compassion that will bear fruit for God's Kingdom.

When they drove away, I turned around and cried.  Because we love them and didn't want to say goodbye.

But goodbyes are guaranteed here.  We live in a transient place.  It's not just the missionaries who come and go; it's everyone.  My Kenyan friend once noted how hard it is to live and work at a mission hospital because there are so many goodbyes.  Interns come for a year, then leave.  Residents come for four years, then leave.  Doctors come for various amounts of time, but many of them leave because they are far from home and home has a way of calling people back.

I'm sure that, someday, home will call us back too.

But that day is not today and we have found ourselves in the position of staying put and saying goodbye over and over again.

I daresay it is a cross to bear.

I've come to think that saying goodbye is a product of this broken world.  When Adam and Eve sinned in the garden, part of their punishment was to leave.  They were forced to say goodbye to all that was familiar, to leave the place where everything they knew was together in one place.  Granted, they were the only people on the planet, but they were at home in the garden and with the creation around them and it was good.

They were together in one place and it was good.

And one day, when the Lord restores all things and sets the world right, we will be together in one place and it will be good.  I've heard it said that all these goodbyes make us long for heaven even more, and I agree.  Heaven will be Home.  One home for all of God's people.  No more moving from here to there, no more saying goodbye and feeling a part of yourself break as the car drives away with a piece of your heart in it.  Heaven will be a place where we can find each other easily, where no one is beyond reach because of distance or time zones, where no one has moved on to a new season of life.  We will all be in the same season - a forever season of being together with Jesus and with each other.

Oh, how I long for that!

In the meantime, I've been reading and meditating on Psalm 121.  I've especially loved this psalm since moving to Chogoria, where we can see the peak of Mt. Kenya from our front porch on a clear day.  I've been reading it as I grieve so much loss in this season, loss which makes me hang my head and weep.

I lift up my eyes to the hills --

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,

the Maker of heaven and earth.

I have sat on our porch in the morning and chosen to raise my head even as I weep.  I lift up my eyes to the hills - the foothills and the mountain peak of Mt. Kenya - and ask myself, "Where does my help come from?"  And I answer as the psalmist does: my help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

Recently I've latched onto the final verse of Psalm 121, which has somehow escaped my notice before but has become a lifeline:

The Lord will watch over your coming and going

both now and forevermore.

What a promise for us all.  He watches over our comings and goings, and He watches over the comings and goings of those around us when it's our turn to stay.  None of our movements are unseen by Him and none of our goodbyes are unnoticed by His ever-watchful eyes.  We come, we go.  Others come, others go.  The Lord watches over it all.  I am helped and comforted by that.

So I will keep lifting up my eyes to the source of help, to the Maker of heaven and earth, to the One who created us to be together in one place and who declared it to be good as such, and who will make it so again.