Hello and Goodbye

Hello and Goodbye. In our lifetimes we say those words millions of times. Mostly our hello and goodbye is very casually said, such as when we answer the phone with “hello.” For many years I had no idea who was calling when I answered the phone, but my greeting was always “hello.” Now with caller ID, it’s easy to tell who is calling, and my response is sometimes different.

Goodbyes are a little different. Sometimes they are very casual because we have plans to see the other person again soon. But sometimes the best-laid plans don’t happen the way we thought they would.

Recently a friend I had known for nearly 30 years died suddenly. At one time we were very close friends, but in the last five years or so, our paths have gone different ways, so we rarely saw each other. I cannot remember the last time I said “goodbye” to her. I am sure that whenever it was, I did not think it would be a final goodbye. Fortunately, her family was able to see her and tell her goodbye before she died, though she was not conscious. We do not know how much people hear and understand in the unconscious state, but I am sure she heard and felt their loving goodbyes.

Other goodbyes are not as emotional. My daughter and her family live in Oklahoma City, an eight-hour road trip from my home. They were just here for a long weekend, and we said goodbye when they departed. After an action-packed weekend with cousins, an aunt and uncle, great-grandma and grandma Polly, one cousin taking a trip to the emergency room for stitches and other general chaos, I am sure they were ready to be in their own space and sleep in their own beds. And I have to admit, I welcomed the silence in my home again, as I’m no longer used to the bedlam of young children 24-7. However, saying goodbye was tough for me, but there were no tears. I don’t know when I will see them again, but I believe I will. Perhaps for Thanksgiving?

So why are goodbyes difficult sometimes, even when it does not involve a death? For me, it’s because goodbye means the ending of something that was fun and wonderful. Life has ups and downs. I tend to savor the highs – the joys of life – and a goodbye usually signals the end of an experience or conversation that brought joy. And being human, sometimes my wonderful times are followed by a bit of a letdown. Like hello and goodbye, it’s all part of the ebb and flow of life.

When Jesus was here on earth, He was every bit a human with the same emotions we have. And he had to say goodbyes. When he spoke from the cross to his mother, Mary, and then to his beloved disciple, John, he was in a sense saying goodbye. He did not say that word, but it was a goodbye. He knew he would be back among the living in three days. They did not.

When Jesus was almost ready to return to heaven, in trying to prepare his close friends, his disciples, for another very real goodbye, he said “I go to prepare a place for you …” (John 14:28) He was going to heaven, but they would miss his earthly presence.

I believe, too, that I will again see my husband who died four years ago, along with other family and friends who are in heaven. But in the meantime, they are gone and I’m still here.

A butterfly stops to savor the nectar in a
summer flower. On your journey,
don't forget to stop to smell the flowers.

Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation (www.Soaringspirits.org (www.Soaringspirits.org) posted this on Face Book recently: “I think the hardest part of losing someone isn’t having to say goodbye, but rather learning to live without them. Always trying to fill the void, the emptiness that’s left inside your heart when they go.”

I will not use the cliché that Jesus will fill that void. Yes, I believe he can and will, because he promised to never leave or forsake us (Joshua 1:5). But it is a journey. Not a process. A process follows predictable steps and the end result should always be the same. A journey, on the other hand, can be a meandering up hill and down, stopping to rest, refresh or reflect, or even to weep, and the end result is yet to be seen. A journey also takes an unpredictable amount of time.

On the other side of the coin, when there is a goodbye, there is often a hello following it. A hello to a new person or experience. A hello to finding our path after huge loss. A hello to a new way of life we develop while filling that void in our hearts. The new hello is often just doing the next thing God puts before you – opportunities for learning, spiritual growth, new relationships, new interests to pursue.

For me, as I say goodbye, I want to welcome the hello that follows. That is part of my journey. And there is no doubt there are good things to come. God promises us good, so I try to say “hello” to all the next things.

Sometimes there is pain, but God promises, “joy in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5) However, I

don’t take that “morning” literally – it might take many mornings for the joy to return after a difficult goodbye. But joy will return, in God’s good time. 

And while you wait, remember to find joy in small things and be grateful. I have found that living with a grateful heart is a healing tonic to my soul.

Shells in the Sand

Standing on the sand at Sand Bridge Beach in Virginia, I was searching for shells the waves deposited in the sand as they rhythmically moved back into the Atlantic Ocean. Living in land-locked Iowa, I like to collect just a few shells every time I get to the beach. At home they are in small dishes and jars reminding me of a beautiful day at the beach and of the ocean, which always makes me think of God’s great love for us. It never stops. The waves are always washing the sand, and it goes on forever.

Of course I wanted to find whole, perfect shells, but most of what was washing up were fragments with chips in them. Sometimes a shell would look perfect and whole in the sand, but when I picked it up and examined it, I could see the broken parts.

As I thought about those shell fragments, I realized that we are a bit like that, too. Embedded in our own lives, the part of us that people see often appears to be perfect. We are not showing the broken places in our lives to the casual observer. And finding an unbroken shell is like finding a person who has never endured a struggle – the pounding of the ocean currents and the dragging in the sand. Our struggles may not look at all like the sea, but they can wash over us, wear us and break us just the same.

Shell fragments found on the beach

But even the broken shells I found were pretty, often showing colors I didn’t see in the whole shells. Many of the shell fragments I picked up had no sharp edges, as the jagged breaks had been smoothed by the relentless waves.

Maybe we are all a little like a broken shell. We have had some struggles and difficult times in life. Like shell fragments, I really do want my sharp edges to be smoothed and my true colors to shine through.

Very few unbroken whole shells were collected that day, but several beautiful shell fragments landed in my small collection. I realized those fragments were representative of having come through some hard stuff, but they were buffed by the water and sand, and still pretty. Even as a fragment, they were actually whole – whole pieces that had endured and were beautiful in spite of what they had been through.

Most shell hunters would reject the fragments I picked up, but I kept a few to remind me that, though I’d like to be perfect and whole, God had brought me through, and I can still shine.

Prayer: Thank you, God, that your love for us is as relentless as the ocean waves, and your current is strong enough to carry us through the very worst times in our lives and bring us safely back to shore. Even though we are broken, you smooth our rough edges and make our beautiful colors shine through so that we can show your everlasting love to others. We are all broken, but you still want to use us. And we want to be used for your kingdom. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Leaf in the Sidewalk

Walking along a sidewalk, I noticed the impression of an elm leaf in the concrete. It is a perfect impression. Every vein in the leaf is visible, as is the stem. And by its shape it is clear that it is the leaf of an elm tree. The sidewalk does not appear to be new. In fact, there are chips on the edges and divots in the concrete indicating its been there for many seasons. A concrete sidewalk is expected to last a long time – many decades and perhaps even longer than a lifetime.

As I walked, I thought about the little leaf that left its impression in that carefully laid sidewalk. No doubt the contractor who poured the concrete first prepared the ground and then set forms to hold the concrete. When the sidewalk was finally poured, the wooden forms would have been left in place for a day or longer so that the concrete could set up. I wonder what the contractor thought when he or she returned to the site to remove the forms and found the perfectly laid concrete had a leaf stuck in it.

That little leaf was unique, unlike any other leaf that was ever formed. It fell from the tree – when it was dying, probably in the fall -- and landed, through no power of its own, right in the newly poured and still-wet concrete. And there it stayed, making an impression that would last for decades.

The leaf has long since turned to dust. Leaves simply do not last much longer than a season. When we rake leaves in the fall, they are still substantial, and sometimes a pile of leaves is surprisingly heavy to tote to a compost bin or into disposal bags, but as leaves dry, they crumble and no longer have the substance and form to leave an impression at all. It is not long before leaves become just dusty debris to be swept away by winds or a broom.

But that one little leaf impression remains in the concrete. It could not have been intentional about landing there, and perhaps the contractor was not happy to see it, as the leaf destroyed the pristine surface of the new concrete, which the contractor knew was designed for permanence. And now, its impression will perhaps outlast several lifetimes. It won’t last forever, as nothing on this Earth is eternal, but unless there is reason to have the sidewalk removed, it’s there for years to come.

That leaf, which perhaps upset the contractor, caused me to think about the impression I make. Unlike that leaf, I have the ability to thoughtfully and intentionally decide where I “land,” as well as what kind of impression I want to make. Of course, that does not mean I can control what others think about me, but I can decide what I want to say and do.

I want to leave a lasting impression. Not of myself. And not a handprint in concrete. What I want is for others to see God through me. I want my life to leave a decades-long impression on those who know me. Certainly on my family, but also on others – friends, as well as people I encounter in my everyday life. It’s not important that they know who I am, or even my name. What’s important is that they see kindness, courtesy, gratitude and God’s love shining through me.

What kind of an impression are you making on others? And will your impression be “visible” to others after your body has become dust?

Prayer:

Creator God, please help me as I walk through my day to listen to your voice and be intentional in my actions and words, as I do not know when I am making an “impression” on someone else. I want others to see you living in me. And I want that image of you to be forever in my heart and also long-lasting in the hearts of those around me.