I come by it naturally. I’m not kidding. It’s a character trait that is swimming in my gene pool. My family is bad at good-byes. As a result, so am I. Any time my family is together, we almost have to start saying “good-bye” immediately after we say “hello” because it takes us forever. We’re the kind of people who at the dinner table say, “Well, we better get goin’.” Thirty minutes later we are walking out the door followed by everyone who isn’t leaving. If we’re in a hurry, thirty minutes after that we’ll actually get in our car and drive away. These are conservative estimates, mind you.
Since its part of my genetic make-up, it isn’t hard to imagine how difficult this spring is going to be for me. For the last four years I have been meeting for Bible study with a small group of High School girls. The make up of the group has changed a bit over time. Girls have floated in and out and then back in again. Others have never left. A few have left for reasons too painful to mention. But essentially, we’re still the same group.
When they were freshmen we met at McDonald’s before school. As they got older and licensed to drive we shifted to the evenings. We have been together through their “never-be-caught-dead-without-makeup” phase, their “too-cool-to-look-like-I-ever-do-my-hair” phase, their “I-can-drive-so-I-must-be-an-adult” phase, and most recently, their “what-is-God’s-plan-for-my-life?” phase. We have walked together through everything you can imagine high school girls deal with—boyfriends, bad fashion trends, terrible choices, drugs, exultant celebrations, heartbreak, disappointment, and success. We’ve spent a total of two weeks in Colorado together. One week was in relative luxury, the other in the backcountry with nothing but what we could haul on our backs. It rained the entire week. We’ve had long hilarious conversations that have made us laugh the ugly laugh (especially Meredith, which made us laugh even harder and maybe pee our pants a little); and we’ve had deep discussions about things that are too weighty to bear alone and can never be fully analyzed in one sitting. One Christmas we all bought matching onesie pjs and wore them to Bible study together. It snowed that night and we all went out in our pajamas to catch snow flakes on our tongues. I can’t remember if we even studied our Bibles that night, but we certainly worshiped and reveled in the joy of snow and deep friendship.
These girls are seniors now. They will all graduate in May. Most of them already know where they are going to college. You won’t be surprised that several of them are going far away. While I’m so unbelievably proud of each of them, I can’t help but be a little sad. As I mentioned, I’m bad at good-byes. It’s hard to imagine next fall without them.
Why is that? Why is saying “good-bye” to anyone so hard?
I think one reason is that any good-bye ushers in change, and change, whether good or bad, means the loss of something. And any time we lose something, we grieve. But even deeper, I think it’s because we weren’t made for good-byes. We were originally purposed for eternity. Eternity in everything—life, relationships, purpose. Good-byes force us to come to grips with the ugly truth. We are NOT what we were made to be. Sin has done a number on us and has made us into something that retains some semblance of former glory, but really doesn’t measure up. And even though we don’t know exactly what it is we are missing and have no concept of our intended glory, good-byes open up something in our depths that releases the pain of what we aren’t but should be. If I never had to say a good-bye, I could probably anesthetize myself enough to believe I’m okay the way I am, that everything is normal. But I don’t think I’m being too dramatic when I state that having to say good-bye to something good, beautiful or beneficial is like experiencing the amputation of the glory man had in the garden all over again. Saying good-bye makes me realize I’m not okay, and I’m certainly not normal.
Just like with everything else that causes us pain as a result of sin, God uses it in miraculous ways. If my group of girls stayed here, they would most likely miss out of some of the richest experiences they will ever have depending on the Lord. They might miss opportunities to be tested and find God faithful. Or maybe they would miss the chance to meet the man of their dreams (like I did on my very first day of college, which is why you can call me Mrs. Scott). There’s no chance I would ever deny them those things simply to avoid the pain of saying “good-bye.”
Considering my history, though, we better start now.
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