I said good-bye to a friend who is saying good-bye to everyone as if he’ll never see us again this side of Heaven. He’s supposed to be gone just a few months, but he’s going into dangerous territory for the sake of the Gospel, so… Only Jesus knows.
When I walked away from him, I did the sappy deep breath, choked back sob, wipe away tears, thing. Then it hit me:
I’m actually letting myself be influenced by the pain of good-byes. I’m a missionary kid. I’ve said good bye a million times. “Good bye” is just a part of the journey. This can’t hurt… I’m gonna do it again in a few days with someone else.
That revelation was bittersweet for me. At 25, I’m not where I thought I’d be. I wouldn’t change any of it for the world, but at the same time full-time title of missionary is no where near what I think God is asking of me anymore.
Good byes get to hurt my heart because my life is actually structured in such a way where I can have friends for longer than a couple months.
I never thought I’d be the one saying I hate goodbyes. I never thought I’d be the one left on the other side of the Tarmac. Yet my calling is now to care deeply about the people that say goodbye, and my mission is to pray… that’s it. That’s enough.
Obedience hurts… but it’s so beautiful.