I want to write this before the moment passes; the moment of sorrow and joy.  How can these emotions exist simultaneously within a single heart?  The good news that brings tears by the ending of a season.  A theme in our marriage is “there is a season for everything.”  While initially comforting, the reality is that sorrow, hardship, struggle and pain are included in “everything.”  What time we have spent in North Carolina has been a blessing and a period of growth from young marrieds to young parents.  The existential crisis of work has been heavy on my life; both stretching me and molding me into a man I didn’t know I could become.

This season is over.  Isn’t it like watching the beauty of the fall leaves turn to the dead cold of a grey winter?  But aren’t the cold bitter nights brightened by the moon’s reflection in the snow?  Isn’t each season both beautiful and terrible in its own right?  The preciousness of the season is cherished because it ends.

There are no words deep enough to describe the pain of saying “goodbye.”  How does one say “goodbye” to a bond that is soul deep?  The end of a season feels like the death of the relationship; it isn’t, but my heart can’t tell the difference.  Perhaps a better word is “farewell.”  This isn’t the end but a stalling; a break in pace for the relationship.  Many—if not all—are brothers and sisters in Christ.  Should our deaths be the reunion, what better reunion could we have?  If meeting again in this life, another “farewell” shall follow.

It has struck me that the sorrow arrives because suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, the road has split.  Neither path is wrong, but the fellowship must divide.  It is like watching or reading The Fellowship of the Ring, when Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli let Sam and Frodo leave without them.  The struggle that Aragorn feels for Frodo and Sam; that they will no longer stand side by side to encourage, support and carry each other through the dangers and trials.  Isn’t that what I feel?  To know that those I love and deeply admire must continue forward without me?  Isn’t that what they feel for me?  These feelings will pass with time; like a flickering candle forgotten in the daylight—but in the darkness of the moment the candle is a piercing light of sorrowful compassion.

The Robert Frost poem hastens to my mind.  “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.”  Often the cliché cat meme poster people hail it as a slogan for unique individuality and joyful pride.  To me, it is a sorrowful claim.  What does it mean to be different?  Everyone wants you to stay put, not rock the boat, let God brave the storm while we waste away, cowering beneath the mast in the safety of our fragile comforts.  My heart yearns to walk on water, even though I fail trying.  Isn’t this what Jesus is describing in John 3:8?  “The wind blows where it wishes.  You hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it is going.  So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”  I am afraid not to dare.  What sort of life is that?

Often, I state emotions should follow the truth of the situation.  When a loved one dies, cry.  When a child is born, cheer.  When blessed, rejoice.  This is such a moment.  When blessing and hardship meet, thankfully weep.  As I watched my parents cry the sting was real.  Yet it must happen.  Someday, I will be them.  Little Conrad, who still clings to my knees and laughs with those bright blue eyes, will leave Leanna and me behind.  The heartache I cannot fully imagine but the thought still brings tears to my eyes.  My prayer is when that day comes, we will say farewell as men—me weary and worn and him young and vibrant—and that love and respect will permeate our understanding.

There are no replacements for people.  When standing at the gates of the New Jerusalem, I won’t be carrying bags of gold or papers of achievements.  Either I will be standing alone or with those people who I have impacted or been impacted by.  My wish is to have a crowd of brothers and sisters with me upon entering the glorious rest.  In this life the shadow of death lingers over our fleeting time.  In one decade, one year, one month, one day life might be stolen, and the time runs out.  That is why departures are so sad.  This life is fragile; like a glass menagerie teetering on the edge of a shelf.

My mind wants to justify the path forward.  Provide calculated reasons and advanced statistics for a brilliant educated guess; the truth is I can provide both with no promise of validity.  Opportunity isn’t a guarantee.  Many opportunities have crossed my path in the past several years but died before maturing.  What do I have?  A hope?  An escape?  Perhaps opportunity is a bit of both.

How can one place be “home” over another?  To those in Michigan home is there; to those in North Carolina home is here.  What home can I have then in this world when divided between loving people?  Neither place is complete but a shadow of potential.  The location seems to matter little; it is the people that define the land.  Although welcome, even Michigan will be its own wilderness.  The assurance of comfort and material stability is fleeting.  Who knows the twists and turns ahead?

The past years in North Carolina have been like walking blindfolded on a gravel road barefoot in the desert.  The courage to trudge forward was granted by those older than me.  The grey-haired men and women that walked this path before us knew that Leanna and I would arrive even if scarred and bruised.  Sometimes the path is the destination.  North Carolina has felt like our time wandering in the desert after leaving Egypt.  However, God provided both mana and quail.  Looking back, I remember the months of complaining while feeding on sustenance I didn’t provide.  Isn’t God a gracious and patience teacher?  It took me long enough to learn thankfulness; may this be a lesson I don’t forget.

I told Leanna after graduating with my B.A. in 2017 that for the first time in my life the direction was unclear.  For some reason, my choices have always been obvious regardless of the consequences.  While in North Carolina, it seemed my “third eye” was blind.  Often, I wondered if God just wanted me to learn to trust him more.  I have learned to trust Him more.  My own competence was my pride; yet I found that I could not bless my own hands.  God gives and takes away; it is a brutal lesson.

It seemed appropriate to finish this internal inspection while sitting in a hotel between the two lands of love: Michigan and North Carolina.  There is a poetic justice to it.  This building, room and bed are not owned by me.  I am a sojourner here.  A stranger that wanders a foreign land.  No familiarity, no open arms.  The symbolic desolation of this Ohio hotel will always linger in the shadows of my heart.  This life, this earth isn’t my home.  Not fully.  Often, I forget and try to create a home for myself.  However, the illusion fades and I remember.  I go where my God leads because He is my home, my comfort, my joy and my foundation at every step of life.

What more is there to say?  Farewell to one friend is a greeting from another.  The days ahead are a welcoming fresh breeze but at the cost of precious departures.  Nothing can deaden the blow.  Hope is found in the eternal reunion.  May that day of permanent companionship in glory come swiftly so that rejoicing can stand alone without sorrow.