We count down the days til Christmas each night around the supper table. One person, in sucession, from oldest to youngest, reads another piece of the story we place our hope in. Fourteen days left. Fourteen days left until Christmas and seventeen left until I leave.
And tonight, as I sat on my bed, surrounded by piles of things to be packed or tossed, watched by a bosom friend and kindred spirit, and reading my birthday card from her, I felt the tears moisten in my eyes. Saying goodbye. That's what we're doing. Not saying goodbye for a year, as it is with everyone else, but saying goodbye for two years to each other. Guatemala and China weren't supposed to be on opposite sides of the world. Friends are best when they are next door, right?
Friends are best when words don't have to be spoken, eye contact is always available. Friends are best when visions collaborate and confrontations are simply character builders. When vulnerability is hard because it means there is more to disappoint, but easiest because there is no limit to the hope which presses on. When you find in one the quietness which pushes you to succeed and holds you back from the edge of disaster. Protection from danger and vision for the adventure. Never a distraction, always a co-laborer. When worship is shared by the secret wonder that you really know God and now you know Him together. When you find yourself crying in the passenger seat of a Honda on a windy March night or sobbing on the carpet of the front room on the loneliest October night.
When it is hardest to say goodbye accompanied by the knowledge that seventeen days left to two years without each other is just a long time.
