It's settling in, the furious sound of silence. I stand at our dining room window last night and look out on Elm Street. It's 10pm and usually the sidewalk is littered with people heading downtown, the street is still one line of cars, the police station across the street keeps a steady revolving door. It's springtime in Potsdam.

But then in one day, or week or two, it all stops. Four universities have finals, graduations, commencements, awards, and a trail of taillights is seen in every direction. We hunker back down to boring old New York State license plates and quiet streets.

I love summer, don't get me wrong, God is more real to me in the summer. People are more real to me. I am more real to me. But this summer feels like a sucker punch in my stomach. I promise her I won't cry the other day, even though she says it's okay. She's always telling me it's okay to cry. But I hold the tears back until Sunday morning, worshiping, listening, hugging girls who live on the other side of the world, hugging people I won't see again on this damp earth.

At breakfast the other morning he said people are replaceable and winced a second later for my certain glare. But it plays over and over in my mind this week. Who is replaceable? Whom have I replaced? Who will be replaced?

I sit on my ideals, horde them like riches: people are not replaceable. There are piles of ache in my heart for all the people who haven't been replaced.

I read the end of John 14 this morning. I'm sad to see it go. So were the disciples:

"You've heard me tell you, 'I'm going away, and I'm coming back.' If you loved me you would be glad that I'm on my way to the Father because the Father is the goal and the purpose of my life."

If we loved Him we would be glad that He is on His way--because the Father is the Goal and the Purpose of His life. I love that.

Because we're standing here expecting a crucifixion, we're standing here with baited breath, waiting for certain mourning. We're the ones left standing at the foot of the cross, at the bottom of the ascension, puttering around earth for the next few thousand years. We're left, while He pursues the Goal and Purpose of His life.

But what if that's our Goal and Purpose?

I'm adding another ideal this spring: that we were meant to pursue the Goal and Purpose of our lives. If it is here, in Potsdam, NY, I am happy for that, because that's where my heart is serving and I want to be joined. But if it's elsewhere, Korea, Pennsylvania, Rochester, Waco, New Hampshire, Albany, San Francisco, Chattanooga, Virginia, Ohio, China, Turkey, India, if that's where its found--so be it.

I love and so I am glad.

The Father is the Goal.