I greatly dislike goodbyes. Even if they are really "see you laters," I greatly dislike them. I said some "see you laters" today, and the later is to be determined. Here's the story:
My team hasn't been able to spend much time with families this year. We spend most of our time with college students. We have all had our phases of simply missing being around a family and playing with kids.
In Macedonia, we have been blessed to spend time with a family. We met the man of the house when my teammates and I met each other in August. He's been a great encouragement to us throughout the year. When we arrived to his current country, he invited us to a barbecue at his house to meet his wife and two sons. Our team loved being welcomed to Macedonia by this great family.
The following weekend, some of my teammates and I met this family in a nearby city to road-trip to Albania with the man and one of his sons. We got to hang out with the whole family before and after the short trip. We even went on a lovely boat ride and enjoyed the beautiful lake.
It was wonderful. Their company is refreshing. I left that weekend loving them even more and knowing I would see them again soon.
As if they hadn't blessed us enough, they invited us to join them for Easter. (Like I wrote earlier, my next post will cover that joyful adventure.)
I spent a portion of my last three weekends with a wonderful family, and we parted ways today until an unknown later. And it hurt.
Goodbyes almost always hurt. My emotional pain sometimes transitions into some physical pain. There's the terrible anticipation; goodbye hug and verbal exchange are approaching. There's a pain in the chest -- the heaviness of the heart becoming true heaviness. Tears may fall (but not today). The heaviness continues after parting ways, but then there's some relief. It's over. We did it. I survived.
That's been my experience before, during, and after saying goodbye to friends and family as I've journeyed overseas these last two years. It was also my experience after saying "see you later" to Ghana until a time to be determined. That was my experience today as well.
These goodbyes have helped me wrestle with the question "why goodbye?" It's been a good adventure, but it's also been a tough adventure.
Before we said, "See you later," today, one of my teammates and I sat with the family at their dining table chatting about our experiences with goodbyes this year.
It's been hard. It has been difficult to go into a city, make new friends, and say goodbye after a month together. It has been difficult to do it again and again and again. Most days I think I can't handle another month of it.
I distance myself. I think, "If I don't get too close to people, leaving won't hurt as much." But I'm wrong. It still hurts.
The woman who welcomed us into her home and family said it simply: No regrets.
She's wise. She gets it. The hurt of saying goodbye to good friends is so much better than the hurt of regret. When I miss out on getting to know the people in our cities this year, I regret it. The goodbye hurts because I realize I missed out on an amazing opportunity to share life with a wonderful person. I'm trying to let my goodbye hurt because I'm leaving a friend I love instead.
But it's hard. It's hard to choose to love someone, to choose to let them enter your entire life, knowing you will say goodbye in a few weeks. I know what I should do, but I still struggle to choose the better option. I still struggle to intentionally make new friends. I still struggle to let people enter my life.
This family entered my life. I almost distanced myself on day one. But I chatted with that wise woman, and it was so hard to not invite her into my life. Then I played with their sons, and I didn't want to avoid them. Part of the joy from this month in Macedonia is the time I spent with that family.
Saying "see you later" today hurt. But I had no regrets. And I am learning that that is a beautiful thing.
That's not the only tidbit I'm learning. As I sat on the train with my headphones in listening to Page CXVI, I stared out the window.
I saw the gorgeous Macedonian countryside, and I realized that if I didn't say goodbye and see you later, I wouldn't see this. I wouldn't see more of the world. I wouldn't meet more wonderful people from different countries. I would miss out on even more.
During that mini-epiphany, "How Deep the Father's Love" started playing through my headphones. I'm learning that even though these goodbyes and see you laters hurt, my Dad loves me so much to let me experience this year. I have been blessed to meet so many people this year; I have been blessed to spend my weekends in Macedonia with that family. And I am being blessed with the grace to start experiencing it all with no regrets.
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