The good that enabled me to go
It is one of my recurring expressions of grief in life: “Just when it got good, it was time to move on.”
Even though I love trying new things, once I have committed to pushing past the barrier of entry to a new community, skill, or project, I am loathe to let it go. Especially so with relationships and communities. They have become a part of me, and I have become a part of them. Then the season changes. It’s time to leave. I must unfurl my fingers and let go, knowing things will never be the same again.
Is something good only until it’s gone?
Grief says so. Grief says that now that something is no longer a presence in my life, it no longer exists, and therefore the good has left with it.
But what was it that made the experience good in the first place? What made it worth persevering to build?
Sure, the experience itself was wonderful. There was joy to be found in the midst of each moment as it was lived. But what made it worth continuing was how the experience changed me.
In Canada, I learned so much from the courses I took in my master’s program, but even more from the people I built beautiful relationships with. The mentors who shared their wisdom and stories. The classmates whose intelligence and passion sharpened my own. The housemates whose cooking developed my spice tolerance and succeeded in finally getting me to enjoy both coffee and tea. The coworkers who taught me to become a better peer editor, both in technical skills and also my ability to transmit confidence to the students we served. The church who taught me what it looks like to love well the city where I am a “foreigner and temporary resident.” Just when I felt like I belonged and had a place and identity in each of those communities, it was time to move back to Florida.
Then, the process of initial partnership development challenged my faith, my skills, my creativity, my passion, my communication, and my commitment. I am not sorry to move on from that phase and into my field role, but I miss the surprising connections I made, the many opportunities to share the vision of all peoples praising the Creator, and most especially the overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude as each new prayer and giving partner joined my team.
I miss being in my home church every Sunday. It feels like my time there after Canada was so short. Just when I felt that I had put down true roots there, it was time to move.
Karate was the most surprising part of my “in-between year.” Although I had been interested in martial arts earlier in life, I never expected to have the opportunity to try it out. And I certainly never expected it would mean as much to me as it came to.
Physical activity has rarely been a source of joy for me. Mostly it’s been something dreaded, something that feels like a chore I should do but don’t ever get around to because it’s boring and hard. But God used a friend to put karate in my path last spring, and when I returned to Florida, I found just the right place. It was hard, but the encouragement and motivation of doing hard things together with others got me through the initial rough patch and I stuck with it.
For the first time in 10 years, I felt the thrill of doing something physically demanding well and enjoying it. Even when the progress in some areas was slower than I’d have liked, I didn’t feel like quitting. I could see and feel myself growing in strength and confidence and resilience. So, after saying goodbye in my last class, I got into my car, sat in the parking lot, and cried. Just when I felt like I had integrated into a community around a skill where I could thrive, it was time to move.
These were three things in the past three years of my life that were truly, deeply good. None of these are a part of my life in the same way that they were. (At the same time, none are completely lost, either. Connections are maintained and I will visit again!) But, crucially, the good that I experienced is not lost.
It’s not that things got good and then (“coincidentally, unfortunately”) I had to go. These experiences—and others—were the good that enabled me to go.
Without these communities that were such a crucial part of my life over the past few years, I wouldn’t be who I am today. And without being who I am today, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
Though I grieve seasons that change, the grief is tempered with the gratitude that each season prepares me and leads me to the next. I praise the God who does not leave me where I have grown comfortable, but calls me ever higher and deeper. He continues to challenge me so that I continue to grow.
After my first overseas internship, I was conflicted as to what to do the next summer. I had loved my experience in the Netherlands, and would have loved to return. But I had been presented with another opportunity, to go to Argentina.
As I prayed over this decision, God guided me to a sermon by the very pastor in the Netherlands whose family I had served with. The message was from 1 Thessalonians 2. In this letter, Paul writes, “Dear brothers and sisters, after we were separated from you for a little while (though our hearts never left you), we tried very hard to come back because of our intense longing to see you again.” He goes on to say, regretfully, that they were not able to do so.
In his message, the pastor explored the question of why Paul and his team were not permitted to return to Thessalonica. The answer might be that if he had returned, he wouldn’t have reached other places where the gospel still needed to be heard.
“So he sets off to find God’s better plan. And God’s better plan is: ‘Paul, keep walking. Paul, don’t turn around, don’t go back. I know that you miss them. I know it didn’t end nicely or in the way that you thought it would, but it is just as I have willed. And precisely because of that persecution, you will end up in Berea, and Athens, and Corinth. That is my plan.’” — Daniel Boyd (translation from Dutch)
God’s plan has Paul pressing onward. No turning back, even though he experiences an intense longing to be with the community he cares deeply for! Paul must leave these people in God’s hands and keep moving forward, trusting God to be enough for them—and for him.
The passage continues with Paul’s great hope: even if he does not see these people again on earth, a day will come when they will reunite before the throne of God.
Indeed, the good that enabled me to go is not gone. It is a part of me, the story God is writing in my life. I will see its culmination one day, and give God all the glory and praise for the tapestry of grace he has woven. Until then, I press on.