Saying Goodbye

I am writing this post from the bedroom I moved into right after I turned six years old. It’s been nineteen years since then, and seven years since I went off to college. I’m visiting home for a couple of weeks before heading to Japan for a forward-deployed sea tour – a tour that will last over two years.

It’s been a crazy last couple of weeks (I apologize for the erratic posting schedule) but things have finally calmed down enough for me to hear myself think. I find my thoughts turning to transience, to change, to the importance of the past and future, to the things that drift away – and the things that remain.

There are so many things we have to let go of in this life. Before I turned eighteen, I had moved once in my life. In the seven years since, I’ve moved nine times. I’ve said a lot of goodbyes, packed a lot of boxes (with my parents’ help), and gotten attached to a lot of things I had to leave behind. Along the way, I’ve learned a few things.

First, I’ve learned to be thankful for the things that don’t go away. My parents, my home church, and the room I’m sitting in now have always been there for me, full of love and support. My interests and hobbies, my memories and dreams, may look a bit different in a new place, but they will still be part of me. And above all else, of course, there are the unseen things that are eternal, that cannot be shaken even when all of heaven and earth is quivering, that renew my soul even when everything else is slowly growing older and more broken down.

Second, I’ve learned to invest in the things that don’t have to go away. By this, I mainly mean relationships. We often bewail how people drift apart, but the truth is, it’s usually due to our own laziness. A fleet of warships will only drift apart if the captains don’t make the effort to stay in formation. Research has shown that relationships are necessary for human health; there’s no need to throw in the towel when it comes to staying in touch.

Third, I’ve learned to accept the things that do go away. There are people who believe that true grief doesn’t really exist, that it’s just our overreaction to things that shouldn’t bother us. I don’t agree with that. Some things deserve to be wept over. The world is not the way it was meant to be, and it’s alright to mourn that. We should remember, and cherish, the things we lose. But there is a time to move past the mourning. Which brings me to my final point.

Fourth, I’ve learned to never stop looking forward. I’ve cited before Jesus’ parable about the demon-possessed man. The demons were driven out, but nothing was put in their place, so they just came back again. You cannot drive out anger, or guilt, or grief just by wishing it so; they’ll only come back all the worse. You have to drive out those things by filling your life with peace and joy and grace. And if you want to stop mourning the past, you have to focus on the future.

This is made more difficult, of course, when the future is uncertain. This year, in particular, I know I’m not the only one facing some major life changes. The whole world has been turned topsy-turvy, and no one knows when or if things are going to return to the way they were before. I don’t know what my future holds any more than anyone else, but I do know one thing. I know that there are better things yet to come.

There is still hope worth waiting for, truth worth revealing, beauty worth discovering. There are still giants to face, still people to save, still victories to win. The world is always in flux, but that doesn’t just have to mean insecurity; it can mean opportunity. So let’s keep our eyes on the prize and our heads in the game. We’re not done yet, everyone.

“Suitcases” by oatsy40 is licensed under CC BY 2.0