Goodbye. Hello Again.

Goodbye. Easily one of my least favorite words. And it’s a word I’ve been saying a lot lately. Think about it – when we leave friends or family we’ll see soon, we typically say something like “talk to you tomorrow,” or “See you Sunday.” But “goodbye” has a finality to it. In uttering that one word we acknowledge a crushing reality – the conclusion of something dear to us, friendships.

As I reflect on a season of goodbyes, my heart is both torn and healed. Torn by the loss of relationships. Torn by the recognition that a huge blessing is now a memory. Torn but healed. Healed by faith in God’s good plan. Healed by the hopeful expectation of a future reunion – indeed a meeting that makes time with loved ones in this life look like child’s play.

In fact, brokenness proceeds healing when we say goodbye. From an eternal perspective, when we say goodbye we are forced to acknowledge a truth we hate to admit: we don’t belong here. We weren’t made for this kind of life. That’s not to say we don’t enjoy God’s blessings in this life or that we don’t have purpose in this life. No, we have purpose and meaning in this life – but from an eternal perspective, this life in many ways, is an exile. A time of being cast out. A time of death. A time of tears. A time of suffering. A time of  goodbyes.  Peter and Paul both acknowledge that believers are exiles (1 Peter 1:17) and that our present suffering is real (2 Cor. 4). 

A few days ago I said goodbye to a very close friend. As we said our painful farewells, he quietly handed me a CD of some of his favorite music. As I listened to it one song stuck it. Be warned, it’s from a TV show I don’t watch, but the point it makes is nonetheless valid. The song quietly builds until a single female softly sings “I’d stay if I could, but the universe won’t let me. So, please be good. Don’t you forget me.” I think that statement is profound if we make a simple adjustment – take out “universe” and insert “providence” – the good, loving, kind, and glorious plan of God.

For so many of us, that lyric rings true. We’d stay where we are if we could. We really would. We would avoid that dreaded “goodbye” at all costs. We want stability – we want to be remembered and cherished. But, as believers, we all must accept that our time in this life is a time of exile, a time of goodbyes. But it is also a time of Providence. A time of God’s good and loving and perfect plan. As exiles, as ones that are not yet home, we are forced from time to time by death or leaving loved ones for whatever reason, to recognize that God’s plan in this life sometimes involves goodbyes. Sometimes, for our good and His glory, we have to drink the bitter cup of “goodbye my friend.” Why? Because we are not home. Not yet. Because He has not yet called us back fully from exile. Are we saved? Yes. Do we daily experience the blessing of His grace? Absolutely. But are we enjoying the full reality of His complete rescue? No. Not yet. Not until we arrive at that place we’ve never been but yet know we belong. Not until we arrive in the land where “goodbye” is itself exiled.

           

That day is coming. That day when we no longer say goodbye to those we love who are part of our family of faith. When that day comes, the brokenness of goodbye will finally be replaced with the healing salve of “hello again, my beloved friend.” There, in the presence of our glorious God, we shall be reunited as family. There, the brokenness of goodbye shall be replaced with the wholeness of a permanent hello. A hello to family, both in blood and in spirit. What’s more, this hello will be in the midst of the presence of the good and loving God who knew when the pain of goodbye was necessary for our good and who kept us going with the promise of his daily sustaining grace, and a future hello that would never be broken.

So as I sit on my bed and contemplate the dozens of goodbyes I have said in the last two weeks, I sit with a quiet peace. A peace that comes from a faith that whispers softly “your goodbye will one day become hello again.”

With that serene peace, I say to my friends who I leave, “I love you so very much and will miss you immensely. Goodbye.”

And to the new friends I will join soon in this next season of life, with a smile I say “Hello.”