Originally published on July 29, 2020
I pack the things on my desk. These are objects I thoughtfully curated, making sure each one would remind me of a miracle. The room is silent and dimly lit. No one else is here.
In my first year here, I casually (and confidently) told my new-found friends that this place is probably where I will spend all my remaining days. That proves false today, four years later, as I gather my stuff in silence.
Printed on a small glossy paper is a photo of me in 2017. On it was written in bold, “Once upon a time, we doubted our doubts.”
The miracle took place in Sydney. I flew there for overseas training with three other friends from the office who, like me, didn’t know where to get funding but were brave enough to take risks. The story ends with us having spent ten days in Australia, well-learned and well-fed.
We often joke in the office that it’s because we call ourselves a movement that people never stopped moving. Like trains that linger for a minute, but never stay. I once befriended someone whose stay with us seemed like an eventful stopover. The day she had to leave, she left me an artwork with words written in another language. In English, it meant “The Lord will lead you clearly.” It’s the biggest piece on my desk.
One last look. From books, to postcards, to the most random stickers, every item on my desk is a memento of a story worth telling. And behind every story is a meaningful, most-likely-tested relationship.
Goodbye is a gift.
While a goodbye is unable to lessen the pain of separating, a good goodbye brings clarity as to why we have to part ways.
I think a lot of us wanted to give this gift and also receive it, but couldn’t. My heart stings. Faces after faces flood my mind. Fights and victories. Crying in fire exits. Stretching our bones and brains to conceive something new or exciting. Playing guitar and singing worship songs in front of tired people who long for sleep. Eating more than we should’ve. Resting less than we should’ve. Sharing lives. Attending weddings. Celebrating milestones. Crying together when things fail. Getting back up again. And again.
We didn’t get to say goodbye.
We didn’t get to share plans.
We didn’t get to hug, or shake hands, or just meet in the eye.
Instead, we say our goodbyes in our hearts — whispered in secret, released with a sigh.
It’s been 30 minutes, my time is almost up. I carry my now-loaded bag with two hands and walk the hallways that are already too familiar.
It’s time to walk new ones.
