Or at least try. I'm convinced that you can't take in all of a good thing. Midnight jam sessions, hearing a familiar voice around the corner of the hallway, seeing a smile in the rearview mirror of the van. I stood outside the visitor center, staring at Niagara Falls, and tried to feel it. The sight, the sounds, the smell, the presence of the people standing with me. So that I could remember. Walking away, I asked someone on my team if he ever tried to take in something beautiful and couldn't. "All the time."
So we all sit, laugh, hug, do life together. Trying to take it in with our minds, our hearts. Everything looks perfect from far away, and leaving camp makes me want to be there forever. "Come down now," but we'll stay.
I hate goodbyes. They compared saying goodbye to mourning the loss of a friend. The physical pain that comes from goodbyes is real.
I'll tell you this: I can't figure out whether it was a good idea or not to read Tennyson after coming home. Memoriam is his poetry about the death of his close friend. So many pages of hard and beautiful goodbye.
"I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all."
I know better than to compare saying goodbye to brothers and sisters to death, because we don't ever really say goodbye. We're never separated, because something strong aside from us binds us together. But saying goodbye sure feels like death sometimes.
I know the sadness will pass, my heart will heal, and I'll be able to think of them without hurting. I'll look at pictures, remember their laughter, listen to our music, and it won't feel like goodbye. I hope it will feel like I can't wait to see you.
I don't know why God gave us emotions. It would feel better if I didn't feel at all. Or maybe it wouldn't. I think the worst part is how cliche I feel. I'm not the only one in the world that's cried a hard goodbye, and the ways I'm describing it aren't novel. But thank goodness that doesn't invalidate it.
I don't know how to take in the love of God fully. None of us can, I suppose. I know the truth of it, and I believe it. But living like it's true, that His love is overwhelming and satisfying at the same time - that's harder. I forget. Or it's just difficult to line up my emotions with what I know is true. Feeling His love doesn't make it real, but because it's real I can feel it.
So how? I've been trying to grasp that the love with which my people at camp love each other is a tangible reflection of God's love for us. The way they ask me how I'm doing, the way they hug me and don't let go, the way they're consistent and steadfast - that's Christ in them. That doesn't come from them - it comes through them. It's a direct reflection of His love, and that's how He loves. He hugs me and doesn't let go. Sometimes He sends people to manifest that love, and sometimes it's just me sitting in His presence where He holds me. "So we have come to know and to believe the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him." [1 John 4:16]
I read John 16:20-24 the other day. I can't imagine how the disciples felt when they realized Jesus was leaving them. The community of believers only mirrors community with Christ. The love of believers only mirrors the love of Christ. Jesus tells them, "truly, truly, I say to you, you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice. You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy. ... So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you." He recognizes the realness of their sorrow, but He promises that they'll see Him again. He promises them lasting joy.
When I miss the people He lets me love, when my head and my heart aren't on the same page, when I am weak - let the joy of the Lord be my strength.
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