Letting Go, Part II

Last night, as Birgitta drove the five hours back to her college campus on icy roads, I stayed nervous until her text came through: “Just got here.” After that, I could breathe.

Life insists on our letting go of our children, but they aren’t the only ones. As we go through the years assigned to us, we have to say goodbye to parents, mentors, friends, pastors and others. Each positive relationship that has to end involves a negative go-moment.

The old expression, “When God closes a door, he opens a window,” means that when one situation ends, another begins. Every time we willingly let go of someone or something, we’re saying yes to whatever is outside that open window. Again and again God shows us that letting go of one thing opens up something else.

When I was a grade-schooler in the 1950’s, many of us walked home for lunch. Once in a while Mom would let us watch TV while we ate, and a 350-pound man who called himself Two-Ton Baker became our friend through the tiny, round screen.

Two-Ton loved kids, and occasionally he’d have one on his show to sing and banter with him. The child was always invited to grab a handful of candy from a giant glass jar, but a clenched fist full of goodies could never fit back through the small opening. The child would have to partially open his hand to get it out, thus letting go of some of the candy.

This is what happens when we try to hold onto someone or something after it’s time to let go. Our loss seems much greater the tighter we cling. Most departures have to happen anyway, and by hanging on, we lose the chance for a positive send-off. It’s as if we lose all the candy, not just some of it.

Sometimes, however, a go-moment just can’t go well. When a letting-go takes place next to a casket, it’s all negative. Someone precious has gone, and the slam of that closed door hurts deeply. A window may be opening, but we can’t see it through our crying.

God knows how difficult it is to let go. He let go of Jesus for 33 years after they’d been joined in a closeness we can’t begin to comprehend. And Jesus let go of his Father while simultaneously imposing human limitations on himself. He also let go of divinity and royalty to live in poverty. Their separation must have been excruciating, and yet they planned it and did it. The reason? Love of us.

Letting go is always an emotionally draining process. For a Christian who lets go of a loved one through death, however, the emotional pain will one day end abruptly.  Our separation is only temporary, just as it was for God the Father, and God the Son.

They endured. We can endure.

Because some day all our go-moments will be gathered up into one eternal coming-together.

“God blesses you who weep now, for in due time you will laugh.” (Luke 6:21b)

Letting Go, Part I

Any mother who loves being a mom faces a bit of angst when it comes time to let her children go. The first really big “go” is off to college, a tough goodbye for most parents. But it helps to recognize we’ve been letting go in small ways during the 18 years leading up to that, each one a bit of training for the bigger go-moments.

The first small one is letting go of breastfeeding, followed soon by babies who grow into toddlers and prefer being on their own feet to being perched on our hips. Little by little they go – to the church nursery, preschool, kindergarten, summer camp. We find ourselves on the outside looking in, checking our little ones through one-way glass. They’ve gone into the room; we’re out in the hall.

Even as we clap for every new accomplishment, inside we’re struggling to keep a smidgen of sadness at bay. As time passes, our children go farther and farther from us, the natural order of things.

During the early years of letting-go’s, if our young ones object to being away from us, if they cry when we leave them, we get upset. But if they don’t mind going, that upsets us, too. Like it or not, each mini-going is a stepping stone to the biggest ones: moving into first apartments, getting married, relocating out-of-state, possibly out of the country.

Tonight I watched Birgitta go again. Because she’s having a good year at the University of Iowa, and because she’s had many “go’s” before today, our farewell wasn’t strained. Still, watching her drive away pushed me immediately into prayers of concern.

Last time she made this same drive (after Christmas break), a sudden snowstorm iced the roads till they became treacherous, and half way back to school she had a harrowing experience. Deep slush on the highway left only tire-track ruts to guide drivers, and visibility was poor. Her car fishtailed then began to swerve, ending in a full-circle spin. She came to a stop at the edge of the shoulder, other cars flying past her.

Incredibly, no one was hurt and no damage occurred. After taking a few minutes to collect herself, Birgitta cautiously finished her drive.

Today, as we looked out the window, the weather looked fine. But just to reassure her (and me), I said, “Let’s check weather.com before you go.”

The hour-by-hour chart showed a deteriorating forecast with the highlighted word “icy” in two of her five driving hours. Temperatures were exactly 32 degrees, that mysterious place of maybe-slippery-maybe-not. When we saw this, both of us sucked in air simultaneously like an unplanned duet. But she had to go anyway.

As she drove away, praying was the only way I could help. As I talked to God, he talked right back and said, “I know you’re thinking about Birgitta’s snowy spin-out. Some day I’ll explain exactly how I was involved in that, but for now, just know I was involved. You’re watching her go and you’re feeling helpless, but remember, I’m not just watching her, and I’m never helpless. Where she goes, I go.”

“You [Lord] are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.” (Psalm 32:7)

Will I be sorry?

I take the Bible literally, and the verse that says “every knee will bow to the Lord” is, I believe, self-explanatory. God emphasizes it by including it in both the Old and New Testaments.

Even though I’m looking forward to visually connecting with Jesus, a mental picture of the bowing moment gives me pause. I already know what I’ll be thinking: “I wasted so much time on unimportant stuff!”

I wish I could head off that part of it, and maybe I can. The trick is to stop wasting time. If I can accurately define what that is, maybe I can fix things before I get there.

As a child I had to memorize John 15:7 in the King James Version: “If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.” It was a verse full of mystery because of my limited understanding of the word “abide” and also because it said I could ask God for anything and get it!

In studying John 15 during the years since childhood, I’m beginning to understand. Jesus was probably saying, “Becoming close friends with me will be your key to happiness.” He even uses the word “friend” three times (about us!) in the next few verses. And what do good friends like to do? Spend time with each other, talk to each other, love each other.

Over the years I’ve also seen that the asking-and-getting part of that verse is totally dependent on the abiding part. After we become close friends with Jesus, our requests will differ radically from those a child would ask.

If I want to do my personal best when kneeling time comes, I need to work now on my friendship with Jesus by carving out time to be together developing our friendship. That includes listening to the words he’s already said (Scripture) and responding back with my own (prayer).

Thankfully, he “gets” the necessity of human to-do lists. But he also lets us know that abiding in him while going about our business is important. He even says, “Apart from me, you can do nothing.” I think he means “at least nothing important, nothing you’ll be happy about when you’re kneeling in front of me.” We can do plenty of things “apart from him,” things he doesn’t sanction, and most of them will get us in trouble. But to accomplish the high-road stuff, we need to abide in him.

Every day I think about Nate and our radically different life-settings. Has he already experienced the kneeling moment described in Scripture? Or will we all be doing that together at the end of time? More importantly, has he been allowed the inconceivable freedom of moving past the inadequacies of that moment? Has he moved into face-to-face friendship with Jesus, uninhibited by human limitations?

It may be quite a while before I get the answers to all these question marks, but I know I will. In the mean time, my interest is in what will come before those answers: my moment to kneel.

“As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me…” (Romans 14:11 and Isaiah 45:23)