Laughter Lines

I'll see you in the future when we're older

And we are full of stories to be told

Cross my heart and hope to die

I'll see you with your laughter lines.

It's become a season of goodbyes for me. 

Of hard goodbyes. Of bittersweet goodbyes. Of 'see you soon's and 'we'll catch up later's; but also of 'goodbye, I may never see you again on this earth'. 

It all started when I left Uganda for the States two months ago. I'm not gone that long- only for two more weeks. But when I left, I left behind two amazing friends who were also saying goodbyes. For them, though, it was permanent. I'll see them again, no doubt. But never in the same place. Never doing the same things. Those are all memories now. 

And I ask myself, how could time have gone so quickly?

Now, I've just finished my summer job, working as a camp counselor. Oh the times I had- the memories created, the friendships made. I had so much fun. I grew so much, learned so much. And some of the friends I've made, I would have liked to keep near me for much longer. To get to know them better, to hear their stories and be a part of their lives. 

But it's over now. Those times are gone. People move on, including me, and again I ask…

how could time have gone so quickly?

It's goodbye to those amazing people who have had even such a small impact on my life. Goodbye to the opportunities to laugh with them, to cry with them. To just be with them. 

I was reading a blog just a few minutes ago, called How to say goodbye by Hannah Brencher. She says this:

"Goodbye is the starting point you don’t see because the finish line is so piled high with tears and last words and fears that this– this thing you have right here– will never be the same.

And yes, it feels like something in the room is dead or dying or about to die. And the scary thing about that? That’s already true too.

Something is dying. We can’t even ignore it. It sounds so morbid but goodbye is really just admitting that something is dying. You two came together– for a month or for a year or for five of those years– and you built something. You breathed your whole little life into that thing. Your secrets. Your fears. Your laughter. All into that thing. That friendship thing, that “I’ve never really met someone like you” sort of thing. And then, out of nowhere, it feels like something comes along and lobs the whole thing into pieces. That’s what a goodbye will do." 

(http://hannahbrencher.com/2014/05/07/how-to-say-goodbye/)

These seasons have died. A season of friendships in Uganda, and a season of learning and growing and friendships here in the States. Nothing will be the same from here on out. Goodbyes will do that. 

I'm trying to find the balance between grieving these goodbyes, and not letting the memories become painful. God gave us a memory for a reason, which means that He didn't want fun times to turn into things that hurt when we recall them. I want to be able to enjoy the memories that I have; but I don't want to live in them and wish that I could relive them. Because that's not what He calls us to do. We are in the present for a reason. 

We have those memories for a reason.

So I will enjoy the memories: New Year's Eve surprises, movie making, songs sung, great conversations, laughter galore… water polo, mud fights, DC tours, turtles rebuking their subordinates, and more laughter… Memories that have shaped who I am and have given me a glimpse of who Jesus is. 

Even though the summer's over now, and the past five years in Uganda are over, at least the memories will stay. And that's important. 

And what's exciting, is that I will see these people again. Maybe not on here on earth. But I will laugh with them again. I will be able to enjoy them, to hug them again. 

I'll see them again, with their laughter lines.

~Kara