invisible strings

I'm at the beginning of a season of leaving... of others leaving me and of me leaving people and places.

I hate it.

As someone who doesn't particularly like change in the first place, coming to the end of my time at Calvin is daunting, intimidating, terrifying.  And I know that this is how life works.  I understand that.  I know that seasons come to an end and that what has been was good and what is coming will be good, too.  And when I tease out all of these worries and anxieties about the future, I become less scared, but I become more sad. I think my worry and my fear keep me from being sad, or at least hide the sorrow.  I don't think that's how it should be.  I can't stay in the sorrow, I can't wallow in the sadness, but I should and must acknowledge it.  It is real.  It is legitimate.  It is good.

Last week, my counselor read me a story, The Invisible String, by Patrice Karst. It was about love connecting everyone together, no matter how far apart they may be.  And when someone misses me, their "love travels all the way along the string until I feel it tug on my heart, and when I tug it back, they feel it in their hearts."  At the end of the story, the children, "from deep inside, could now clearly see... no one is ever alone."  And this struck me.  I hadn't expected the book to end that way, but I think that deep down, it's how I wanted it to end.  Because I understand that.  I understand the idea of a tugging on my heart, sometimes almost physically.  I understand the fear of being alone.  I understand feeling alone.  And this children's story is probably one of the most helpful things that Sarah and I could have done that day.

So as the good byes begin, I am sad and I am thankful for the time that we shared and the strings that will keep us connected, no matter how far we may be from each other.