To IMs and All Friends Scattered (a love letter)

Note #1: This blog has to do with a big change in my life, namely, that today is our last day as IM staff members for me and seventeen of my friends. If this is the first you’re hearing about it, I invite you to call or email for a more in-depth conversation.

Note #2: If you’re uncomfortable with heartfelt, non-ironic admissions of love, sometimes incorporating cheesy LOTR references, you are free not to read this blog. You are also free to read my entry on cynicism.

My dear IM’s (and all friends scattered),

The end of this season of our lives and the start of a new one has prompted me to write a letter to you.

I am not mourning to see the fundraising portion of the IM program end, nor am I lamenting the insecurities and turmoil that change has brought. What I will miss, however—what no words will console—is the joy of working alongside you day by day. I don’t know what to do with the thought that, no matter how many of us stay, we are still in some way a company dispersed.

It’s the same feeling I get when Lucy has to leave her adventures with Aslan and go home. It’s Frodo’s fearful realization that the Fellowship must disband, though they have only just begun their journey.

The Fellowship of the Ring is my favorite book of the trilogy, and I think it’s because this ragtag group of friends is still together, facing dangers that, although real, are not quite so weighty or dark as those to come. The tunnels of Moria are not as bleak as those in Shelob’s lair. Frodo still feels the thrill of a new adventure, the companionship of men stronger and wiser than he.

Much like Frodo, I prefer the scent of good tilled earth and the taste of ale to the weight of a sword in my hand. How easy it would be to stay at Rivendell, or even the slightly-eerie Lothlorien. These havens along the road offer a solace that may be the greatest danger to the fulfillment of our quest.

How easy it would be to blame EHC for the shifting that is happening among our little group right now. Yet, this is not the first time I have had to let a friend go, not the first time I have watched as one I loved set sail on a new adventure, while I remained ashore.

Did college not end? Have I somehow kept within arm’s reach every single friend I’ve made through the years?

No, I have seen many go. And most were not stolen by an enemy, but sent by a Friend, just as I have often been sent.

For those of us who are believers, we must live with a suitcase always at the ready. We live as if on a military base, and though we make our requests known, we recognize that we can be called away at a moment not of our choosing.

Working with missionaries, whose positions are often transient, has shown a spotlight on some of my biggest fears. Fears of loneliness and isolation. The fear of being left.

A year ago, already processing through this, I wrote a song. Here’s some of what it said:

There’s a man with eyes of fire

And I am not His equal

There’s a storm in your desire

I could never stand up to

And of all love’s hard confessions

Here’s the one I was loathe to make

Even when I give all

I cannot be all to you

Would that I could hold an umbrella

That could guard you from the storm

Manufacture fiercest weaponry

Keep you safe in every war

But I recognize

That look in your eyes

When you must give yourself away

So I lay down my arms

And speed you on your way

Every season I grow more certain that distance and separation is a consequence of the fall, one we as humans were not built to endure. I see in Revelation 21 that God, too, is longing for a day when He can say, “Behold the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

I love that this is the climax to our story—a reuniting. Not just worship, although there will be worship. Not just holiness, although we will wear robes of white. But God’s greatest dream is to dwell with us. After all that’s happened, after every war and every sorrow, He’s saying, “I just want to be with you.”

It would be a lie to pretend that there’s no reason to mourn, that the end of a season doesn’t hurt. To hold back tears is to deny ourselves an opportunity to join with God’s longing. The longing to destroy death, which is separation. The longing to be together.

God has shown us the way forward, and it is in the cross. If we lose our lives for His sake, we will ultimately find them. He Himself has testified that there are some things which neither moth nor rust can destroy, and I think that applies as much collectively as individually. What we do together, inasmuch as we do it unto God, even though we are weak, God will keep.

And He knows our need for true friendship. In my experience, He is more in the habit of joining than separating. He loves to lure us into the disarming joy of communion, a sudden unlocking of doors we weren’t anticipating. That has happened over and over again from the days I was young. I am blessed with the best of friends.

So this is a note to all the friends God has given me through the years, and especially to the IMs. You have been a shoulder to cry on, an arm to lean on, a voice that comforts, and eyes that understand. You have been prayer that doesn't give up. There is nothing like those moments when I think that I'm alone, and then I turn my head and find that you're with me. Together we have tasted God's kindness.

The road is long and arduous. Every day will be another death, so that we may experience His resurrection. To follow God is to deny ourselves. And then—blink—and it’s over. Chasing Him means a narrow path. Along the way we will often link arms, but only One will hold our hand. There’s a level of intimacy that only One can attain.

So further up and further in, friends. May all our streams lead to the same ocean. Fearlessly, let us follow in the seasons of His wild will.