Kid’s Mag

As I mentioned yesterday, an old friend of mine died last week.  Shane and I met in 6th grade when his family moved in up the street.  Since we lived on a boundary street we could choose the school we attended.  Technically, we were rivals.  At least our schools were.  He rode the bus to the newer junior high.  I attended the school on this side of town.  The funny thing is, we were closer when we attended different schools.  When it came time for us to attend the only high school in town, we drifted apart with different circles of friends.

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My Goodbye Soapbox. Feel free to disagree.

Goodbyes should be hard.  They should get stuck in the throat, weigh heavy on the heart and kick you in the gut.  An easy goodbye is a mark of wasted time.  Farewells that roll off the tongue without causing pause and reflection means something wasn’t done right.  The moment wasn’t seized.  Life wasn’t lived. 

A parting should threaten one’s peace. It should cause at minimum, a moment of agonizing doubt.  “Should I leave?  Is this right?”  There should be at least one person being left behind that makes the leaver wonder, “How will I ever exist without this person in my life?” True, some circumstances are better viewed in a rear view mirror but not people.  Maybe some people are better as memories.  But not every person.    

Promises to “always remember” and “never forget” should be made with the best intention to fulfill.  Of course, time takes care of such promises.  The intensity of the moment lessens.  Memories are idealized.  Until one day in the future, those people that made such an indelible impression are the same ones whose names are on the tip of the tongue but the mind can’t quite recall. 

Our connection with other people is one of the determiners of our happiness.  Harmony with every person is a bit too much to hope for.  But there needs to be at least one person in every situation that makes the goodbye difficult.  That is the sign of a well lived life.

I’ll Go If You Go

We took our church youth group rappelling Tuesday night.  The young men were in charge of the activity and I was glad.  It had been a bad day and I really just wanted to go home and pout.  But I couldn’t.  I had to switch gears and put on my happy face and be excited for the girls.  Most were thrilled for the chance at the physical recreation except for one who asked me on the previous Sunday if she had to rappel.  “No,” I reassured her, “we won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

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