To Everyone Who Has Ever Said Goodbye

A rehearsal at UA for a bittersweet last scene

Hmmm...I need to write. So much is churning right now. But how to put it all into a publicly usable format? How to be vulnerable, with discernment?

Big transitions coming up--a big graduation, a big move. But really, how big is all of this? Huge, because it is part of HIS GRAND DESIGN. And at the same time, I, at one graduation ceremony at one university in one state in one country of one planet in the whole solar system in the whole universe, am taking one step forward.

I have graduated before. I have made major moves before. I can feel the recognizable rumblings, feel the earth shaking beneath me. I am once again seeing the roots shifting and picking up dirt in words that come up in conversation with good, good friends who were neutral strangers before this whole chapter began--L words like "leaving" and "last".

I went to my last show of my University of Alabama career last night with my husband. Next week (God willing) I will take my last classes and the next week, I will give my last finals and sing my last songs on a UA stage and then put on a black shiny robe with a distinctive fine arts masters hood and set that cap and tassel on my head and walk across a stage and say goodbye.

If this blog post feels like it has an ever-increasing rhythm, it is only matching my internal speed.

Without turning this into an overplayed radio hit, how do I say goodbye to these people? How do I look someone in the face, after numerous philosophical chats about life and art and the state of our hearts and say, "Until we meet again?" (I feel the sappy seeping in. Hold onto your hats.)

How do I have a "last coffee date" with my prayer partner and soul sister?

How do I go to a last service at a church that has hugged my heart like I'm family and given me a refuge in some very, very real storms and led me closer to the One Who Is My Hope?

How do you do that?

And then I hear the Spirit whispering words into my head from His Word, words about how, "unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds."

I pray that I am leaving this placer richer for the passing through. I want so badly to say goodbye well, to somehow thank those who have made me a different actor, a different singer, a different friend, a different believer, a girl longing ever so much more for the end of the love story.

To say goodbye well--that is my prayer, one that I ask with open arms and bent knees and a willing spirit.

I look around our theatre building, Rowand-Johnson Hall, and I see a structure teeming with the life of infinitely valuable creatures, full of life and energy and objectives and desires, a commune of sensitive souls wanting to bring truth into the world, so often weather worn by the rain and the wind that this life has, and continues to bring them. And I think about Jesus. I think about Him.

I see Him, with tears in his eyes and the wind in his hair and a heart ready to explode His chest cavity, mourning with those who mourn, weeping with those who weep, singing over the singers down in the basement piano room, listening to his creatures, fully invested, fully engaged, waiting with his arms open in a potential hug, a hug that heals all wounds.

I am sad.
I am excited.
I am ready.
I am not so sure about the next steps.
I am cracked open more than usual.
I am at peace.
I am scared.
I am
   taking
       a new step.

Tuscaloosa, I love you. I will miss you. I have been changed because of you. You are now a part of me.

Let's cherish the last few pages of this chapter together, shall we?


Love,
Elizabeth