Saying Goodbye...

It’s hard to believe that I’m saying goodbye.

Last night I sat on the steps of Wright Hall, shivering in the freezing cold, knowing it was all over.

I waited for my two friends, Thomson Paris and Christy Kurtz, to arrive so we could go downtown and study the Bible with a friend.

Almost 18 months ago we began a journey together, knocking on doors in neighborhoods and apartment complexes, seeking a soul desiring to know God with us.

Thomson was the president of Southern’s Bible Workers Club, wise and determined. Christy was the extroverted sanguine who easily disarmed and befriended the people we came across. I was the shy introvert who—after years of running from God—finally broke through my shell with a desire for sharing Jesus’ love with others.

I first met Thomson in the school library, several days after I joined the Bible Workers Club. I was sitting at a table when I saw him approach me. Thomson flashed his magnetic smile and shook my hand.

“I’m your partner,” he said, grinning. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

I wasn’t quite sure if that was true, wondering if he was a Jesus Freak or a crazy zealot.

The following Sunday I was waiting for Thomson on the steps of Wright Hall so we could begin our first outreach together.

Before he arrived on that sunny afternoon, I met my other partner, Christy, who had an equally sunny personality.

We made small talk until Thomson arrived late in his Honda and picked us up.

I was a little uncertain what lay ahead.

We settled into a routine: Meet at Wright Hall. Thomson arrives late. Group prayer. Christy asleep in the backseat.

Eventually we found ourselves breaking the routine. Christy stopped taking her naps. We would talk during the journey. Little by little knowing each other better.

We found ourselves spending time together outside of Bible work. Eating in the cafeteria, attending parties, socials, functions, vespers, and church. Long conversations in the car, school newspaper office, over meals and the phone became the norm.

It got to where we could communicate without speaking. Thomson would give me a slight nod and I knew he was empathizing with someone we were visiting. I would glance at Christy, raise an eyebrow and she knew I found a situation funny. Christy could intuitively discern Thomson and my motives with a glance.

But I knew it was all ending.

We’re all going our separate ways. Thomson is graduating and preparing for medical school. Christy is finishing her nursing degree. I’m expecting the birth of my first child. I’m uncertain what lies ahead.

Last weekend I drove us back from Bible work, feeling unsettled. It was the first time we didn’t talk on the way back. Instead we listened as Christy sang soulfully as she had never done before. Her beautiful voice hung in the night as the glow from the laptop, playing music, eerily washed our faces white. Christy’s songs of praise somehow seemed like laments. As if the moment knew something we didn’t.

The following Thursday night Thomson called and told me he couldn’t be our partner anymore. Life was getting too complicated—too hard for him to keep working with us. Thomson, our rock, our glue who held us together, was leaving us to keep himself from falling apart.

I heard a voice crack and realized it was my own. My eyes got wet as my mouth turned salty.

So there I was last Sunday night. Trying to hang onto memories by sitting on the frigid steps of Wright Hall instead of my warm car. I was surprised when Thomson called and said he was coming—Christy needed a ride there. He arrived late as usual. I wistfully glanced at Thomson as Christy emerged from the shadows.

“Are you coming with us?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Thomson gave me a handshake and before he said, “No,” I knew our family was breaking up at Wright Hall where it all began.

It’s only a memory now. We can’t go back. There was a time I didn’t think it would end. I thought endings were something you only found in books.