[this post was written on Monday, July 27, 2015... but sometimes it takes courage to press publish]
I walked out for the last time yesterday. Finished. No fanfare. No applause... just, walked out the door. Slipped away. Took a picture at my car door, and looked back-- but only for a second. A part of me wished there had been a party... a few tears, maybe. Some time to kiss all of my beloved students on the head just one last time. A part of me is glad that there wasn't. Glad that maybe we all recognized it was time. Glad that maybe there was already a firm plan in place for all of us... maybe, in this next season, we'll all get better at being where we are with who's there. Maybe we'll be better because we had each other.
There are 100 things I wish I could sit with you crosslegged on the floor in front of a campfire and talk about. Things that were always easy to tell you... things that I never said because they were too hard. Maybe there was grace enough that I never needed to say them... maybe there was grace enough that you always heard what you needed to. But if there wasn't, I want you to know that you were for me the face of God-- the most beautiful parts of our Holy Mystery just wrapped up in your faces and in your struggles and in your laughter. I saw Jesus in you every Wednesday, every Sunday... every Tuesday night soccer game, every Thursday night cross country race, every Friday night halftime show, every Saturday night theatre performance... every movie night, every game night, every day, every time-- Jesus is so evident in you. So perfectly on display in who you are. I hope that you never forget how beautiful you are.
I wish I knew how to say that when walked out yesterday, I shed my favorite part of myself: the ability to call myself your pastor. Your friend. Your confidant. No matter how many times I've done this walk, it never gets easier to leave you. I hope that you know that. I hope that you know that you were important. I hope you know that you are important. And I hope that you know that I didn't leave because of you; that I would keep you forever. I will keep you forever. I always considered it my highest honor to teach you and to love you and to know you... thank you for giving me that gift.
I know that in time, I will fade for you. Someone else just as capable and just as wise will lace up their shoes and carry my keys and walk into that door. And as much as it hurts, I hope that you will love them... but I hope that they will love you more. You are so deserving of someone who will love you with every inch of their being. And I hope that they teach you; teach you that Jesus is ineffable and beautiful and transcendant and present and kind and able and near. I hope that they teach you that your words matter and that your being matters and that your passion matters-- I hope they teach you because they show you. I hope they laugh with you. And cry with you. And watch Disney movies with you when you've had surgery. I hope they cheer you on and affirm you and hope with you and dream big with you... I hope they will be your biggest fan. I hope they will put their faith into action alongside you.
I walked out for the last time yesterday, but I only walked out of the building. I hope you know that I didn't walk away from you. Maybe I need to know that myself, or maybe you needed to hear it-- either way, know that I am for you... cheering you on... praying for you... and loving you wherever you are. My stuff might've moved-- my name may no longer be on the door... but you remain in my heart; I carry you with me-- it is the most permanent place I know...
