There are three milestone changes in life: marriage, babies, and moving. The first two are treated with so much joy and praise. New beginnings, new people, new loves. Challenges, yes. But they symbolize future, growth in the life you already have. But moving... in my last few months in preparing to move to Paris, I have realized that moving is different.
When you move, it's exciting and new novel, but it's also like a death. The season of "lasts." Last family get-together. Last girls night. Last day at the job. Last worship night. Friends you haven't spoken to in years will move mountains to get that last coffee with you. Suddenly it's your pick for every restaurant, because, you know... And everyone treats you carefully, fragilely, like a priceless porcelain statue that if they nudge too harshly may shatter prematurely.
Then there's the squeeze. It will happen suddenly and without ceremony. You are in the middle of a board game, an ice cream run, shoe shopping, and you realize. You won't be doing this again, not with these people. You are putting this life to death. And your heart will contract until you feel you can't breathe. And you don't want to say anything and be a Debbie Downer. So you just endure the squeeze in silence, watching the world you love play out in its final act.
I once read a quote by an unknown author that said
"Don't work to make you presence known. Make your absence felt."
I think the ones who love the deepest, feel their friends absence before they even leave themselves.
Appreciate the ones you love, friends. Ask God to teach you how to love them deeply. And He will.
"Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart. " 1 Peter 1:22
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