I said goodbye to another friend last week. Like the other friends I’ve lost over the last year, he too passed away unexpectedly. And he was too young, like the others – at least from a human perspective.
I’ll remember Mike for his generosity, his quiet perspective and the way he loved people. He was also a fellow contemplative, so we had long talks about the silent retreat he went on every year with the same group of friends.
Ironically, the last time I saw Mike, we sat next to each other a few months ago at the funeral of a mutual friend’s wife, then we shared a meal together.
It seems like I could have one of two responses to losing so many friends in such a short amount of time. I could either think about my own mortality or I could be grateful for the life I have in front of me.
Truth be told, I’m doing a little bit of both.
But as I left Mike’s funeral, I thought about some of the things I’ve been doing lately that I had my doubts about not all that long ago.
I took a trip to St. Louis to visit my sister and her family in 2022. As I drove through the old neighborhood in Lake St. Louis where my dad used to live, a feeling sort of swept over me, whispering that this would be the last time I would drive through that neighborhood.
I went back for another visit in June but had to cut it short for health reasons, which meant I didn’t get a chance to make the familiar trek through that neighborhood. As I passed it on the way home, I nodded, acknowledging the feeling I had the previous year.
But I went back a couple of weeks ago as a makeup trip and had a really nice time with my family there. As I drove through the old neighborhood, I thanked God out loud for another opportunity. It felt like he was reminding me that he can always make a way.
Then he sent a message that was hard to miss. I took my nephews out to a soccer park in St. Louis the next day. Rain threatened to ruin the excursion, but when it stopped, we got out of the car and spent some time in the fresh air at the park. That’s when I noticed it — a rainbow, which is a beautiful reminder of hope between God and man (Genesis 9:12-17).
When I stepped away from my bowling team in 2014, I thought I’d never throw another ball. I even used the R word, which seems kind of silly in hindsight. I did end up subbing for the team twice in 2016, then I hung up my bowling shoes … again.
I got the itch though earlier this year and inquired about an opening. When one became available, I said yes. My body may say no once the season starts (I shot a practice round earlier this week and was sore for two days), but why not be optimistic?
When my client work slowed down recently (I mostly edit for publishing companies), I reached out to former newspapers I used to write for. One of them welcomed me back. And another market opened up too. All of a sudden, I’m a journalist again who has five assignments.
Everything old is new again, as the old saying goes. And I have to tell you, that feels pretty good.
I’m mindful that everything has a season, as Ecclesiastes 3 says. But it’s not always easy to know when seasons are coming to an end, as I rediscovered recently. So I’m trying to stay open to God’s guiding hand.
