Tonight we enjoyed family at a special gathering here in Linnea and Adam’s Florida home. Adam was born and raised in the area and is blessed with lots of extended family nearby, many of whom joined us for a pot roast dinner around the big square table. Adam’s parents, Terry and John, are remarkable examples of faithful believers in Christ, living out their faith through good times and also challenging ones.

As John prayed over the meal tonight, I found myself missing Nate. He would have been John’s parallel-pal at our dinner,  two fathers/fathers-in-law who’d found much in common from the day they met. When children grow up and choose spouses, the parents of the bride and groom come together in a strange and interesting way. It’s not expected that they become natural friends, but in rare cases everything clicks, and sweet friendships are born. This was the case with John and Terry, Nate and Margaret.

Terry and I found common ground in our love for the outdoors, particularly gardening and time spent at the beach. John and Nate bonded quickly over their shared love of history. As we took them around the Chicago sites and they did the same for us in St. Augustine, Terry and I had a hard time keeping track of our men. Inevitably, while moving through an attraction, they’d lag behind, deep in talk of the history that took place there.

“C’mon, boys!” we’d holler back at them. “While you’re talking, keep walking!”

As we sat around the dinner table tonight, I wondered if John missed Nate, who’d been on hand during the visits we’d had together to this point. I remembered wondering the same thing back at home when we gathered socially with my sister’s family for the first time after Nate died. Grown kids and many grandkids filled the air with happy chatter, but Bervin didn’t have his parallel-pal, his brother-in-law. Their table talk of politics had been fun for both of them, and now half of the conversation was missing.

I’ve wondered about that with my brother, too, as he and Nate so often rubbed shoulders at the office in Chicago’s Loop. Did he think about Nate, especially at first, when the lawyers moved in and out of the conference room with their lunches? Politically separated, Tom and Nate challenged and teased each other in a friendly banter that’s now missing. They were parallel-pals indeed.

And what about Nate’s breakfast group from church? These men have been together every other Saturday for nearly 20 years, eating at the same restaurant and probably sitting in the same spots. Did they feel sad when Nate no longer came, especially at first? He admired each of these men greatly, worrying about them if they didn’t appear at the breakfast and making their concerns his concerns over the years. Each one was a parallel-pal.

Statistics tell us men don’t make friends easily, and I can testify it was difficult for Nate to open up to other men at first. But as the months and then years passed, barriers came down and in-depth sharing became part of the relationships. Nate was a loyal friend and as far as I know, didn’t sever even one relationship throughout his life. After he made a friend, he was faithful.

Tonight I am newly thankful for Linnea’s Florida in-laws, hoping I can claim them as my relatives, too. But common interests aside, our real bond is as siblings in the Lord’s family. Because God’s good pleasure was to invite us to be parallel-pals as his adoptees, we’ll all be bonded as his children throughout eternity. And that means Nate, too.

“God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure.” (Ephesians 1:5)

When I was a child, goodbyes were important. Mom always made a big deal of saying goodbye to Dad as he headed out the door each morning, kissing and hugging him until he finally said, “Alright, that’s enough.”

After their children were grown and married visiting “back home,” Mom and Dad would stand in their driveway waving us off until we were out of sight.

As an elderly widow, Mom would come over for dinner, after which it was our turn to stand in the driveway waving to her until she was out of sight. She wanted us to see her wave back so always drove off with the inside car light on, still waving as she rounded the corner.

Nate and I said countless goodbyes to our seven children as they left home for college or mission trips or marriage, most farewells once again taking place in the driveway, waving until they were out of sight. Goodbyes are important because, as Mom used to say, “You never know if it might be your last.”

The hardest goodbyes take place in the moments when someone is dying. We’ve said this kind of farewell to Dad, then Mom, and three months ago, to Nate, each as they took their last breaths. These were the most difficult because unlike all the others, we knew it would be our last goodbye.

Tonight I had to say goodbye to Louisa and Birgitta. Their Florida visit had to end so they could return to their jobs in Chicago. Although they’re 19 and 21, seasoned travelers to whom we’ve often said goodbye, today it was tough. I felt weepy as I watched them walk through the airport automatic doors pulling their wheeled bags. I stood waving until they were out of sight, calling after them, “I love you!” as other travelers looked at us. All goodbyes are more potent since Nate died. Even saying goodbye to someone I will see in a week’s time is cause for tearing up. Mom’s words always ring in my ears: “You never know…”

The Bible is dotted with significant goodbyes, but the most difficult must have been when Jesus’ disciples separated from him during the events leading up to the crucifixion. Although John stood at the foot of the cross and participated as Jesus took his last breath, the others threw away their chances for loving farewells.

Later, after the resurrection and their bonus time with Jesus on earth, the disciples had to say goodbye all over again when he left for heaven. How difficult these partings must have been, letting go of the one they held most dear.

The more goodbyes I say, the stronger my longing for heaven. Once we’re there, no one will have to leave, and no goodbyes will be necessary. The hurt caused by being separated from a loved one will never occur again. And unlike the disciples, once we’ve met Jesus face to face, we’ll never have to say goodbye again.
^”No one has ever gone to heaven and returned.” (John 3:13, TLB)

Proverbial wisdom says the darkest hour is just before dawn. That doesn’t make sense, since the darkest hour is probably equidistant between twilight and dawn, which would be the middle of the night. I suppose that statement is simply a colloquialism to encourage people through the darkest hours of their lives, an urging to hang on just a little longer and life will get brighter.

No one longs for dawn more than a new mom who cannot, because of her baby’s needs, get even two consecutive hours of sleep. Once dawn begins to light the bedroom, she can call it morning and officially get up. Coffee tastes good, and if she’s lucky, she can brush her teeth and get a fresh outlook on her life.

Linnea shared this morning how slow the nights go when she’s answering Micah’s need for frequent nursing, and how she longs for the sun to come up, indicating night’s end. Even though the demands on her as a mom increase once Skylar gets up in the morning, double-child daytime duty doesn’t overwhelm like single-child nighttime work.

New moms aren’t the only ones longing for dawn. Those who struggle with fear or loneliness seem to experience greater degrees of both during the night. Physical pain that torments the body and keeps a person from sleep is another reason to watch for the sunrise. Every life-negative looms larger during the night. Small concerns grow into overwhelming worry, keeping us from relaxing enough to drift into sleep.

God gives us specific encouragement for sleepless nights by reminding us he’s working on our behalf during those hours. He doesn’t get weary or bleary during the night or at any other time. Instead he offers ways to take advantage of these times when we feel completely alone and consumed by worry or are just plain exhausted. When our main concern is whether or not we’ll make it till morning, he lightens that darkness with promises that we will.

The psalmist David was plagued with middle-of-the-night sleeplessness, but his approach was to turn insomnia into conversation with God. He wrote, “I stay awake through the night, thinking about your promise [for mercy and rescue]. I rise early, before the sun is up. I cry out for help and put my hope in your words.” (Psalm 119:148 & 147)

During the night when we want to sleep and know we ought to, the only trustworthy comfort is trying to connect with God. Since we’re awake anyway, we might as well use the time for something valuable, like conversing with the Lord or meditating on his character. There’s no limit to what God can put on our minds, even to the point of removing our craving for sleep and substituting delightful discoveries on a spiritual level.

As for being short on sleep, God sometimes gives us double-value from little sleep. He expands our energy and ability to cope as if we actually slept long. Young moms like Linnea are perfect examples of this, sleeping in bits and pieces during the night then handling a busy agenda the following day. God will especially sustain and rejuvenate the one who is helping a brand new little one get a good start in life. But anyone who can’t sleep can count on God’s willingness to come into that night alongside them bringing unique blessing. And the good news is, weeks after nighttime rest has been restored, the middle-of-the-night gains from time spent focusing on God will remain permanently.

“Lying in bed, I think, ‘When will it be morning?’ But the night drags on, and I toss till dawn.” (Job 7:4)

“I reflect at night on who you are, O Lord.” (Psalm 119:55a)