While newborn Micah and his mommy Linnea worked hard at give and take (Linnea giving, Micah taking), Skylar and I had fun playing. Our major project was washing the Highlander, which still had salt on it from Chicago’s snowy streets. Here in Florida, everyone’s cars are clean.

Skylar began jumping up and down with glee when we pulled out the bucket, rags and soap. Better still was uncurling the hose and starting the water. You’d think we’d entered Disney World for the joy bubbling out of this little girl. As she washed the car, she squealed enthusiasm over the shiny lights, the silver letters, the pretty wheels and the bubbles everywhere.

Whoever said little kids have short attention spans hasn’t met Skylar. She focused on our work for over two hours at only 19 months old. Chattering the entire time, she hadn’t had enough even after washing the car, her red wagon, the basketballs, her own clothes and her beach chair. Jack did his level best to stay out of range, although she frequently swung the hose and slopped wet rags in his direction.

By the time the car was clean and dry, we were both dirty and wet, but Skylar wanted to start all over. “Bubbles? ‘Waller’? Car?”

Children are a delight. Skylar’s energy and enthusiasm for anything new is inspiring, and it makes me want to show her more and more, just to get her responses. Today she learned the color silver and was pointing out everything that qualified: earrings, hub caps, a piece of tin foil, a spoon. The world is opening up for her, and she’s learning at lightning speed. She believes everything we tell her and parrots it back to be sure she got it right. She loves to be with all of us, because she senses we truly love her.

I can see why Jesus related well to children and why they were drawn to him. They sensed his genuine interest in and acceptance of them, as they were. He loved them, and they knew it.

It’s impressive that Jesus shushed his friends when they tried to limit children’s access to him. Instead he welcomed them with open arms and gentle touches. He even told his followers, “How about being more like these little kids? You’d better, or you’ll never get into my kingdom.”

That sounds harsh, but I think Jesus was pointing out exactly what I saw in Skylar today. Honesty. Openness. Someone who trusts easily. Skylar believes fully and tries to follow instructions. She takes things at face value. She also expects the best of everyone, including herself as she tries and tries again to do things right. If she’d been in the crowd with Jesus that day, she would have been the first one on his lap. That’s precisely the kind of all-out commitment Jesus was (and is) looking for in his kingdom people.

“Jesus… was angry with his disciples. He said to them, ‘Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children. I tell you the truth, anyone who doesn’t receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.’ Then he took the children in his arms and placed his hands on their heads and blessed them.” (Mark 10:14-16)

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)