I heard news this week of a Christian brother of my acquaintance who has been given just months to live. Since he is close to my age, the news gives one pause.
As I was thinking about what it must be like to know you will be leaving this life on earth and as I wondered how you prioritize all that you want to say and do to compact it into whatever days remain for you before saying good-bye to those here who are dear, it brought a vivid memory to the forefront of my thinking.
When I was a little girl, Mr. Baird was our Rural Bible Mission man. He and his sweet, but frail, wife spent their adult ministry years conducting vacation Bible schools in the summers and release-time Bible classes for school children during the school years. The Bairds owned a “near and dear” spot in the heart of my church family. In addition to supporting them through prayers and finances, every fall our church had a big “harvest dinner” for the express purpose of thanking the Bairds and gifting them with an above-and-beyond financial donation. This annual event was a major occasion–I can remember a number of years when my mom made me a new dress for that night; one year, she even sewed matching clothes for my brother and me–a blue calico vest for him, a dress for me from the same fabric.
There came a time when our church marked the Bairds’ retirement with a special event. People got up in front and shared the various ways their lives had been impacted by this humble husband and wife. At last, it was time for Mr. Baird (we always called him “Mr.” even though he was a full-fledged “Reverend”) to say a few words. He didn’t have a huge eloquent speech. Instead, in typical Mr. Baird style, he said he preferred to say thanks and good-bye (I believe they were moving to Florida in their retirement) in the Vacation Bible School way. Thus he proceded to walk down the steps of the platform, down the aisle, and (this part of the recollection is a little fuzzy) either right out of the building or at the very least back to his seat, all the while singing, and inviting his friends to sing, a chlldren’s song he must have sung hundreds of times over the years:
We’ll never say good-bye in glory,
In the morning, over yonder.
We’ll never say good-bye in glory,
We’ll never say good-bye up there.
It was not as though a door was slamming shut. It was simply a farewell, a ”See you later” moment and, even though I’m sure it made my tears trickle because they always do in such tender moments, it was not the final, gut wrenching of a “the end” kind of good-bye. I don’t know if I ever did see Mr. Baird after that, but I look forward to some great chats in heaven. (I wonder if he remembers the time I got up in front and sang, “Jesus said there’s flies down here (the real words were “Jesus said it’s fine down here…”) but Heaven is better than this.”? I don’t remember that, but my mom tells me it happened in VBS when I was a little girl.)
Farewell…fare-thee-well…It’s just a parting for a little while…that is our hope. I pray my friends can grip the thought of it tightly today even as they are in the grip of the One who is our eternal Hope.
