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Sometimes You Just Gotta Go

FRIENDS CONDALL AND KATHY CLEGG JUST BOUGHT A HOUSE an hour north of here. They’ve been members of our Sunday school class for a while now, so the class decided to give them a going-away present. We wanted to give them something for their new home. Something that would give them the chance, several times a day, to sit and think about the friends they left behind.

So we gave them a toilet seat.

Not just any run-of-the-mill toilet seat.

It was an AUTOGRAPHED toilet seat, signed by every member of our class.

You can imagine the possibilities.

Bernie and Anita wrote, “We are flushed with emotion at your leaving.”

Steve and Karin wrote, “I hope this does not eliminate us as friends.”

Larry and Nancy wrote, “To two real crack-ups. We will miss you, butt . . .”

David and Jeanette wrote, “We aimed to please. You aim, too . . .”

Despite the humor, it was a sad occasion. Their absence has created a real void. So to speak.

Not that good-byes aren’t something I’m getting used to. Summer vacation is a logical time for families in transition to pack up and leave. And this summer, the Cleggs aren’t the only folks within my close circle of friends to experience a movement. So to speak.

Larry and Nancy Rottmeyer are moving to Indiana.

Jerry and Cherie Spurlock are moving to Colorado Springs.

If you’ve read many of my books, there’s a good chance you’ve read about some of these folks. Cherie and Nancy, for example, are founding members of the Cracker Barrel Friday Morning Breakfast Club. Together with Darla Talley and Linda Douglas, we’ve met together weekly for breakfast for several years now.

In other words, I don’t think of any of these couples as acquaintances. I think of them as FAMILY, and here three of them are abandoning me within weeks of each other.

Which is starting to impact my checking account. Between going-away parties, dinners, and presents, it’s costing me a small fortune. And I’m not even counting the cost of all the therapy I’m going to need when the last moving van pulls out of Dallas.

Actually, the account that’s really getting overdrawn is located somewhere above my rib cage. I’m having to draw on emotional resources I didn’t know I had as I watch these friends swap information on real estate agents, moving companies, and the proper way to assemble a wardrobe carton.

The good news is that we’ve never been so wired, as a society and as individuals, for communication. All these friends have home phones, cell phones, fax numbers, and e-mail addresses. Keeping in touch should be as easy as punching a “send” button or logging on-line.

I suppose if we wanted to, we could even get video software for our computers, which, if you ask me, is a lot safer than getting video technology for our phones. I don’t know about you, but I don’t always WANT to be seen while chatting on the phone. Just yesterday, for example, I negotiated a book contract with my editor while sitting in the only quiet spot in the house. It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “taking care of business.”

This summer, it’s possible that someone you love is relocating, or perhaps you’re the one doing the moving. I wish I had some good advice for you, but the only thing I can suggest is waterproof mascara.

How do we manage these kinds of losses in our lives?

I’m still figuring it out. But it helps to remember that, in the overall scheme of things, God’s in control. I’m in his hands and so are my friends, and I have to think that—tucked securely in the same hands—we can’t get too far apart, no matter how many miles stretch between us.

Transitions. Bittersweet. They signal endings, but new beginnings, too. And whatever our transitions might look like this summer—relocations, new homes or jobs, a teenager moving out, a five-year-old starting kindergarten, the marriage of a child, friend, or even a parent—it helps to take a deep breath and remember that “this too shall pass.”

Besides, as stressful as change may be, it often gives birth to good things that could not have come about in any other fashion.

But in the meantime, I’m sort of sad. I need some consolation. Hey, I’ve got an idea! The Cleggs, at least, are still within driving distance. Maybe I should surprise them by visiting them in their new home. That would make me feel better.

Besides, I’m sort of curious about something, and a surprise visit would be a great way to find out. I’d love to know if, when it comes to enjoying our gift to them, the Cleggs are fairly regular . . .

. . . or if the best seat in the house is in the garage.