Goodbye (For Now)
02/12/10
It ended as most women’s retreats do. Hugs. Clasped arms and hands. Tears of joy, of hope, of surrender. Renewed faith. Proclamations. Newly made promises to self, family, and God. Resolutions. Determination to keep them. A deeper sense of the Lord’s love and mercy. The altar was deep and wide with women bowing, kneeling, sitting—praying, singing, weeping.
As always, I come away from women’s gatherings in awe of God. Being the guest speaker is both exhilarating and exhausting. It is a privilege that I pray I’ll never take for granted. I am always humbled by the idea that women are coming to “fill up” for a weekend and that I’ve been asked to hold the nozzle. There is a holy fear about filling their tanks sloppily; pouring too much or too little. I am sober about the judgment I bring on myself should I serve something watered-down or contaminated.
Most women had exited the sanctuary to go to the wonderful luncheon that awaited. A few lingered to finish their conversations with God and one another. A sweet, diminutive woman who I had never met approached me slowly. There was a certain pain in her eyes and they were moist as she spoke. Her head tilted a bit to one side as she shyly inched closer.
“Someone told me you know Kathy Troccoli.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
“Do you know her well?”
“Yes, very well.”
The woman looked encouraged.
“Would you give her a message for me?”
“Of course, I’d be happy to.”
Her warm blue eyes filled and a tear ran down the center of each cheek.
“I lost my daughter six months ago and Kathy’s song “Goodbye For Now’ has given me strength and courage. There were some nights when I didn’t think I would ever handle the grief or make it to the morning. That song has blessed my family and me more than anyone will ever know. Will you tell her for me?”
“I promise I will. It really is an anointed song, isn’t it? I’ve heard many people say it helped them through the loss of a loved one. I know that was Kathy’s hope when she wrote it. She is certainly familiar with grief. She has buried her parents, her grandparents, and recently her aunt. Although cancer is prevalent in the family history, Kathy has chosen faith over fear. She is one of those people who looks forward to a big reunion!”
I smiled, hoping I hadn’t sounded like Pollyanna. I didn’t know where to take the conversation from there. Six months is so recent—so raw. What condition would I be in after the death of a child? Would I attend a women’s retreat? Would I put myself around so many women who had endless stories (and photos) or their children?

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