“We can’t stand here forever”

April 20, 2006

By Stephen Rhoades

“And they all wept and embraced Paul and kissed him” (Acts 20:37, RSV).

Who was it that said, “Parting is such sweet sorrow?” I beg to differ with them. That just ain’t true.

I cried like a little kid. Well, in many ways I was a little kid. I was 15, but it was the first time I had ever been away from home. I decided it was time to step into the world of the independent and try my hand at leaving the nest — one week in the hills of Pennsylvania, five days at camp, away from home.

Just think of it, it was the first time my parents had left me alone, and it had to be at a place called World’s End, Pa. No mom and dad, no eight brothers and sisters. I was alone at the end of the world, literally! I cried every night for a week. No amount of comfort could ease my emptiness. All I wanted was that 1972 green Ford Galaxy to come cruising up that dirt lane to take me back to the comforts of my house. Sweet sorrow? I don’t think so.

I never dreamed that someday I would be on the other end of separation anxiety.

“We can’t stand here forever.” I said.

“Yeah, that would look kinda dumb wouldn’t it?” was my son’s response.

A father, mother and son parting ways. Dad and Mom back home to South Dakota, our oldest and only son, Brandon, left behind in Cambridge, Mass., for his first year at Harvard. We had just exchanged hugs on Prescott Street, looked each other in the eyes, and said our good-byes. Now, we didn’t know what to do. We just stood there.

Me, wanting to scoop him up along with all his stuff and call off this thing they call growing up. Him, hoping that I wouldn’t make this too hard or embarrassing.

Sue and I climbed in the SUV and slowly made our way down the street. The “still shot” in the rearview mirror is etched in my mind. There Brandon went, by himself. He looked so confident. I felt so cold. My friends had told me this wouldn’t be easy. Somehow, for me, I thought it would be different. We had prepared for this moment. Discussed it over and over. But few things have ever made me feel so empty.

There were a thousand things I wanted to whisper in Brandon’s ear that day, every one of them legitimate. Now was no time, however, to try and recap 18½ years of boundaries and building blocks. He was ready. It was time. When it comes to parenting, that’s the way it should be. Solomon said: “Teach them while they are young, when they are old they won’t depart from it.” It was too late for a cram session on a crowded Cambridge street.

The people of Ephesus knew the pain of letting their good friend Paul go. It was my turn now.

Interstate 90 was blurred with tears for the next couple of hours. I didn’t say much until, I think, somewhere around Springfield, Mass.

“You know, Sue, he’s ready. He’ll be all right. We’ve done all we can do. He’ll be O.K. We just have to let him go,” I said.

It was time for parting. I guess that’s just the way it is.

“You can’t stand there forever. That would look kinda dumb, wouldn’t it?”

Stephen Rhoades is senior pastor of First Assembly of God in Harrisburg, Pa.