Actions, Echoes... and Goodbye
There comes a point in life when you finally understand what the old saints meant when they whispered, “Actions speak louder than words.” I’ve lived long enough to see it proven over and over again. People may say they care, they may say they miss you, they may promise they’ll come by “sometime soon”—but time has a way of telling the truth. If someone lives thirty minutes away and two years pass without a visit, well… the heart already knows the answer.
And yet, this isn’t bitterness talking. It’s just the soft, weathered wisdom of someone who has learned to stop chasing what doesn’t want to stay. Excuses come—kids get sick, life gets busy, work calls, something always comes up. I used to take it personally. Now I simply nod, smile, and say, “I’ll pray for you.” Not out of spite. Not out of grumpiness. But because life is too short to spend wondering why someone didn’t show up. I’d rather spend it loving the people who do.
My heart stays busy enough—my church, my family, the few dear friends who prove their love by showing up in real time, not just in memory. And for the rest? I love them too. I pray for them. I pray for everyone—friends, strangers, leaders, enemies until they aren’t enemies anymore. I’ve prayed for presidents and prime ministers, for people I’ve never met, for people who may never know my name. If you’re reading this, I’ve prayed for you already. It’s just who I am now. Maybe it’s who God has been shaping me into all along.
And please understand—this isn’t written with anyone specific in mind. Not my pastor friends. Not my family. Not the people who are walking faithfully beside me. No, this is simply a truth I’ve learned about my own heart: love always tries to close the distance. It reaches across miles with a text message, across years with a phone call, across silence with a prayer. When love wants to stay, it finds a way. When it doesn’t… it drifts. And I’ve learned not to chase the drift.
There comes a moment when you open the cage door for the bird you’ve nursed back to health. You hold your breath as it hesitates, then spreads its wings—strong again. If it flies away and never returns, that’s alright. You did what you could. You loved while you had the chance. And now you let go.
So this is me opening that little cage door.
If you fly on, I won’t hold you.
If you return someday, I’ll be grateful.
And either way… I’ll still pray for you.
I’ll still carry your memory like a soft feather in the pocket of my heart.
God bless you.
And goodbye.