Martha Gone

I remember when David left for college. The whole family stood outside the airport fence along the runway as the plane took our first born far away across the Pacific. I went home and cried for an hour.

Four and a half years ago, me, Hannah, Martha, and Jonathan returned to the Philippines, leaving Sara in Fort Worth to finish up her college. As the plane left Texas, tears kept me from seeing anything out the window. 5 months later, Hannah flew back to the U.S. for college. I cried before she left and again afterward.

Last Monday it was Martha’s turn. I wish experience would make this easier, but it doesn’t. On the 30 minute drive back home from the airport, poor Jonathan had to sit in silence because his daddy couldn’t talk. I’ve had to keep a handkerchief by my desk this week for when the realization returns that my little girl is gone. My day to day involvement in her life, from the moment she was born, is now over.

I know I’m fortunate to have such close and emotional ties to my kids. And, I think, them with me. And I’m grateful for technology, like Skype, that allows me regular contact with each one. But it sure leaves an emptiness inside when they leave. Still, what loving father would try to keep them in the nest when they are ready to fly.

I have been especially blessed by Martha’s spiritual growth these past few years. Her relationship with the Lord is genuine and deep. Her love for God’s Word is seen in the many verses that find their way into her heart and mind. She has a passion to see God’s kingdom grow. Always eager to go with me on my ministry trips, Martha shared with me the burdens and joys of seeing our churches grow. She became a strategy partner, giving wise advice in matters of evangelism and discipleship.

But most of all, I will miss her joyful spirit. She is an encourager who seeks out ways to lift the spirits of those who need lifting, even her daddy. The Lord’s grace has empowered her to be a giver rather than a taker. She cares about the eternal and counts each day as an opportunity to serve those in need. No longer a little girl, she’s a mature young lady. That was a lot to say goodbye to last Monday morning, as the sun woke up on this side of the world. Oh my, where’s my handkerchief...