Having been bereaved of you for a short time—our separation is in body, but not in heart—we greatly desire to see your face. 1 Thessalonians 2:17 (BNP, Becky’s No-nonsense Paraphrase)

Separation is Painful

Death is painful. We feel the physical separation deeply, even as our heart clings to connection with the one we miss. 

When I’m feeling bereft, I reach for Paul’s letters. This (probably) half-blind, (formerly) murderous, hardline Pharisee-turned-Christian disruptor with a knack for getting chained up in prison wrote some really squishy stuff when he couldn’t be with his loved ones. 

His depth of love for his friends shines through, particularly in the shorter letters. Whether the barrier was distance or death, he hated to be separated, even for a short time. He yearned for fellowship. Longed to be face-to-face.

Separation is Unpredictable

A few years back, I met a gal at Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference. Let’s call her Sparkle, because that’s what she did. She didn’t wear the bling, she WAS the bling. 

She and I claimed permanent front row seats separately—and then together. We danced, clapped, laughed, and cried. When I think of “gal who loves Jesus and encourages other writers,” hers is the face I see in my mind.

A few months ago, we planned to save each other’s seats in 2023. Anticipated front-row shenanigans. Couldn’t wait to be together.

We all know the verse in Jeremiah. God knows his plans for us. Those plans are for good, for hope, for a future. God’s plans are often not like our own, and he had different plans for Sparkle.

Cancer doesn’t seem like a good plan.

Cancer makes me angry.

Sparkle’s response to her diagnosis? She was thankful for the opportunity to live well and was willing to make the most of the opportunity to die well. 

Separation is Physical

When I first began writing this, Sparkle was in hospice. Now she’s dancing in heaven. I can’t hug her. I can watch recordings, but I can’t see her. 

The books she wrote will be read long after those of us who remember her bright spirit have joined her. She poured into the lives of other writers, who will write books—which will be read long after those writers are gone. She left a legacy of faith for her family. Her influence will impact generations. Individuals who can never have the gift of knowing her personally will be touched by her grace and by her example. 

But holding her books will never be the same as linking arms. 

Separation is Temporary

Sparkle knew the result of God’s plans isn’t always seen on earth. She knew the physical separation would not be permanent. 

Our hope is not in the temporal. Our future isn’t in this realm.

Sooner than I expect, I’ll find her waving me to a front-row seat. 

She’s probably saving lots of front row seats, because a whole bunch of people will want to hang out with her. 

When we finally see the great cloud of witnesses ahead, leaning out into the sides of life’s final sprint, she’ll be the loudest one cheering us on.

Separation is a Reminder

Every separation reminds us to focus on what matters and to avoid allowing anything without eternal value to distract us. 

Sparkle’s encouragement and example will reverberate in my heart for the rest of my life. She wrote—and said—words people needed to hear. She responded to news of imminent death with incredible grace. And she radiated the love of Jesus to everyone she met.

Our time is shorter than we know. While we can, let’s write the words someone else needs to hear. Let’s respond with grace. It’s our turn to shine bright-to radiate Jesus. 

Sparkle.

P.S. As you might have guessed, the above is a tribute to Lucinda Secrest McDowell, also known as Cindy. To me, she’ll always be Sparkle.