These Crying Eyes

As I write this note tonight, my eyes are crying quiet, steady tears. I just told my bowling team goodbye, and that goodbye signaled the true beginning to the end of my time in South Carolina. I’ve been saying goodbye for the past few weeks, gradually packing things up and letting things go, but the whole time I’ve known that I’d see my bowling team again tonight.

For almost every Thursday night of the past three years, I have bowled with Bob, Mel, and Laurie. Our team mom, Mary Ellen, has been with us most nights, cheering us on, and our team brother, Kevin, has been our faithful substitute when we could not bowl. We have had good nights and bad nights. Nights of laughing so hard that we could not speak. Nights of finishing early and nights of finishing late. Days in tournaments when our only goal was to bowl “average or above.” Days of wins and days of losses. Days of wearing out bowling shoes and wearing in new balls. Hours of watching bowling form and naming our opponents with appropriate names. And tonight, for the first and last time ever, we had a frame in which the whole team got a strike. I presented Coach Bob with an antique pewter bowling plaque after this moment occurred!

My eyes are tired. They are tired from two good days. Days where they have seen:

A surprised look on the McDonalds drive-thru worker’s face after I told him he smelled good.
A group of children enjoying a well-done children’s play that starred one of my dearest friends.
A sincere car appraiser whose goal was to make my post-fender-bender experience as pleasant as possible.
One of the best zoo visits of my life, during which the animals were super active and I ran into Christine the 77-year-old zoo volunteer with a cool British accent. Christine and I walked together for at least an hour and talked about the animals and life and how she lived in Africa for 12 years, writing for documentaries. She also worked for NPR for a few years. The brown bears swam, walked, jumped, pooped, peed, and sat up. The koala bears were awake and one of them was eating. The gorilla was splayed out for the world to see. And the siamongs were singing. It was all quite amazing.
A confused massage therapist’s face when I told her that my right butt cheek could make my left arm-pit numb.
Two beautiful friends for coffee.
One disorganized mess of finances become organized.
My counselor for the last time.
One amazing friend and her loving husband in a lovely park on her birthday.
The difference in the Moe’s dinner crowd between 5:15 and 6:00pm.
The rundown comfort and familiarity of AMF Park Lanes.
The final Thursday night journey home from the bowling alley, at the end of which I greet my beautiful lake.

I think I will put my happily sad, joyfully mourning, gratefully grieving eyes to bed now. The end of my time in South Carolina is drawing near, and the mixture of emotions coupled with the physical labor of moving is going to leave me needing all the rest I can get.

God, thank you for eyes to see, ears to hear, and a bed in which to rest. Help me, now, to rest. Amen.