Don’t Wait to Show How Much You Care

Ambassador College, Big Sandy, Texas, USA—It’s 10:48 p.m., November 24, 1993. I hate to admit it, but I think I’m beginning to feel a little homesick.

Thanksgiving break started at noon today. Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt. Everybody seemed to be heading somewhere—except me. Some of my friends have already left for home. My “booth-mate” David left a few hours ago. Here I am, alone in my booth, looking at pictures and perusing the most recent letters I got from home. I have in front of me the latest family portrait taken during Mom and Dad’s anniversary last month. Oh, those faces I have longed to see. Oh, their voices I have longed to hear.

I feel bad about not being able to write them as often as they write me…

It’s soooo cold outside (in the upper 30s), especially for a warm-blooded tropic-dweller like me. My heater is shuddering as if trying to tell me not to work it so hard. As I write, I have David’s floodlamp warming my icy feet.

This is about the time of year when students have reason to be homesick. When the autumn leaves begin to fall—when that last dry leaf falls from that once-emerald-now-barren tree—it gives you the signal: You should be home before the long, cold, winter (snowed in with all the people you love).

I’m glad it’s quite easy for some to drive home. Imagine—several hours on the road followed by a warm welcome to a familiar home, with familiar walls, floors, faces, friends, and pets, to share a nice, warm meal together.

But to others like me, home is that familiar place on the other side of the earth [the Philippines]—over massive mountains, endless plains, and lonely seas. At this point, only our memories can travel. Only the memories. (Unless I call them, of course.)

It is often said that regrets come at the very end. I am finding this true for me in some ways.

I wish I had gotten to know my brothers and sisters a bit more. I wish I talked with Dad a bit more and more deeply. I wish I could turn back the clock and give up a few minutes of my time to help my sister Laurie with her math homework. I wish I had accepted my brother David’s offer to play a game of tennis that one afternoon when I was so busy about my plans for AC—or so I thought. I wish I could have rolled in the lawn a bit more with Bravo, our ever-faithful canine companion. I wish I spent more time with my friends and family before I left.

Well, easy for me to say this now—who was even certain that I would be able to come here in the first place? I wasn’t.

The fact remains: I am here now. I can write them, but I can’t hear them. I can call them, but I can’t see them. I can look at their pictures, but I can’t touch them, relate with them, or simply be with them—well, at least, until I get back.

If you still have your loved ones within easy reach, then with these words take careful heed: Don’t take your family for granted. Don’t take your friends for granted. Don’t take anybody for granted. You’ll never know when you’ll leave them, or when they’ll leave you. Don’t waste any opportunity to show them you care.

In my case, I guess I’ll have to wait a few more years before I can again give everyone a big bear hug. But I might not be able to carry my youngest sister in my arms the way I used to when she was four. Nevertheless, I’ll try to redeem the time, for I have been remiss in my duty of loving them enough.

Relationships are our most valuable possessions. They’re like brightly-lit red coals. Ignore them, and they soon fade away, as their heat and luster begin to wane.

Live for the day and love for the day—as if it’s your last. You’ll never know what you have until you lose it.

My youngest sister Meryl is 22 now—while I’m strong enough to carry her like a baby, it wouldn’t look too good. But at least I can give everyone a big hug. To my family, friends, and loved ones who are far away, I will give you and your kids a hug when I see you again.