My eighteen year old drove away today. She’ll be gone four
days. I stood at the open door and watched her drive all the way to the end of
the road. And then, I watched her turn, and she was gone --gone to be with friends and surrounded by people, outside the sleepy quiet of small town life. In the spirit of giving
children roots and wings, this is a good thing. My heart is heavy -- heavy with
happiness that she is grown, heavy with sorrow that she has flown the coop for
some independent time. I felt, a bit more deeply, the ever-present awareness
that, one day, she’ll be gone for good, to a life of adulthood.
Of course I do know that. That’s the point; isn't it? All these years of nurture and education and encouragement and challenge, they were all for her leaving. I wondered why each testing of her wings weighs so heavy on me, and then I realized it. Infertility and being the blessed mother of an "only" miracle-child mean lots of things. They mean that your oldest is also your baby, and that the first day of Kindergarten is a one-time event. They mean that once you finally figure it out, it’s too late to use it, because there are no more children to use it with. This morning though, it hit me that they also mean that your first one to leave is also your last. The heart-stretch of watching your first one move out is also the cataclysm of becoming an empty nester. What a gift though. What a gift, against all odds, I have been given.
Of course I do know that. That’s the point; isn't it? All these years of nurture and education and encouragement and challenge, they were all for her leaving. I wondered why each testing of her wings weighs so heavy on me, and then I realized it. Infertility and being the blessed mother of an "only" miracle-child mean lots of things. They mean that your oldest is also your baby, and that the first day of Kindergarten is a one-time event. They mean that once you finally figure it out, it’s too late to use it, because there are no more children to use it with. This morning though, it hit me that they also mean that your first one to leave is also your last. The heart-stretch of watching your first one move out is also the cataclysm of becoming an empty nester. What a gift though. What a gift, against all odds, I have been given.
Heavenly Father, send Thine angel to watch over her and
protect her, and, please Father, plan for her a life of joy.
Now, I'm going to go cry in the shower. :)
Pax dear ones,
Now, I'm going to go cry in the shower. :)
Pax dear ones,
, has taught many of us that "all is grace"...and that joy comes from gratitude, even for those things that bring sadness...because we cannot see the whole picture. But he can. We can only trust.
