The tears fell daintily onto letters of a keyboard as I brushed my also tear-stained fingers on them to post a status update last night…
I suppose it’s not normal that I began crying a week ago. Or that I cried when I woke up this morning. That I’m sobbing right now. And most assuredly, will be a wreck tomorrow. I know I am blessed to be one of those mommies who isn’t ecstatic with relief about school starting. No, quite the opposite. To have my son with me for 100+ days in a row is the greatest gift in the world, and I don’t want it to end. It is so very hard for my heart to have that and go back to long days without him by my side. I miss him tremendously during those times. I hate to tell all my mommy friends with babes just starting school–it doesn’t get easier at all. No, it only gets harder as those babes turn into young men and women who one day won’t want the cartoon bookbags, or notes in their lunchboxes; who won’t still hold your hand as you enter timidly the first day of school…thank God we are not there…yet…but I can accept the day is coming. And I…I’m going to miss this. I miss him. Already. I missed him a week ago. So if y’all could pray for my heart tonight, boy would I appreciate it. And know, that I am praying this week for all your babes too. ♥
I can appreciate the humor of a Staples commercial for the pure joy the actor has in portraying a gloating father happy to see his kids off, so that he himself could perhaps indulge in some ‘me’ time. But that is where I stop being able to relate to such advertisements when my heart is in the midst of breaking ever so slightly at what I know is to come.
The time…it’s going by so fast. And I rejoice in every bit of it from the very beginning of the story. That I was chosen to be his mother; and held him close for nearly three years and even then for the next four he was but a few doors down from me. And as he’s grown, and things had to change because I’ve had to change, I’ve still been available and he’s been near. For two months now, he’s been right there and the sadness that overpowers me on the eve of when I must bid him farewell for even just a few short hours is almost too much to bear.
But God mercifully and gently whispers into the ear of a sobbing mother who is aching into her pillow,
He’s mine too.
He continues, though it hurts to hear,
And he’s mine more than he is yours.
And he implores me to trust Him with all things, when all things to me is the very one thing I care most about aside from the earthly father who helped to create him.
For how will I ever be able to send him off to wherever the Lord places in his heart to go if I can’t bear something as simple as third grade? I pray for things to stir his heart, for compassion to move him far beyond his comfort zones, yet can’t handle not being the one to protect and shield him at all times. How will I be able let him go to possibly death-defying missions and places where the cost may be too great if I can’t have faith that the Lord will oversee it all now? The Lord prods me and I respond; I will be that mother who whispers into her son’s ear Fly, my baby boy. Go where the Lord leads. Because I will know that He knew the plans he had for you long before he knitted you in my womb.
It is worth it.
But the Lord isn’t through me yet.
I had to let mine go too.
And the tears flow harder as I remember how much more you had to let yours go, Lord. This pales in comparison to the sacrifice you made for your people. But you understand. You always do. The Gospel is woven into the aches and sobs of a mother learning to not make idols of the things, or rather people, that never belonged to her in the first place.
He is yours, Lord. And you can do with him as you please.
It’s third grade, but it’s moons away already from diapers and first words and tiny fingers that would cling tight to a mother’s hands. And it seems far enough into the future the life of a boy who will one day be on his own, but I know it draws near rapidly. The years are slipping by. I rejoice at health and life that goes on, but I lament that is just isn’t long enough. There will never be enough time to love you with all that I have.
But for now I try. Try to make every moment count. To have no regrets. To leave nothing un-whispered in a darkened room as you try your best to fall asleep when it is three hours earlier than you’ve had to in 100+ days. And I pray for my heart and ask Him alone to remove the fear of the unknown; to be able to be okay with letting go.
Because I am SO excited to watch your story continue.
So with resolve, we press on. Together.
But I pray you will always remember the mother who loved every moment of having you by her side. And if the Lord grants me one desire, I would plead it be that one day, even when you’re the man of your own house, you would still enjoy being by mine.
Happy first day of third grade, papa bear.
I can’t wait to watch you soar.