Here I sit. Waiting for my daughter. As a homeschooling parent I have to admit I’m not as practiced at this as many of my peers. It still sometimes feels a bit foreign that she is growing into a life outside of our home.
Hear me- it’s a good and wonderful thing and I’m thankful for it. It sometimes just feels foreign.
Tonight we planned to end our summer break at a local lakeside beach. We had a picnic dinner packed, suits on, sand toys stashed in bags. We were halfway there when the promised “20% chance of rain” turned into a severe thunderstorm warning. We continued on in hopes that it would blow over. It did not. And so we were ending our summer with an unexpectedly pointless road trip in swim wear.
We were all so disappointed... everyone but our 13 year old daughter. Going to the beach meant not going to meet with her small group of 8th grade girls. While the rest of the family fought disappointment about the beach, hopeful tears brimmed in her eyes as she asked if she could still go see her friends even though she’d be late.
And so here I sit. I am so thankful for this group of friends. I am so thankful for the amazing young lady she is growing to be, for the way she loves these girls. For the way they pray for each other and read Scripture together.
Yesterday we hosted a back-to-school prayer breakfast for the women of our church. So many of the experienced moms who shared stressed the same thing - we must learn to let go, to trust God, to surrender control. I am not the Holy Spirit to my daughter. I cannot fill the place of a whole community of believers she was intended to grow alongside of.
It is hard to let our fledglings stretch their wings. It jostles and squeezes everyone else in the nest. But they’ve got to build up those muscles before they’re ready to soar.
I’ll be glad to wait for you, dear girl. Stretch those wings. Lean hard into Jesus. Link arms with friends who want to follow Him too. And I’m glad, so glad, that we have more years of having you come home to us for a safe landing.
Love you always,
P.S. I still want to go to the beach.