I watch them. And I see them growing up.
I listen to them. And I hear their ideas.
I touch them. And I am reminded every time of the miracle of life.
I smell them. And I breathe deep as I try to not forget what they smell like.
I sense the change in our mother child relationship.
I am fully aware.
Like a turning of the calendar on the next season of their lives. They don’t need me in the same ways they’ve needed me for a decade. But, they still need me. Maybe more than ever, but differently.
We gave them roots. Deep roots that have wound their way into the fertile soil of their hearts.
We’ve read stories.
Broke bread together.
Cried and laughed together.
But, most of all, we’ve just been present with them. Stewarding them in the way of life. Taking advantage of every teachable moment, trying not to create robots who don’t question us. They have had the space to question and ponder. Seek and discover.
The seeds we’ve planted along the way are beginning to grow. We can see the fruit of the long nights and the full days. The hours spent around the table of life have multiplied in ways I can’t enumerate. And I don’t know if I want to. It would take the mystery out of who they are becoming.
The winds are shifting. My heart knows and senses that I am becoming, too. Becoming a different lighthouse in their lives. I’m beginning to give them space. A different kind of space. More space to make mistakes and suffer the consequences of their actions without trying to protect them from every struggle in life. Hurt and disappointment will be inevitable. As their mother, I know this. It grieves me, but I can’t prevent pain in their lives, just like I can’t control what happens to them. It’s not easy to embrace this. But it is good for them and for me. It has to happen this way.
God used a dear friend just this week to open my eyes to this shift in my role as their mama. I have been their anchor, even as I have been teaching them to depend on their Creator for every single thing.
They have roots that anchor them. Now, it is time to help them find their wings.
As we start our 4th year of home school this week, I am deeply reminded of how little time I have with them. I want them to soar. I want to embrace them right where they are. As their mama who has diligently watered their roots, I want to be their mama who will get out of the way and let them flap their wings.
They will crash.
They will run out of gas.
They will run off the runway at times.
Our home, their nest, will always be a reminder to them of their roots, but it is time to fly.
“A bird is safe in its nest – but that is not what its wings are made for.” ? Amit Ray