I've been writing long before there were blogs. Smile. I ran across this journal entry I wrote upon dropping our oldest off at college the first time, 2 years ago ...
My husband Dave and I made our way to our vehicle as quickly as possible in an attempt to save our flood of tears for the confines and privacy of our own car. The moment that had hung over our heart and head for the past nineteen years had become a reality and it was now a thunderous force pounding the truth of our “loss” on our hearts. We knew it was coming, we had heard “rumors” that it was painstakingly hard to say goodbye to our first born and thus, to family life as we had known it for nearly two decades. We had certainly experienced different seasons and many changes along the way of raising our son but this was different, it felt more final and we knew it would close the chapter on a very significant season in our lives as parents.
As we scurried to our car, and left Benjamin behind with ninety-nine other rookie Averett University football players, we willed ourselves to not break down and sob openly. Dave and I both knew that this moment, and the emotions attached to it were inevitable but what caught me unaware was the heartache that threatened to take me hostage for an unpredictable amount of time ... nineteen years of playing, and praying and laughing and training and wondering and hoping with and for our firstborn flashed before my eyes; not to mention that chubby little face and strong-willed spirit that I had grown to adore in our Ben. Somehow the magnitude of that moment caught me off guard. It felt like the enormous reserve of joy from those two decades filled my heart in that one moment and the weight of it, although good felt particularly hard to bear that afternoon. There was gratitude mingled with grief and both just kept pouring down my face in tears I simply couldn’t contain. It wasn’t a desire to keep Ben close, I knew he was ready to spread his wings and fly. It wasn’t even sadness really; I knew this was a good thing. It wasn’t fear as I was convinced that the Faithful One was Ben’s God too, in that moment and beyond. But it was a kind of grief that held a command for me to accept the changes and to embrace this transition in our family life. Letting go of this dear boy that I held close for so long didn’t come easy. In fact, I found it hard to see our Benjamin as the nineteen year old college freshman that he clearly was and impossible to not see him as the little boy we knew running through our home and lives for so many years. It was time to make the shift, to press into the transition and to begin adjusting to the “new normal.” My heart ached in ways I hadn’t expected and I cried harder than I had expected.
I couldn't help but think of another moment that will show up unexpectedly for all of us; just as that long awaited moment of actually leaving our son at college felt like it appeared suddenly. So it will be with our entrance into eternity. Most of us will not have time to prepare or go back and re-do or re-think or change our mind. In the blink of an eye, the rumors of another world will be our reality even though we knew about it, had talked about it and had been “warned” about it. Regardless, it will come suddenly. So, as I stand on the brink of this new season in our family life, I want to be even more prudent in my life to view all things against the backdrop of eternity. Looking beyond today and the right now of my circumstances and see a greater good that the Father is working out to prepare me for eternity. Encouraging my kids that there is much more to live for than the pleasures of this life and there is One worth living for who we will meet face-to-face someday. We know eternity is coming, that moment when the rumors of another world become reality. I want to live intentionally with that “other world” in mind at all times!
Psalm 90:12 “... teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
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