Sunday, August 18, 2024

Processing a Season of Change

 Indulge me as I engage in some therapeutic verbal processing of my many emotions through this summer filled with change in our lives, particularly the last 72 hours.

 As I type I am sitting in our VRBO condo in Clemson, SC, having moved my third child into her freshman year dorm on campus two days ago, and knowing that today we will get in the car and drive the 8-9 hours back home without her.  The build up to this weekend has been fun—lots of shopping, planning for dorm supplies, time together, family nights and special meals together—but also so bittersweet.  During the last few days at home, small things would nearly undo me—like bringing her empty laundry hamper up from the basement and realizing it wouldn’t get filled up with dirty clothes for a few months, or sorting through her bedroom to help her pack for college and donating items that represent her childhood, now over.

There is something so very unnatural about taking a child—a child born in your heart, a child you travelled halfway around the world to bring into your life, a child you spent countless days and hours in hospital rooms caring for and praying over, a child you coached and discipled and counseled as she navigated all the stages of childhood, adolescence, and into early adulthood—and then driving her 500 miles away only to return home without her.

You might think that having two older children who have already navigated this transition to college would make this weekend’s experience easier for me, but honestly, I think it actually has made it harder.  Because I have already experienced the dramatic shift that is now underway, I know that something so very precious is now over and will never be quite exactly the same again.  Even though I know she will come home to visit or can even return home to live with us (our second-born returned to live at home this summer, more than a year after college graduation, in an attempt to save some money,) I still am aware that the parent-child relationship is now undergoing an indelible change.

I also know this is a good thing, and I know that her desire to go away to school means that I have done my job and that she is ready for this next chapter.  Make no mistake, I am so very proud and excited for her.  And I am so excited to watch her grow in independence, build a new community, learn new things, and follow the path God has planned for her.  I will be her most ardent cheerleader, admirer, and prayer warrior.  And I know that my relationship with my grown children can still be close and life-giving, with new layers and facets.

But the grief is real.

The raw emotions of my heart today are only heightened by the fact that earlier in the summer we celebrated Tom’s military retirement after 31 years of service to the US Air Force, with his subsequent (and currently still ongoing) terminal leave, meaning he is at home full time right now looking for the next job, the earlies start time for which is still 6-8 weeks away.  It’s been a summer filled with togetherness, which has been a gift, but it just makes this departure even starker. 

Looking ahead, the future is filled with many unknowns; indeed, whether we’re in the midst of the mundane or the momentous times of life, this is equally true.  But some seasons make that reality starker and more poignant.  This is such a season.

As we wonder what the coming months hold for Tom’s career, for our college girl as she blazes her new trail, or even for my youngest as she enters her senior year of high school and we evaluate what her options will be for life after her own high school graduation, we are trusting our good God to lead and direct us.  I am so very grateful for His faithfulness and His provision for us through other past seasons of change and chaos.  I am grateful for dear friends and family who love us, pray for us, and remind us of our good heavenly Father who never changes, and who is sovereign over the changes in our lives. 

17 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. James 1:17

No comments:

Post a Comment