He Was Made to Leave

"Permit to us who pass from one state to another something of the 

pathos that is to be permitted to those that approach to death. 

We are happy to go into the country, but we are unhappy to leave the town."

~G. K. Chesterton

*****

Welcomed into this world, he hears your voice, and he knows you. You. You're his World. His eyes fix fast on you. You're his Center, and no one else will do. You comfort him, feed him, care for him, pray for him, correct him, teach him, and smother him with hugs and kisses.

And in return he gives you smiles and a joy unspeakable. He brings you flowers and weeds picked with dirty chubby fingers. He paints you pictures, and says, "I love you, Mommy," at least twenty times a day. He gives you dirt and bugs and slamming doors and empty glasses of chocolate milk and grace-filled prayers at the dinner table.

And you don't think much about the truth that he was made to leave.

He convinces you that couches are meant to be trampolines, Legos are meant to be stepped on, and everything his hands touch can be fashioned into a gun. He teaches you that milk and cookies are the way to a boy's heart, that and welcoming his rock collection and his pet lizards and excusing the prints he just made on your newly mopped floor.

And as he grows bigger, not only does he open your door, but he continues to open your eyes and your heart to good things, new music, new books, a different way of seeing the world, different, but still grounded in God's truth. You no longer tuck him in, but instead savor late night conversations and smile at his midnight pantry raids.

His pleas to tie his shoes or help put on his coat are long gone, and now he requests  his favorite soup and lets you know you should make pie more often, and "By the way, Mom, you should really read this book, and did you know...?"

It seems like just a moment ago you were scolding him for breaking a treasured tea cup, one you can't even remember well anymore, and you were fixing up a skinned knee and telling him Jesus loves him most of all and teaching him how to read, and now you see a man, and you get choked up because you can't stop thinking about the truth that he was made to leave.

You say it's because you love him so much that you want him to stay, but your heart knows the selfishness of that lie. It's not in holding on but in letting go that you honor what God has made him to do. No longer his Center, you feel a bit lost and wonder where to go, what to do, and you see your place over there, off-stage, to watch this new chapter in his life unfold, to cheer him on, to cover him in prayer.

So you step aside, your heart torn between rejoicing in the man God has made him and wanting just a few more moments of his boyhood (you'd gladly welcome plastic army men scattered everywhere and loud noises and entertain a million interruptions). You pray for wisdom, wisdom to not try to grasp what is no longer yours, wisdom to not try to shove your way back onto center stage, wisdom to repent, wisdom to know your place, wisdom to live out this new chapter for God's glory.

For your heart knows well that your boy, the boy who is now a man, was made to leave, and you love him best by letting go.

With love,
Trisha


***Kudos to the moms who have seamlessly made this transition, no repenting necessary, no struggles and wrestling. But maybe there's one other mom out there like I am. Here's a bit of self talk for us. :)