Any mother who loves being a mom faces a bit of angst when it comes time to let her children go. The first really big “go” is off to college, a tough goodbye for most parents. But it helps to recognize we’ve been letting go in small ways during the 18 years leading up to that, each one a bit of training for the bigger go-moments.
The first small one is letting go of breastfeeding, followed soon by babies who grow into toddlers and prefer being on their own feet to being perched on our hips. Little by little they go – to the church nursery, preschool, kindergarten, summer camp. We find ourselves on the outside looking in, checking our little ones through one-way glass. They’ve gone into the room; we’re out in the hall.
Even as we clap for every new accomplishment, inside we’re struggling to keep a smidgen of sadness at bay. As time passes, our children go farther and farther from us, the natural order of things.
During the early years of letting-go’s, if our young ones object to being away from us, if they cry when we leave them, we get upset. But if they don’t mind going, that upsets us, too. Like it or not, each mini-going is a stepping stone to the biggest ones: moving into first apartments, getting married, relocating out-of-state, possibly out of the country.
Tonight I watched Birgitta go again. Because she’s having a good year at the University of Iowa, and because she’s had many “go’s” before today, our farewell wasn’t strained. Still, watching her drive away pushed me immediately into prayers of concern.
Last time she made this same drive (after Christmas break), a sudden snowstorm iced the roads till they became treacherous, and half way back to school she had a harrowing experience. Deep slush on the highway left only tire-track ruts to guide drivers, and visibility was poor. Her car fishtailed then began to swerve, ending in a full-circle spin. She came to a stop at the edge of the shoulder, other cars flying past her.
Incredibly, no one was hurt and no damage occurred. After taking a few minutes to collect herself, Birgitta cautiously finished her drive.
Today, as we looked out the window, the weather looked fine. But just to reassure her (and me), I said, “Let’s check weather.com before you go.”
The hour-by-hour chart showed a deteriorating forecast with the highlighted word “icy” in two of her five driving hours. Temperatures were exactly 32 degrees, that mysterious place of maybe-slippery-maybe-not. When we saw this, both of us sucked in air simultaneously like an unplanned duet. But she had to go anyway.
As she drove away, praying was the only way I could help. As I talked to God, he talked right back and said, “I know you’re thinking about Birgitta’s snowy spin-out. Some day I’ll explain exactly how I was involved in that, but for now, just know I was involved. You’re watching her go and you’re feeling helpless, but remember, I’m not just watching her, and I’m never helpless. Where she goes, I go.”
“You [Lord] are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.” (Psalm 32:7)
