What it feels like to have your oldest child leave home...
Hmmmmm. It changes day to day, hour to hour. One hour I feel excited for her. Dreaming of what it will be like for her to be out on her own, enjoying new friends and experiences (and in our case cultures) for the first time. But then out of nowhere, like a punch in the stomach, I feel queasy, worried that she will loose her wallet with all of her id and money in a 3rd world country (again just in our case). I start to get beads of sweat on my brow and I furrow it in anxiety while I imagine a bad man up to no good singling her out as a target once they see her bright orange backpack and approach her with a kind trusting smile. Then hours later those fears are washed away with excitement again as I dream of her taking notes in her class taught by seasoned missionaries, and enjoying cuddling orphan children; doing her laundry from a bucket while singing her favorite songs to Jesus. Then, unexpectedly, and not often, like a ball coming at me from behind and striking me in the head I start to cry. A cry that brings all of the tears I did not know I had with a all of the emotion that I did not know was there, welling up out of my body in a deep grown. A grown of loss, of missing by first born so passionately that I can not even speak of the great sadness that I quickly bury back down and cover up with a warm blanket of hope. Hope that she will be okay. Hope that she will be more than okay, that she will dance and thrive in the goodness of God's plan for her life. And I am proud. So proud.
No comments:
Post a Comment