It’s 11 o’clock at night, and I’m sitting on the tiny little red stool in his room, gazing up at the little white paper stars he cut out to hang over his bed. The stars, all hanging low from fishing wire, are dancing in the wind of the ceiling fan. He is sleeping peacefully while I am praying for peace. And I pray for him, and for his teacher, and his classmates. I can still remember the first time I dropped him off at the church nursery. I have the sticker from that day in his baby book. He was fine, I was not. And it was just the beginning of a lifetime of saying goodbye, of giving him over to someone to watch him during the time we left him and the time we got back … someone we had to trust to take care of him in the “in between.” It doesn’t really matter our choices as a parent: if we decide to not work and stay at home, if we decide to homeschool … at some point we have to squeeze our child’s hand tight, take a deep breath, and then let go. Our God knows fully about letting a Son go. Tucker's very first pillow was in the shape of a star. Someone gave it to him as a baby. It was striped and khaki. And he loved it and took it everywhere we went until one day it got left behind. So I ineptly tried to sew him another one, and this time it was his favorite color — red. And he loved it even in its lopsidedness. It lay on the bed next to him last night as he slept. He was all stretched out looking big; his red star beside him looking small. Yesterday, we went up to his school all abandoned and quiet, the calm before the chaos. And I took a piece of chalk in my pocket. And we showed him where we would drop him off and where we would pick him up, and we took his picture by the door before there were a million people swarming around in 1st day chaos. And then I drew stars with chalk: a few on the playground, a few on the sidewalk, one near the stairs. All small and blue, because that’s his favorite color now. And as we walked back to the car, I told him if he felt nervous, uncertain, lonely, scared, or sad tomorrow to look for the stars. I told him that we hoped they would remind him that his God loves him, and he can talk to Him anytime. I told him that we hoped they would remind him his mommy and daddy love him, and we are praying for him in the “in between.” That’s so much of what parenthood is. It’s loving and teaching and training and rehearsing the truths we know into their ears and then praying that they are prepared and will stand firm in the teachings we have passed to them (2 Thessalonians 2:15). Praying they will look to the “stars” (the reminders) when they forget. And praying they will let the Father guide them through the “in between” and everything else. Parenthood is breathing deep and saying “I submit to Your will for my kids and I accept Your best plan for them” whatever that may be. And in the letting go, we worship our Creator and enable them to worship Him more freely too. And this past year and this summer and this morning, I found how hard it is not to buckle under the weight of the fear of the unknown. And when I am buckled under fear, I have a choice to stand back up and claim them as ours or to stay down low on my knees and surrender them to the one who created them. And I had to remind myself that parenthood isn’t just about God using us to shape our children, but it’s also about God using parenthood to shape us. This morning, all four of us walked to school in the morning sun, and Ben prayed over him again as we walked. We reached the door of his class, and we took him in all hugs and kisses and chaos. He found his seat all confidence and smiles, and I snapped a picture determined not to cry. And just before I turned, he reached up his arms one more time, and I gratefully squeezed him tight, breathed deeply, and let him go. Last night after I left his room, I went out our front door and stood barefoot looking toward the Heavens at stars all white and little in the sky. Then I drew what I was standing under. One on the sidewalk and one on the stair. All large and blue.
And they were for me. So they would remind me that his Father loves him more than I do and He is holding him in the “in between.”
6 Comments
Jenni Tate
8/26/2013 02:51:21 pm
Oh Beth, your words gave me chills. Myles has missed Tucker this summer and I understand why a little more after reading this. What a wonderful reminder! Y'all are a blessing to our life thanks for being there today!!!!
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Cheryl Luckie
8/14/2014 11:57:20 am
beautifully written....even though my "baby" is 42 he is still "my baby" and it's hard not to sometimes just want to hold him in my lap and rock him to sleep:) I remember the times of "letting go"...always bittersweet. I pray for my son and his children every day:) Hope Tucker has an awesome year.
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Ann Thomas
8/14/2014 02:03:09 pm
Hi, Beth. I'm a friend of your Mom's from high school. I absolutely love your writing. I'm always moved by how you express God's presence in your life. Do you mind if I share this post?
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Mindy
8/10/2015 05:20:35 pm
I don't even have children (yet, God willing) but your writing brings tears to my eyes nonetheless. Beautiful.
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Ashley Duke
8/17/2017 09:55:49 pm
Love this Beth! God has his hand on your sweet kiddos. Helps this working momma/teacher know that when I teach I am loving on someone else babies as if they were my own.
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AuthorWe are a family of five (Ben, Beth, Tucker, Libby, and Zane). We started this blog during our 7 year journey to bring home a child through adoption. This is our story of how God is faithful in the good, the bad, and all the in between. Archives
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