An Open Letter to my College-bound Eldest Son

Dear Christian,

I'm sitting in a tea shop right now as you get your ID and prepare for life on campus.  They are playing some weird new age music here that is reminiscent of doped up music on a Richard Simmons exercise video.  As I stare through the couple sitting in front of me, I wonder with great shock, how we have so suddenly arrived at this moment.

Just a bit ago, I was concerned about developmentally appropriate milestones and homemade baby food.  I was just coaching you on how to get along with your friends in preschool so that poor, sweet, Mrs. Wetzel would not have to send another note home about how you need to include all friends in your dramatic re-creation of Davy Crockett adventures.  You came out of Grammy and Papa's spare bedroom not so long ago and announced you had written a song called Chicken in a Tree.  I was just shuffling you to baseball, flag football, basketball and taekwondo and telling you to turn down the volume on your ipod.  I was just pushing you to get your driver's license, bugging you about your grades and taking prom photos.

What has happened to all the time that seemed to stretch endlessly before me on this journey of motherhood?  I'm sitting here recalling snapshot memories and sound bytes of your sweet newborn cry, your serious little boy voice and your enthusiastic sports announcer imitations, and I swear I see ashes in my open hands, blowing slowly away in a warm afternoon breeze.

Independence Day is rapidly approaching despite all my efforts to shove it farther away.  The time is here when I have to quit trying to hold on and I have to let you go.  Nothing, not even the words of those sagely moms who have forged the path before me, has prepared me for this.  One month from today, I will drive you 234 miles from home, our refuge and fortress, where I have nurtured and loved you, and I will leave you there amongst the most derelict, wayward people on earth.  (Okay, maybe they are decent people, but how can I be sure of this?!)

I have to let you go-- you, who sits at the kitchen table and talks to me about your life and your friends, politics, the future, Jesus, your worries, joys and decisions.  One month from now, I'll walk in the back door without you and sit down at the kitchen table and stare at that empty chair--your chair.  You, who has been with me nearly my entire adult life, will be elsewhere, doing other things with other people.

All I can see in this strange paradoxical grief, is that your path which has run parallel to mine for the past 18 years now turns away from me and heads in a different direction.  I've paused at the fork and am watching you.  For a moment you appear as that 10 month old ginger, intense and unswayed, cautiously taking those first steps.  I want so badly to follow behind and to catch you when you start to fall.  But then you come into focus and I see you for the man you are, and I know you are going to be just fine.

This step is all about you, bud.  I stand in awe of this amazing guy with the million dollar smile, who was once my little boy.  I am so proud of how you walk in faith, in Christ.  I am so proud of how thoroughly you think and consider things.  I'm so proud of how you can sincerely make anyone feel valued and important.  I'm so proud of the musician you have become.  The truth is, I cannot imagine being any more proud of you than I am today.  My heart could explode with the gratitude and love I have for you.  Moms across the world pray they can be this richly blessed--and you were mine, given to me!

Now I give you completely back to God.  It is the most difficult thing for me, but this is exactly what I have been preparing you for all these years.  It's just that as I was preparing you, I forgot to prepare myself.  I am staggering along here a bit right now, but I promise I will be okay--for you.  I will be here to help you, to pick you up, and to cheer you on.  I will always be the refuge you can return to for strength, love, encouragement and renewal.

So go!  Go in joy and excitement!  Go with that little bit of fear that will keep you sensible!  Go enjoy your freedom!  Go and launch your life!  Go and be awesome!  These tears in my eyes are only temporary.  Look beyond them at the confidence I have in you, and the pride I have because for at least a little while, I got to call you my little boy.