This thing happened today. This big, monumental, right-of-passage thing. I sent my eldest son to school this morning, just like every other day, and picked up a licensed driver. String the violin. Cue all the sappy lyrics you can think of because I’m going there. I can list the cliches: Where did the time go? Stop the clock. They’re growing up too fast. Feels like only yesterday. Don’t blink. Remember when . . .
Rascal Flatts is singing in my head, “My wish for you . . .” followed by Kenny Chesney, “Don’t blink . . .” then Darius Rucker, “It won’t be like this for long . . .” and Trace Adkins, “You’re gonna miss this, you’re gonna want this back, you’re gonna wish these days, hadn’t gone by so fast . . .” Unexpected tears sting my eyeballs. How can this be?
It was just yesterday when he was placed on my chest for the very first time. Just yesterday he was crawling into cabinets, banging on pots and pans. Just yesterday he would sit in the laundry basket with a pile of books and his baby brother. It was just yesterday he got on the bus for the first time and went off to kindergarten. It was just yesterday that the training wheels came off his bike. Just yesterday he rode his bike to the park to meet his friends. It was just yesterday he played with LEGO and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Just yesterday he got all dressed up for his first band concert. Just yesterday he went to the eighth grade dance. Just yesterday he started high school.
It was also just yesterday when I was getting my license. Twenty-six years ago yesterday, I was picking up my best friends and blasting Britney Spears with the windows down singing at the top of our lungs. Just yesterday it was me who was fearless, discovering the world, creating my way, finding myself, and becoming more and more independent. It was just yesterday.
Now it’s his turn. It’s his turn to try out his wings of independence. It’s his turn to fly, but not too far and not too fast. It’s a surreal feeling, watching my boy leave the safety and protection of our home and supervision to venture out into the big, wide world. I have always sent him off with an, “I love you, have a good day, make good choices.” But now I add to it, “Be careful, drive safe.”
It’s a little heartbreaking too, to watch this boy who needed me for everything, now need me less and less with the passing of each day. To think I even took for granted all of the time driving him to and from—now, it’s less time I have with him.
But this is the way it goes, and it’s the way it’s always gone since the beginning of time. We have these babies, these gifts from the Lord, entrusted to our care, but they are not babies forever and were never supposed to be. Our job has always been to teach them, help them grow, and to love them. They have been practicing independence since their first breath. And now as we let go, little by little, we pray that what we have taught them stays with them through each new adventure, every joy, and every trial, and that they would know we are always right here to give guidance, support, and love along the way.
As we let go little by little, in some ways, we are also holding on tightly because their wings aren’t ready and their brains are not yet fully developed. We may get more eye rolls, but the truth is it feels like they need us more now than ever before. The lessons and skills we get to teach them now aren’t just for today but for a lifetime. They are growing up every day still, and as their mom, I am too. We are all learning, side by side, how to trust, how to let go, how to be patient, how to love the way Jesus wants us to love.
Some days I can’t wait for this season to be over, but then I remember what that means, a new generation taking flight and me watching them go, cheering them on, and praying for them always. It doesn’t start or end with a driver’s license. It starts and ends with love.
by Collene Borchardt 
by Jodi McDonnell 
