Adventures

I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: The hardest years of parenting are when your kids are ages 18-22.

I thought it was hard when I had three kids under the age of five. I was sleep deprived. They were totally dependent on me. They were non-stop energy and required constant supervision. The days of littles was exceptionally hard.

Then I became a single mom of three, aged five, seven, and nine (approximately). I was both mom and dad. I was trying to work and mom. I was pulled in so many different directions. I bore the weight of being the sole provider, the sole chauffeur, the sole nurse, the sole adviser. I usually collapsed in bed at night, only to get up the next morning and start all over again.

Then came the teen years, still doing it all on my own. Endless friends in and out of our home. Basketball and soccer and livestock shows and vocal performances and awards assemblies and livestock judging competitions. The financial costs were immense. The energy requirements were even greater. Always working on top of the chaos at home. Never a moment to slow down.

I remember one day when I reached the end of my grace. I came home one day to find my house filled with kids, my kitchen flooded. After blowing up at everyone in the house, I went to my closet. That’s where my kids found me, curled in the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably.

And yet, the pain and fear and exhaustion of those days seem to pale in comparison to the difficulties of kids aged 18-22.

How can young adult children be harder than those early years?

Oh, friend! I have spent the last 25 years of my life dedicated to these humans who call me mom. Every decision I made during those years was about the impact on my kids. I chose my career based on how I could work and still be a mom. I chose my jobs based on whether I could still be available to my kids.

One of my primary responsibilities was to protect them from this world that seems to more evil every single day. I fought to protect their hearts and their minds. I fought to provide a safe environment where they could be loved and nurtured.

And now, as my kids have all entered adulthood, I can no longer protect them.

I can’t protect them from the injustice of getting fired unjustly.

I can’t protect them from the pain of broken relationships.

I can’t protect them from the effect of trauma on their lives.

I can’t protect their hearts from friends who turn against them.

I can’t protect them from pain and loss.

I have to let them go. Let them live their lives the way they choose. Let them choose their paths, not the one I chose for them. I can’t keep them in the safe little bubble of my home and my watchful eye. I can’t control what their eyes see and what their minds focus on.

My goal as a mom was to encourage my kids to live their lives to the fullest. I didn’t want them to live their lives in fear; instead, I wanted them to be brave and courageous!

And as my daughter said today, I must have done a pretty amazing job!

My oldest is a pilot. He told me recently there was rumor on Facebook that he died in a plane crash. There had been a young pilot run out of gas and crash, dying on impact. My son had logged a flight in the same area shortly before the crash. Someone looked at the log books and wrongly assumed it was my son.

Every crash makes me pray a prayer of safety over my son.

My younger son is a firefighter. He has seen more in his 22 years of life than I have. Gunshots and murders. People pulled from burning homes. He has found his calling, but it’s one that often leaves me praying over him for safety–for his physical and mental health.

I have a new appreciation for our selfless first responders.

And now my daughter. I thought she was going to be easier during this 18-22 period. She’s a vocal music/interpersonal communication major. She’s a worship leader with plans for ministry. She’s chosen a safe life–and I am so incredibly proud of her!

Until now…

In two days, my daughter boards a flight for Atlanta. She will spend a week or two training with a ministry team. And then, she will leave for Cambodia and Thailand. She is spending the next two months dedicating her life to helping others. I don’t know exactly where she will be or what she will be doing–and it might be best that way. I just know I have to let her go.

I have to let her live her life.

I have to let her explore the world.

I have to let her follow Jesus as He leads.

I have to put her in God’s hands, knowing He loves her more than I do and nothing can touch her that He doesn’t allow.

I have to trust that if she gets ill, she will get the care she needs, that someone else will make the decisions I would normally make.

I have to trust a part of the world that I know nothing about.

I have to trust that she will have the protection from illnesses and viruses and injuries that we are inexperienced with.

I have to trust that the plane she boards will safely transport her around the world.

I have to trust…

Perhaps these two months will be an adventure for me, too, as I lean into God and let His perfect peace flood my heart and mind (Isaiah 26:3).

As I pray that He protects her better than I ever could.

As I wait for God to bring her safely home to me.

As I pray without ceasing.

Will you pray with me?