Beginning to Let Go

My eldest daughter is gone - not for good, but she's serving at a military academy this summer, a few states away, for six weeks.

Can I say without fear of reprisal that I am so glad for her to be where she is, though it's not here, and I miss her?

The place she's chosen not only requires extremely high standards of modesty, discipline, godliness and respect - it's peopled by some rare individuals who are devoted to faith, family and our country in a very unique way. Not only that, but some of our good friends live nearby and are more than willing to take her into their homes on the weekends. These families are also models of love, support and high standards.

My oldest daughter is an Amazon of sorts, full of strength and beauty, "woman in all her glory." I guess any sadness may be tempered by the knowledge that she would explode if she didn't get out of here! She wanted to go to Honduras with an experienced team when she was 13, and we let her. She was ready. I think she's always been more ready to go than I was to let her at the time.

There are days when I have mourned her leaving long before this. What a privilege to parent such a creature as my eldest daughter! Passionate and brilliant, she has challenged me to my core, broken my heart, and won it all over again. I get the feeling sometimes that I don't really know where she came from at all. Is she even meant for this human tribe? She is ever so much more.

Sadness did come when I saw her little sister mourn for her. Parting was very emotional for her, a milestone that read, "Your turn to grow up now." No chores the eldest did for the younger will be done on her behalf in these six weeks. So much the better, as we watch the younger rise to the occasion, seeing her as for the first time again, her own beauty and grace and settledness (and unsettledness) within herself. She is not a driven thing, like her sister, but knows how to relax into all she is, unconcerned with other people's "norms." She will be banging on her guitar and kneading homemade bread when my eldest is running her own company. And yet they will both be amazing.

A year or so ago I found myself mourning my girls' loss. I know that was just the tip of the iceberg, and there is more to come. So I try to let go. God is their Father anyway, and will do even better than their earthly dad, who has done a marvelous job. His humor and caring will be the wind beneath their wings their whole life long.

But soon they will step out of our grasp, maybe not at one specific moment, but in many ways as the days pass. And in the meantime I rediscover my husband and the wonderful things that will also take place in the season of the empty nest that looms ahead - the babies to bounce, the new creative efforts to be made, the opportunity to sing our song and write our story louder and better than ever before.

And our girls' voices will be in there, too, along with the voices of our history and the voices of those to come, all part of a beautiful orchestra that only God could direct in our family bloodline.

Isn't life just entirely amazing, a miracle? Not perfect, no, but a beautifully woven tapestry, whose holes and unravelings we will someday understand in fullness. I wrap this blanket of comfort around myself and I am safe. Though tomorrow may bring unexpected dark hues of thread, I can know they are all part of the whole. I can see that from the blackened sections of the past that have knitted themselves into the bright colors of this moment. Nothing will be wasted.

I am glad and very, very thankful. As for the tears, let them come when they will. They are all part of the whole magnificent picture.