Flashing Lights

I see them everywhere. Kids. Waiting for the school bus. This morning I happened upon a bus stop just as the bus arrived. Two precious souls and their daddy. Waiting to say goodbye. I have never been more afraid.

My oldest is still four. I can't find the courage, or desire, to send her to preschool. She is the gift I have been given that I cannot seem to give away again. I have no regrets, no guilt, over keeping her home one more year. But how will I ever let her go?

I desperately want to keep her home to homeschool, keep her safe. She desperately wants to go to public school, unfurl her little wings. I desperately want to cling tight and never let go.

These yellow flashing lights, I see them everywhere. They are my constant reminder that I have only one. year. left. Of her here. And once I begin to let go, I know that I'll have to keep doing it over. and over. and over. The tears flow freely now.

I told her this today. That when she goes to school, I will miss her terribly. She healed my heart in a moment: "But when I get home, the first thing I will do is run in the door and run into your arms and give you the biggest hug." Maybe there will still be joy? Maybe this mama heart won't break completely in two?

Oh, I will continue to give and pour out myself into every moment I get with her. And I know that this is only the beginning, a slow beginning, but it is still the beginning of the end. The beginning of a lifetime of letting go. Oh, how will I endure?

Yet I will. I will love lavishly and give all and be present and smile brave and sow truth and live grace. And hope. That the One who has done all of these and more in my own life will keep her. Safe in the palm of His love-calloused hands.

And cherish every sacred moment I am given.