It’s a common experience.
Just like all the really important events in our lives.
God made the best in life attainable to every creature,
regardless of economic level or region of residence. Waking up to the sunrise, experiencing the
exhilaration of adolescence, falling in love, wondering at the strength of an infant’s finger-clutch, delighting in
grandchildren, reveling in the moonlight on an autumn night - these are not reserved for those of high
birth or family privilege or even to those who might somehow seem to deserve
them. No, these shared channels of human experience are for all.
Mothering is among those experiences. Obviously, not every
woman is a mother; our sin-scarred DNA has taken care of that. But for those
who have the physical capacity to bear children, there is no aptitude test one
must take to qualify. Perhaps it would be good if there were. Yet, who among us
could truly pass such an exam, could grasp the significance of the questions
being asked, the responsibility being undertaken? We enter this state of
motherhood unaware of its import. Perhaps God knew we wouldn’t do it otherwise.
And so all the stages of motherhood and family are common;
millions of homes encounter similar seasons and events, whatever the culture,
whatever the language. Human relationship and the emotions evoked are the same
everywhere. Grown children moving farther away from the nucleus of the home is
not then such a cataclysmic event. It happens somewhere every day. It is one of
those common things, a piece of living that comes to every household.
Why then does it feel so very uncommon? Why does it seem
more of a tragedy than an adventure? Why does it look like loss instead of
gain? Why do I struggle with accepting what has been part of the storyline
since the moment I felt the first twinge of new life deep within me?
I’ve been through this before, after all. Three years ago,
my firstborn took the first flight from the nest. And I did survive it (though
I have to admit I still don’t like it). Now, the second-born is eyeing the
distance to her own new perch, getting ready to leap out, on her own and into
God’s hands.
As I write this, one daughter is on the front porch in a
rocker, the other sitting on the screened-in back porch, both with coffee cups
and open Bibles, blonde hair spilling over their shoulders, their hearts lifted
up to the One it has been my privilege to know as well. It makes me happy, this
knowledge that they have such a Friend, a Guide. Yet, since mothers are allowed
to have contradicting emotions, I’m still fighting back the tide of melancholy
that rises up when I remember that soon I won’t have the privilege of seeing
them first thing in the morning, hearing their silly banter and giving them a
hug or kiss when I feel like it. And that’s when I realize anew that I am
displaying another common trait – selfishness. Maybe it’s not as ugly when
cloaked in motherhood, but it’s still as damaging. And there is a fine line,
perhaps, between mother’s “heart” and smothering. After all, how do you ever really
distance yourself from a being who began in your body and who never leaves your
heart? Yet, to clutch your child so closely that she can never experience her
own life is absolutely selfish. I was not given my children for me, but for
Him. And they are separate entities, however deeply they are imprinted on my
soul. They were meant to soar, without a mom-tether. Now, the thing that binds us will be our
hearts, our mother-child tie that no distance or life experience can sever
unless we let it.
It is an adventure for both of us.
If we let it be.
If I let it be.
The loss is there, but it is a loss that gives way to a
greater horizon. As the journey from the
womb to the world outside gives greater freedom to know a fresh, squalling infant,
so the trek from the home to the dorm or apartment or wherever allows greater
liberty to fully know an adult child, to learn what nuances of character are
hidden, waiting to be released and to begin to appreciate from a new
perspective the overwhelming beauty of this creation that God allows moms help to
create.
Yes, it’s common, this vortex of emotion that swirls in and
around me now. I don’t know if I will ever really enjoy the process of letting
go, but I hope I can see the exhilaration of discovery that awaits both of us
or rather all of us, as more of my children enter this hallway of transition.
And like Mary of old, I will treasure all these things in my heart, and maybe
even find myself growing eager for the next installment of our family
story. Because, like yours, there is nothing
at all common about that.
