There is this feeling of standing on a precipice . . . in the dark. My firstborn has reached adulthood and graduated from high school. All the old forms are breaking, and I find myself called to a new trust in a new place. Perhaps I would call it a desert place because it seems so dry. And I feel like I’m wandering–not really knowing how to bring this one to an independent life.
It is an unfamiliar labor, and the contractions bear down hard against my soul. I find myself sorting through the eighteen years of memories–seeing his face for the first time, driving home from the hospital with his little form curled up in his carseat. He was the firstborn son, grandson, nephew.
There was the joy of watching him grow, but there were questions about how he’d be. The mysteries unfolded a bit as time went on, but so much of the story is yet unwritten. And the unwritten chapters scare me. We celebrate and we are proud as he walks to receive his diploma, but the joy is attended with barbs of uncertainty. Perhaps all parents feel this way.
Admittedly, I am dry and I am pushing deep into the living water. As I sit alone in the summer breeze, the Lord reminds me of His promise: “Unfailing love enfolds him who trusts in the Lord,” (Psalm 32:10). And Elizabeth Eliot wrote some words for me: “When did the validity of the Eternal Word rest on the mood of one of His poor children? Let His promise be the song you sing. He will hear it and make it true for you.”
I look back and I look forward. Life is full of uncertainties, but I do know this: His enfolding love will embrace me in the dark places, in the desert places, in the unknown places. His promises are the strain of melody in a cacophany of emotions. And as I learn to trust, I will know more of Him.