The grass withers, the flower fades, But the word of our God stands forever. Isaiah 40:8
When the melancholy waves of the past crash around my head, I hold my breath and struggle to break through the surface so that I can gasp for air as I emerge into the blue sky. Those waves can sneak up without any warning as they did two days ago.
I stood in my garage waving to my grown son as he drove away with some of his furniture. That dresser had stood in my garage for many, many months since he was using another one in his current apartment. While I was annoyed that I could not spread out another table in the garage for nuno-felting with the dresser there, it seemed to be “at home” and I didn’t fuss about its’ presence there. Now there is a large, empty space in the garage and the empty space also creeps into my heart.
My son is an accomplished young man. He’s a scholar, musician, chef, humanitarian and bibliophile (like his Mom). He’s moving to a city not too far away to study law and philosophy. So, for the first time in 10 years he won’t be living near me in Central Texas. That realization swallowed me up in the waves of melancholy as he drove away with the dresser – and it took me totally by surprise. I know, I know, kiddos grow up and move on – that’s the stuff of parenting – the goals we actually set for ourselves and our off-spring when we become parents.
However, the surprise and realization that he would not “be around” didn’t really sink in until I saw him wave good-bye. I trust that God is working “His Plan” in that marvelous life, just as He always has. I trust that my son will continue to follow God’s plan. But in the same breath, I also know that his good-bye wave was the signal that I was releasing him into the world – much as we release our hopes and dreams into the universe.
Oh, I know he’ll be back – especially to enjoy the Sunday dinners, holiday celebrations and moments when we gather to mark significant times. But it will never be the same again. So, I must bounce to the surface of the waves, take a deep breath, and look up into the sunshine – knowing that it’s going to be different now.
I’ll move the table into the large, empty space in the garage and begin nuno-felting again. And I’ll think about how nothing lasts forever, you know…the grass withers, the flower fades….. I’ll just move on knowing I raised a fabulous son and anticipate the new adventures he’ll share with me as he follows his chosen path. And I send him off with more love than he will ever know…..