No offense to the contributions of 155 million workers in whose honor we celebrate Labor Day, but of all the national holidays, I have to say it is my least favorite. Sure, the family barbecues, like the one we had yesterday with my husband’s family, are always a good time, and the long weekend is a plus for many workers. What I don’t like about the holiday is that it signals the start of another school year, and that means back to a more hectic schedule for everyone. It says summer vacation is over, sleeping in on weekdays is not allowed and Christmas is 113 days away.
This year is especially bittersweet for me. My oldest daughter began her first semester of study at a local community college last week. She was pretty nervous about venturing into the unknown. For days, maybe weeks, I’ve tried to assure her that she will find her way, meet new people, and enjoy this new experience. Then came the morning of her first day; she was sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, and I had a flashback of a scene from her childhood.
“Paul, when did this happen?” I asked my husband. “Didn’t we just bring her home from the hospital? How can she be going off to college?
As she gathered her new backpack and stood at the door to leave, I was surprised by the emotion that swept over me. Before I knew it, I was crying. Sheesh, unlike all those parents who sent their first-borns off to campuses far away, my daughter would be coming home within four hours. Why all the tears?
Pondering is what mothers do
Earlier that morning I read Luke 2:40-52 which is the story of Jesus’ visit to the temple as a 12-year-old for the Passover Festival. When the celebration is over, his parents set off for home, but Jesus stays behind. When they realize he isn’t in the convoy of relatives returning to Nazareth, Joseph and Mary search frantically for three days before discovering him in the temple, talking with the religious teachers. He is surprised his parents don’t understand that he had to “be about my Father’s business,” but this time he obediently returns with them. And Mary, the scripture says, “stored – or pondered – all these things in her heart.”
As I pondered the reason for my tears, I wrote this in my journal:
I feel the ache of this monumental moment when your firstborn takes some of her first steps into adulthood. While she is off to her first day of college, I’m thinking about her first day of kindergarten. Funny thing is she seems more vulnerable today than she did when she began elementary school, and I feel more vulnerable at this time in my life than I did when I released her little hand way back then.
Like Mary, I have pondered “these things” about my children over the years as I’ve watched their unique personalities develop. I wonder what they will become as I see them drawn into certain hobbies and turned off by others. I watch them struggle to learn new skills, sometimes succeeding and sometimes not, and wonder how much they will have to suffer as they discover their faith, live out their purpose, and build a life on their own. I pray they will find their way in the world, that they will have the courage and tenacity to make themselves an asset in God’s big plan. I hope for the best of everything for them.
I can only imagine what Mary must have felt, after all that pondering over the remarkable and unremarkable events of her first-born son’s life, to watch him suffer a cruel death on a cross made for murderers and thieves. If it were me, they’d have to nail me down to keep from rescuing him.
We are not alone
My friend was lamenting the other day about missing her grown son who moved across the country to New York to work in the film business. “As parents, I know we’re supposed to be working ourselves out of a job by raising them up to be responsible and productive adults, but when that moment comes, it’s so painful,” she said.
Today was my youngest daughter’s first day as a junior in high school. I took her picture at the front door like I’ve done most every year when my girls start a new school year. I listened when she returned home and told me all about her classes with a good deal of enthusiasm. I saw a new confidence in her that wasn’t there last year. I recognized the cues that my baby girl is closer to leaving the nest than I care to believe.
On this day after Labor Day, I store up and ponder all these magical, wonderful and tear-filled moments in my heart. And then, like Mary, I find the grace to release my girls into the Father’s hands.
