My stomach surged. I walked in denial, refusing to call sin sin. I was worried. My sweet Bird would be spending a week on a college campus. Playing soccer, eating, sleeping, and playing soccer in another state with counselors (who were only in college) and not a known person in sight. She was ten. I was thrity-six and I wasn’t ready for this.
I wanted to stay, maybe at a hotel nearby in case she needed me. But the camp was barely in our budget, a hotel certainly wouldn’t be. And circumstances required my presence elsewhere that week, I couldn’t even drop her off, see where she would sleep, make her bed. And my cell phone, the one we gave her to communicate with us? It hated the cement walls of that dorm. Her nightly phone calls were broken up and painful.
The first night alone she called her us using her roommate’s phone. She talked to her dad first, something about girls teasing her because she had stuffed animals with her. My stomach juices surged again. I prayed. She prayed. She talked to the camp counselor (smart or dumb thing to do? I wasn’t sure). She had to change roommates.
I knew when I started this motherhood thing that God gave us these precious girls to fiercely protect and then one finger at a time, we had to let go and expose them to the world and hope that armor of faith we had tried to give them would stay in place. It hurts at times though there is joy in watching them fly.
Bird came back from the week glowing. She loved the soccer, but really she loved growing up that week, maneuvering a college dorm, room key, shower room, and cafeteria on her own and not losing a thing–not a sock or an ounce of faith. And me? If faith could be measured on a yard stick, I grew ten inches that week too, remembering that my job isn’t always to stay, but to let go and trust the One who made her. I felt like Hannah,
Linking up with others who love words and the challenge to write them quickly. Love this Friday linky with Lisa Jo. Today’s word: Stay. Join us.