{Giving my son away} Loving him enough to let him go (twice).

 I'm back from my wedding planning trip, and I'm tired.  So. very. tired.  

It's not so much because Mom and I explored the city of Houston for two days looking for rehearsal dinner venues, or even the tsunami of details yet to be decided before the wedding...

I'm tired because it's hard work emotionally to let go of my boy~ 

Even to the most deserving bride.

And his Meagan truly is above and beyond what I could have ever hoped or imagined.  

There's not a doubt in my mind that she is the one I've been praying for.

Most of the time I'm giddy as I anticipate the moment their blue eyes meet as she glides down the aisle on her father's arm like a dream.  But there are moments, like right now, when the house is empty and quiet {Mr. Wonderful is out of town} when tears blur 

the letters on the computer screen, and it is really hard. 

Giving my boy away creates a sacred, ironic, noble kind of sadness.  

• It's sacred because the glorious, God-designed mission of motherhood allowed me to birth and raise a son.   
• It's ironic because I don't want things to change, but I don't want them to stay the same, either.   
• And it's noble because letting him go requires a profound, selfless act of courage.

I made this sacrifice once before, on my knees, after my cancer diagnosis.  Uncertain about my future, I wept and prayed and lifted my hands to Jesus, offering my children to him forever.  I survived cancer, but that moment marked me.  I gave him away once, so I figure I can give him away again.  Because that's what mother's do.

Tonight I escaped to the attic and sat amidst the boxes of soccer trophies and tubs full of Legos and plastic army men.  I shifted things around until I found the large, long plastic box labeled "Blake."  Holding my breath, I could feel my throat tighten as I snapped the lid off and looked inside.  It was full of over sized, extra large zip-lock bags bulging with memories.   Random things filled the box along with Blake's school work, journals and art. 

His first pair of Stride Rite walking shoes,

a grey construction paper mouse,

a spiral full of prayers from his fifth grade 

Bible study,

his tattered, thread-bare, sharpie-scribbled red converse sneakers 

(oh, how he loved those shoes!),

and his graduation tassel.  

It was good to sit and drink in his life as I laughed and smiled through my tears.

There have been times when my children needed to move on, when instead of trusting God, it was as if I grabbed both their ankles forcing them to drag me out into the world with them, my weight holding them back like an anchor.  As they went off to school, camp or college, sometimes I would tighten my grip on those ankles until I heard the voice of God. 

"Do you want my best for your child?  Then you must let him go, trust me.  
I'll help you."

I'm claiming a mothering victory on this one. 

I've had my reflective moment.  Now I'm getting out in front of it, pressing into the sadness, and pushing through to the 
joy!

Question:  Is there something you need to release your child to do on their own?  Are you hindering their growth by holding on too tightly?  Whether it's starting school or getting married, kids learn to rely on God when we release our grip and let them fly.