How far can I go?

This picture was snapped a few years ago on our beach trip. I remember it vividly. Three boys, going in three different directions. I was a mess because I only have two eyes. He wanted to go out by himself, and he asked me. I told him I didn’t want him going out too far on his own. He said ok, and turned to go. Then he turned around. He showed me his big, sheepish grin, still covered in braces, and asked, “How far can I go, Mom? Those words. He turned and walked out, and I snapped this picture of him. Every time I see this picture, I will remember it as the beginning of the end.

He kept walking, slowly away, toward that great expanse of unknown. Literally the world was in front o him. It’s funny, you know. When they’re little, we hold tightly onto their chubby little hands and beg them to take those first steps. “You can do it! Go ahead, let go!” We push them to go. To explore. Then they cry (sometimes) when we leave them. They wrap their chubby little hands around our fingers and look up at us in awe. And they don’t want to let go. Then one day, they turn around and look at you with the grin that still melts our hearts, and they ask us, “how far can I go, Mom?” And a little piece of me died inside that day.

We pour our lives, our hearts, our very souls into them. We plead for the days to speed up but the years to slow down. We often feel like we’re smothering. Like we can’t catch our breath. Like we’re on a roller coaster with no way to slow down and not even a moment to realize the fun we’re having. We know we’re on the ride of our lives, but sometimes it feels like we can’t even enjoy it.

Because we know that the day is looming ahead when they will look at us, one by one, and say goodbye. No asking permission. No hesitation. Hopefully with that same grin that says, “I’ve got this. I’m good. I still love you, but I’m ready.

I am so proud of all of my kids. They are such incredible individuals. The guy in this picture just graduated from high school last summer. I’m not telling him this, but he doesn’t need me anymore. Sometimes I still catch a glimpse of the kid who asks how far he can go. But mostly I just see this boy-man. So ready to leave the first, but not quite ready to embrace the second. But he will be. Nothing I have done, but by the grace of God, he will be ready.