Letting Go

From the moment she was born, I wanted to share my daughter with the world. If there had been Facebook back then, I would have probably posted from my bed as they whisked her off to the nursery. My first baby post probably would have read, "SHE'S HERE! SHE'S ARRIVED! She's beautiful! She's strong! And her name is Pinky!"

When friends and family came to visit us, I gladly handed her over so that others could share in my joy. I wanted them to love her, too.

When we dropped her off at the church nursery for the first time, I handed her over, left instructions, took a pager, and turned to leave. I knew the nursery had people who would hold her, love her, nurture her, care for her, and call me if she needed me. I didn't stop to look back.

Every time I left her with a babysitter, I dropped her off with trusted friends who would meet her needs in my absence. They would feed her, play with her, hold her, put her down for a nap, and call me if she needed me. I didn't stop to look back.

When I took her to elementary school for the first time, my only worry for her was that she wouldn't seek out friends and connect with others. I knew her teacher would watch over her, care for her, teach her, guide her, love her, and call me if she needed me. I didn't stop to look back.

With middle school, she again started over with kids she had never met. I still worried that she wouldn't find a best friend, someone to confide in. But I knew she was in capable hands. She had teachers and counselors who had her back. I knew she would call me if she needed me. She got on the bus, and I didn't stop to look back.

As she boarded the bus or plane for every band trip, every mission trip, and every summer camp, I knew she was in for a great adventure. These were experiences she would never forget. They would mold her, shape her, and change her. She was making life-long friends, growing, and learning. I gave her a hug and a smile, and I drove away. I didn't stop to look back.

I want to share my daughter with the world. I want the world to share my joy. I want people to love her. I know she is in capable hands. At her small, private college she will have professors, RA's, counselors, and advisers who will watch over her, nurture her, care for her, feed her, teach her, and guide her. I worry about her not reaching out to make connections with others, but I know she will inevitably make friends to play with and to confide in. I know she will call me if she needs me. I know she is in for a great adventure, most definitely one of the greatest of her life. She will have experiences she will never forget, and she will make life-long friends. She will be molded, shaped, and changed into a new woman, one ready to go into the world and make disciples, a woman who will mirror the love of Christ.

But yesterday - yesterday was tough. I was told not to let her see me cry, but I couldn't hold back the tears. I couldn't look her in the face and tell her how proud I am of her. I couldn't look her in the eyes and tell her that I know she is going to soar. Instead, I held her tightly and spoke these words softly into her ear, where she couldn't watch my tears. I hugged her longer than I probably should have, and when it was time to go, for the first time ever, I had to quickly make myself turn away and not look back.

So, World, look out! SHE'S HERE! SHE'S ARRIVED! She's beautiful! She's strong! And her name is Abby!