I’m grieving - a sense of loss weighing heavy on my heart.  Though pale in comparison with world hunger, aids in Africa, and the Iraqi war, it's very real to me.  My dear daughter (14) is following in her big brother's footsteps and going to public high school this year.  Classes begin today. 

          I don’t want her to go.  I feel that something precious is slipping from my grasp… a beloved chapter is coming to an end.  It makes me sad.

The homeschool journey has been difficult at times, I must confess.  We’ve had our share of frustrations, failures, quarrels, and mishaps.  “No one has what it takes to home school their children apart from the grace of God,” I say to people.  I really believe that. Though the path may have been bumpy in spots, it has also been filled with many joys, hidden surprises, precious memories, and huge successes.  If I died tomorrow I would not have one ounce of regret that our family had this priceless time together.

Eleven Augusts ago, when we first began our homeschool adventure, my husband said we’d take it year by year.  I just assumed we’d be doing it all the way through.  I wanted to do it all the way through. 

Things aren’t happening according to plan.  Things are changing. The children are growing.  First DS(17) and now DD(14)long to spread their wings and test the winds of independence.  Their father thinks we should allow them to fly this short distance from the nest so we can coach and guide their adventure into new challenges.  He says, “It’s better for them to face the world for the first time now, while they’re still at home, than allowing them to hit it head on by themselves when they go to college.”  I’m sure there is some wisdom in that; my husband has a history of being wise and discerning. Right now, though, all I can see is my nest growing emptier...and lonelier.   

I’ve been through this once already, so it should be easier - shouldn’t it?  It’s not. For some reason it’s different this time.  My firstborn has always had a will of his own – an independent air about him, a self-assurance and determination which gave me confidence he would be able to fly.  My second born seems more innocent and vulnerable somehow.  Besides that, she laughs at my jokes.

          My mind goes back two springs ago when four fledgling chickadees ventured into our yard.  The cat got two of them.  O, God, please keep the “cats” away from my fledgling.

          A realization hits me:  If I’m not careful, my grief will detract from the one “chickadee” remaining at home. Her schooling and the love and attention due her shouldn’t suffer simply because I feel disoriented and lost. She deserves my best. Might she be feeling a little lonely and empty too? 

This youngest one says she never wants to go to public school.  I sigh; I’ve heard that before.  Even if she doesn’t go, I know she will eventually venture from the security of the nest; it’s just part of growing up. Preparing them for flight has been my job all along, but…

What will I do then? 

Who will I be then? 

I’ve been “Mommy” for a very long time.

I have to remember – I must remember that though I relish the role of wife and mother, my true identity is “Princess”; I’m a daughter of the King entrusted with this precious family. While I long to prove myself a “good and faithful” servant, I cannot forget:  I was His daughter first.

I always will be.

“What marvelous love the Father has extended to us!  Just look at it – we’re called children of God!  That’s who we really are.”

1 John 1:3 The Message

One of the four chickadees sitting on my finger.

(C) Drewe Llyn Jeffcoat 2005