In less than two weeks, we fly from India to Indiana. Two places that are a couple of alphabets — and 8,700 miles — apart. When I drop my firstborn at college on the other side of the world, without a doubt, I will be praying for him. But I will also be praying for my mama heart. Because God knows that, as we fly home, we’ll be leaving a piece of ourselves behind. 

Here’s what I’m praying for me (and my husband) and for you — the stranger I don’t know, yet the one I’m connected to because we know the joy and the ache of loving and letting go.

 

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for being a compassionate God who gives me the space to weep. I know it sounds a tad bit dramatic to the world, but You are a God who sympathizes with us in our weakness. You give me permission to lament as this phase of parenting winds to a close.

Thank You for the joyful and intensely humbling opportunity to partner with You in raising this child to adulthood. 

God, thank You for helping us raise him not just to be independent, but to depend on Jesus.

By Your grace, we got to teach him not simply to stand on his own feet, but to cast himself upon You.

As he leaves the nest, the image from the book of Deuteronomy has grown even more precious to me: You, Lord, are the eagle that stirs up the nest, hovers over its young, and carries them as they flail about. 

As a parent whose nest is stirred up, who watches her baby eagles take flight, I know I can’t swoop in and carry them any longer. But I also know that Your eyes are upon them. You catch them and carry them on Your pinions. You teach them to soar. You hide them in the shadow of Your wings.

Letting go is one of the bravest things I’ve had to do. Now, Lord, give me the unlikely courage to trust that this young man will find his security in You — and not us. I pray for surprising boldness to rest as our son lives out Your plan — not ours — for his life. 

Thank You for the reminder that being a mom is a beautiful and blessed assignment. And that as long as I have breath, I won’t stop being a mom. But that is not my ultimate purpose. Before I’m his mother, I’m Your daughter. 

I’m reminded that as a Father You know all about separation from Your Son. Because of that sacrifice, I don’t just release my child into the world — I release him to You. This boy has always been Yours — we just had the privilege of stewarding his life for a season. 

And, Lord, while I don’t want him to live in our basement (or its Indian equivalent in our apartment) when he’s 35, I do pray and secretly hope he comes back to us because he knows we’re his home. Also, Lord, give me the self-control not to put AirTags on everything and obsessively track him on the “Find My” app. Thank You for Your patience while I slowly learn to let go. 

I praise You because underneath us all — both the eager new adult taking flight and the mama who can’t hover anymore — are Your everlasting arms. 

Thank You for the sweet memories.

Thank You for what is yet to come.

Thank You that while it’s the end of one chapter, the story is far from over and will be more beautiful than I can imagine.

In Jesus’ name.

Amen

He shielded him and cared for him;  he guarded him as the apple of his eye, like an eagle that stirs up its nest and hovers over its young, that spreads its wings to catch them and carries them aloft.

Deuteronomy 32:10-11

 

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