The “First Lasts”

As the door rolled up, I held my breath, anxiously watching as the team surged onto the field, a sea of black and gold taking their places for warm-ups in the state semi-final football game. With each jumping jack and stretch, I tried to prepare myself for the game, knowing this could be the last one--but hoping it wouldn’t be. It was our high school’s first appearance in a semi-final game in 14 years--and it was my son’s senior season. My husband and I could not have been more proud. 

The beginning of the football season a few months ago officially ushered in the season of “last firsts,” and was the trigger that brought me face to face with the reality that my time with our son in our home is quickly slipping away. The last first game of the season. The last time I would watch him warm up with his teammates. The last time my son would play at his high school stadium. Ever. As the momentum shifted early in the second half of the semi-final game, it became clear this would be the final game of his high school football career. 

At home that night, we wrapped him in a big hug in our living room while he fought back emotion and confessed, “I wasn’t ready for it to be over.” Acknowledging time, and an era, passing that he now understood would never return. In my mind I thought, me neither, son. And I wasn’t just thinking about football. His words perfectly captured my feelings about the season we find ourselves in.

Changing Seasons

As a Midwesterner, I love seasons. I’m here for all of it. Even winter. The day they placed my firstborn into my arms the weather outside my hospital room was changing from the carefree days of summer into the deliciously crisp days of fall. On that day, my husband and I were ushered into a new season: parenthood. And from the moment he was born, we raced through one season after another. Life rushed forward in a blur of fruit snacks, dirty diapers, potty training and Caillou. Scrapping for every spare minute of sleep, I can’t really tell you what happened over the next five years. 

When I dropped him off at kindergarten a few years later I didn’t shed a single tear. And I thought I would always feel that way about the milestones that left other moms weeping in their cars. As a stressed-out mom who didn’t necessarily thrive in the early childhood years, I naively believed I would always be waving good-bye with a smile on my face. 

Eighteen years later, as I’m staring down the barrel of another season, one where he races into the wide world without me, my smile is mingling with tears. As he’s grown, we’ve walked through so many seasons together. From chubby baby legs, to the awkward middle school years to the sometimes confusing years of young adulthood, I feel the bittersweet tug on my heartstrings as he begins to pull away and I have to begin to navigate a different kind of relationship with him.

Many times a year, my husband says these words as new parents bring their children to be dedicated to the Lord at our church: “The act of dedicating a child to God is a way for us to acknowledge who our children truly belong to, and a reminder that we are only caretakers and guides on their journey through life. It’s our job to train them in truth and introduce them to a God who loves them.”

These words have taken on even more significance to me as we get ready to launch our oldest child into the world. While my grip on his hand is loosening, I’m reminded that he was only on loan to me for a short season, and I was always partnering with what God was doing in his heart and life. I’m comforted to know that even though I won’t be with him every day moving forward I know someone, completely trustworthy and faithful, who will. 

As a writer, it feels like turning a full page on some of the most meaningful work in my life. One containing some of the best (and hardest) moments and memories, to a blank page that is yet to be written. It feels different, but hopeful. It feels like God is handing us a pen and whispering, “It’s not over, we’re just writing a new chapter.”

Perhaps you too find yourself starting a new chapter. I pray you find comfort knowing that your Partner in Parenthood is holding you and your child today, and that he is writing a good story with your child’s life and your relationship with them.   

Let’s pray.

Dear Papa, please help me as I prepare to launch my grown child into adulthood. This time with him went so fast. As much as I want to slow it down, I know You have good things ahead for both of us. Calm my unsteady heart, as I release him to you, knowing You will continue to guide his life. Help me settle my fears as I trust in You. Amen.

In case you need a little help with this fresh season, I’ve created a free guide for you, “Five Ways To Support Your Adult Child.” Just leave your name and email so I know where to send it.

Erica Barthalow is an author, blogger, coach for writers and other creatives, church leader, pastor’s wife and former missionary to India. She’s passionate about helping people wrestle well when faith is difficult. Because of that mission she writes and blogs about topics that are seldom talked about in church. Her writing has been featured on relevantmagazine.com and influencemagazine.com. She is the author of Holy Doubt: Hope for Fractured Faith and Questioning Hearts and the Holy Doubt Journal.

When she’s not writing you can find her running with her daughter or cheering at her son’s football games and rugby matches. A Midwestern girl to the core, Erica and her family live in northeast Iowa where she and her husband, Jonathan, planted a church and she enjoys extended winter seasons every year.