My Ryrie left to go back to college today. He set his alarm for 5:45. I know 'cause I checked the time when I heard music in the still dark morning. He must've hit snooze several times 'cause I heard it go off at least three more times. At quarter of seven, I went down and asked quietly if he needed to get up (since his ride was due here at 7:15). "YEAH-uh!" He has one speed, "cool." Fortunately, Avery hadn't called him yet to tell him they were on their way here. In the middle of breakfast, his phone rings. We're stuck on your hill. Can you come help us?
Ryan had the foresight to bring gloves and plenty of shovels. I did pretty much nothing but watch since there wasn't any more room to work with three guys digging out the one stuck side. The road was so slick that I had to grasp the sides of the truck to work myself the slight distance from the cab to the tailgate to fetch a shovel. Avery's dad asked if we deal with this every winter. Apparently, it wasn't until they were already into that dicey part of the hill that Avery answered his dad about our road with something like I think you have really gun it. First attempt to back down the hill resulted in yet another wedgy. This time, however, Avery's dad pulled a rather James Bond move by taxing the tires and pivoting right outta that berm. Down the hill and back up at a speed I didn't know anyone could drive up a steepish icy road, we watched him zip past us and successfully . I followed with the boys in the truck. Thank God for four-wheel drive was Ryan's benediction on the whole thing.
We finally get ALL of Ryan's stuff loaded on top of ALL of Avery's stuff, and Ryan is wedged into a smidgeon of the back seat all ready to go. With no other snack foods besides string cheese and venison pepperoni sticks, he waves goodbye to me through a foggy rear window, crests the driveway hill, and I woodenly walk to the barn to feed the horses. Somewhere along the way I am vaguely aware of a conversation amongst the Committee In My Head:
You really, really, really miss him.
I'll see him in like eight weeks.
Remember how we laughed and laughed last night?! Yeah, well, that's not gonna happen for like eight weeks.
Like why do you like talk like an eighth grader like?
Everybody, shut up. This isn't even about you. It's about not practicing the Presence of God so that even in the middle of something grueling, trying, and tempting, my experience is to be as present with Him as if I was in prolonged worship.
I burst into tears and sobbed for a while. I didn't see that coming. I thought I was pretty okay with him leaving and coming back mid-March. There was a sudden awareness of how empty the house was now--and that room in my heart where everything feels just right. I couldn't will myself joyful. I couldn't muster that active yieldedness to what is. I felt only the connection of a Parent's heart to a child He loves, enjoys, and misses. Lord, it hurts sooo much.
I just had to get it out. I felt better afterward, a little more at peace, a little more accepting again. I am a parent who misses a child, and I am a child being missed by a Parent. Lord God, You are amazing. Heartbreakingly, incredibly amazing.
Ryan had the foresight to bring gloves and plenty of shovels. I did pretty much nothing but watch since there wasn't any more room to work with three guys digging out the one stuck side. The road was so slick that I had to grasp the sides of the truck to work myself the slight distance from the cab to the tailgate to fetch a shovel. Avery's dad asked if we deal with this every winter. Apparently, it wasn't until they were already into that dicey part of the hill that Avery answered his dad about our road with something like I think you have really gun it. First attempt to back down the hill resulted in yet another wedgy. This time, however, Avery's dad pulled a rather James Bond move by taxing the tires and pivoting right outta that berm. Down the hill and back up at a speed I didn't know anyone could drive up a steepish icy road, we watched him zip past us and successfully . I followed with the boys in the truck. Thank God for four-wheel drive was Ryan's benediction on the whole thing.
We finally get ALL of Ryan's stuff loaded on top of ALL of Avery's stuff, and Ryan is wedged into a smidgeon of the back seat all ready to go. With no other snack foods besides string cheese and venison pepperoni sticks, he waves goodbye to me through a foggy rear window, crests the driveway hill, and I woodenly walk to the barn to feed the horses. Somewhere along the way I am vaguely aware of a conversation amongst the Committee In My Head:
You really, really, really miss him.
I'll see him in like eight weeks.
Remember how we laughed and laughed last night?! Yeah, well, that's not gonna happen for like eight weeks.
Like why do you like talk like an eighth grader like?
Everybody, shut up. This isn't even about you. It's about not practicing the Presence of God so that even in the middle of something grueling, trying, and tempting, my experience is to be as present with Him as if I was in prolonged worship.
I burst into tears and sobbed for a while. I didn't see that coming. I thought I was pretty okay with him leaving and coming back mid-March. There was a sudden awareness of how empty the house was now--and that room in my heart where everything feels just right. I couldn't will myself joyful. I couldn't muster that active yieldedness to what is. I felt only the connection of a Parent's heart to a child He loves, enjoys, and misses. Lord, it hurts sooo much.
I just had to get it out. I felt better afterward, a little more at peace, a little more accepting again. I am a parent who misses a child, and I am a child being missed by a Parent. Lord God, You are amazing. Heartbreakingly, incredibly amazing.
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