On burst bubbles and nests.

Bug is gone this week. I miss him like crazy, but I always get the good kind of stomach flip when I think of all the possibilities a week away from home holds for him.

He is going to meet new people. He is going to see new things. He is going to experience God in some way he hasn’t experienced God yet. He’s going to come home, back to us, having lived a little more.

This is amazing. This is a miracle. Even if it pains me a bit, I want this for him, and his sisters, over and over again. I want new experiences, new faces, new stories. I want their eyes to be opened as wide as possible and for them to see that God dwells in those unfamiliar spaces. I want them to see that God and His much-beloved children are so much bigger than the bubble we live in. The bigger their view of the world, the bigger they can realize He is. And the better they can see, in full scope, the infinite possibilities for them to make a positive difference in their lifetimes. Our hearts are big enough to hold it all. Our minds are capable of grasping the uncomfortable. We just have to push ourselves.

I have five summers left with my oldest. That’s all I get: five more summers before he’s an adult. I have to choose. I have to make the effort to remember that his flying is worth the pain of the empty spot in my nest. I have to choose the shock of the -POP- that is my babies breaking out of their comfort zones; bursting their own bubbles. I don’t want them blocked in. I don’t want them contained. I mean selfishly, sure. But realistically, no. My discomfort is worth their growth. Their discomfort is worth their growth.

I’m choosing to lean in to the hurt of letting go, because I’m choosing to remember what it means for them. Life is just beginning for my hatchling, my nestling, and my especially my fledgling, and I can’t wait to see what they learn miles from the nest.

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