"A good mother loves fiercely but ultimately brings up her children to thrive without her. They must be the most important thing in her life, but if she is the most important thing in theirs, she has failed." ~Erin Kelly

It began last Monday.  Caleb was the first to go.

All of our chicks except for Ryan had been back in the nest for the previous four glorious days.  They had all arrived close to the same time on Friday, and instantly there was the loudness, laughter, teasing, and the familiarity that comes from 25 years of being a family.  For the next few days following their arrival, we all eased right back into our unique familiar rhythm.  The newer members who were here - Jeff O., Lydia, and Henry - have assimilated themselves quite naturally into that cadence, and they (along with Ryan) have become a part of US . . . the original five, who now number nine.


Much food and coffee were consumed, games were played, swimming was enjoyed, and cuddling with the little ones was soaked in.  There were pretend tea parties in the "Pongyong" (aka, playroom), walks around the neighborhood where the ducks were fed, baths which occurred in my kitchen sink, and many trips to the potty in what Lydia dubbed "Mimi's fancy bathroom."  It was a loved-filled weekend where laughter was shared as well as tears.  Memories were made, and bonds were strengthened.

      

And then, just as swiftly as they came, they left.  With each departure, I felt a unique emotion that I've come to consistently associate with being separated from them.

I first sensed it on Monday when I watched Caleb load Ranger into his truck and drive out of my view down the street.  That same feeling overwhelmed me on Tuesday when I hugged Jeff O. and then Becca as they headed out the door before sunrise.  And then again with the finality of this family time enveloping me on Wednesday, I watched Sarah, Lydia and Henry walk through security at DFW airport and disappear from my view.  I know what you're thinking - the feeling I'm speaking of must be sadness.  In a way that's true, but there's more.  So much more.

I love our family time together.  (And, by the way,  the previous sentence is the understatement of my entire life.)  I love remembering the days gone by that have brought us to this moment in time, and I miss them when they're not here.  Nothing compares to being able to touch them, hug them, and share physical space. But the sadness I feel at seeing them go is the least of my emotions.

First and most importantly, John said it best when he wrote in 3 John 1:4, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth."  Christianity is not something they do - it's who they are.  And because of this, I feel great joy when I know that as Caleb leaves our home and goes back to his life in Irving, he is striving in all he does to walk in the truth.  He goes to work every day, offering service to his employer "as unto the Lord."  He actively looks for ways to help others - I could give specific examples, but that would probably embarrass him, so I won't.  But he has created a life of his own, separate from mine.  And in that life, he is thriving.

Likewise, as Becca climbed into the passenger seat of her car with her husband at the wheel and Brinkley in her lap, I knew she was heading back to THEIR home - one they are building solidly on God's truths.  A home where she is loved and cherished, and one where she seeks to serve and honor.  I find great joy in that.  It also brings me great delight to know that in her job as a NICU nurse she is able to help and comfort others - a gift that Becca has always had when it comes to loving other people.  She, too, is thriving in the life she has in Midland - a life that does not directly involve me or her dad.

And finally, as Sarah, Lydia, and Henry disappeared from view after a stressful check-in and security line at the airport, I made my way alone back to my car with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.  Lonely?  Somewhat, yes, but mostly joyful and thankful.  Her whole life, all Sarah has ever wanted to be is a wife and a mommy, and God has blessed her with that life.  As I walked away from her last week, she was boarding a plane to return to HER home in Nashville, to a husband who seeks to lead his family in a godly way, and who graciously allowed her and those precious children to spend a week away from him to be with us.  I marvel when I see our Sarah in her roles as wife and mommy - - no one does it better, and I know she thrives in her life and in those roles because she is actively serving God and walking in His truth each day as she works alongside Ryan to teach those things to their children.  And like her sister and her brother, she has a life separate from mom and dad.

What a blessing to be their mom.  And Mimi.  And mother-in-law.  Even though they are scattered for many miles in both directions, they are never far from me.  My first thoughts each morning as I pray are for them.  And my last thoughts each night as I go to sleep are also of them.  Their photos fill our home, and our "Stewart Fam" group text messages keep me entertained.  The individual texts, phone calls, and FaceTime chats are treasured, and our next planned gatherings are greatly anticipated.

So yes, I'm a little sad when they leave, and I would love it if they all lived closer - - but as the title of this post states, even though they (and their dad) are the most important people in my life, I'm more joyful and thankful that they are thriving without me.  That's what God intended.  He wants us to raise our children to leave (Gen. 2:24) - - to work ourselves out of a job, so to speak.  To teach them to thrive without us.  And when I pillow my head at night, that's what I thank Him for the most.