This is something I wrote last year before I had a blog to post it to.  With the start of a new school year, it seemed an apt time to share it. 

I didn’t expect to cry.  In fact, I didn’t even entertain the thought.  It just happened as I pulled away from the school and smiled back at the friendly teachers directing car pool.  I rounded the corner and the tears just came, right there for all the oncoming carpool parents to see.   I had no energy to care.  I couldn’t find the off switch if I tried.  Oh my, this was harder than I had imagined.

We had a playful drive to school, my son and I.  He was anxious to arrive early and teased me about being the slowest driver on the road, when actually I was going five over the limit.  A few morning commuters passing us on the country highway only served to prove his point. His eagerness encouraged me.  He seemed more excited than anxious for his first day of school.  I gave him my last bits of wisdom on how to organize his books, to work hard, to take good notes, and for goodness sakes, to please check his spelling.  Mostly, I assured him he would do great, how he’s a strong thinker and engages well in groups through discussion and asking questions.  Such a desire to instill some final words of wisdom and guidance before setting him loose to the structured walls of academia.

My son is no baby.  He’s the stereotypical image of a football player, and has been since birth.  He’s a strapping 14 year-old hulk of a man-child who is regularly mistaken for several years his senior.  Recently, he was asked what his major is!  Nooooo!  He’s my baby boy, the youngest of four, and this growing up thing is happening faster than my mind and heart can handle.  And this very morning proves my angst in letting go and watching my now 9^th grader step out and spread his wings into new winds, without me.  Not a bad thing.  It actually feels right.  Just, oh so different.

I suppose this change is harder for me than for him, which is good!  I want it to be filled with smooth transitions and empowerment for him.  But, for me?  Well, these tears and emotions reveal some bearing of inner fragility and loss.  I have home schooled my children for two full decades!  And I’ve loved it!  I wouldn’t trade those moments and years for anything!  But, today marks a change, an end to a twenty-year saga of educating my own.  I have no new agenda or plan, no vision of what to do next.  Today it’s canning salsa and beginning to post online all those twenty years of schoolbooks in an effort to sell some off.  For the rest, I know nothing but to wait on God.

This past Sunday, a guest pastor broke open the Word in our old, historic church.  He spoke of the script we write for our lives, one of personal identity, purpose, and satisfaction.  He affirmed that when we recognize the beauty of knowing Christ, we see everything of earthly importance as useless and rubbish (Philippians 3: 7-8).  When we die to self and are found in Him (:9), He writes a new and improved script for our lives, one where we rise with Him to resurrection life. We no longer live our own lives, but His life is lived in us.  His script shapes our faith and directs us to love the things He loves.  By refraining from personal script-writing, we can function within Jesus’s script for us, to embrace His love and life, and desire to truly know and the power of His resurrection life within us. (:10-11)

I challenged my son to recognize the new script God has written for him, a script to be the light of Jesus as he seeks excellence in His academics, character, and friendships.  That’s not difficult to visualize in his new chapter of life.  Yet, I must believe the same for me, even when that means sitting in a quiet house, tending to book selling and salsa making, for now.  Here too, in the silence, it is Jesus’s life being lived in me.  This is His script for me.  And He will continue to write it as I wait on Him and trust His play-writing perfection.

After leaving the school, I head to the grocery store.  (Who knew you could grocery shop at 7:30 am)?  I wipe my tears in mock composure as I enter the store and search for peppers and tomato paste.  With my errand complete, the tears return, a confused mix of feeling loss and lost.  I cry to God on my drive home.  I rejoice in the script change He has written for my son.  And I also rejoice in the script change He is writing for me, even though I do not understand what it is.  But He knows.  I remind myself that He is sovereign and holds all things in His hands; that He is fully trustworthy.  Our lives are not really ours.

This is what it means to know Christ.  Our true value is not about what we are doing, but about what He has done for us and is doing in us. His plans are for our good, and He will not disappoint.  We can trust the ‘author and perfecter of our faith’ (Hebrews 12:2) to write the script of our lives for us….even in making necessary edits and revisions.

Our true identity is in Christ.  He has divine purpose in His plans for our lives, that they may be lived for His glory and for our good.  We can know and trust this is in the script.