School Dance

I made my way into the cafeteria to join the other women. Each held a decoration in one hand, and the uncertainty of letting go in the other. Plastic palm trees and cardboard surfboards brought the Hawaiian theme together. Suddenly the space that normally occupied brown bags and munching bodies held a tropical paradise.

My Matthew - his first school dance. As I worked under the role of construction crew that afternoon, I wondered what things would look like from his perspective. Stepping out of the sixth grade in a couple of weeks meant that he was leaving the nest of childhood and heading toward a different kind of habitat.

I thought about how things like girls might actually become important to him - or maybe not (one could hope). I came to the realization that I will not be the only woman in his life for very much longer. It is a strange concept to think that my baby boy will sprout wings and fly the coop. You've heard it said, "Kids grow up so fast." So true . . . so painfully true.

As I drove away that afternoon, ignoring my desire to be a fly on the wall through a thing called a chaperon, my heart welled with a mix of sadness and pride. In the natural course of things my son was growing up. I felt a sense of joy with the thought of every milestone in his life. His first word, his first step, the first scrape on his knee . . . the list goes on.

I realized that I won't always be the one there to "make it better" when it hurts. The awkwardness of adolescence will tear away at his heart, and there will be days when there is nothing I can do to make it go away.

My role as "Mom" is starting to take a new shape, but the demand for love will not lessen. Moving from Lego's to late nights is going to be an adjustment for this caretaker of babies. As I minister to my man child in the coming months and years, I have a feeling there will be less "hands on" . . . and more "heart on."