I didn't think I did either. At least, not until I saw my baby nephew being wheeled into the hospital hallway exactly one week and 14 hours ago. I had just flown home from Summer Project in Berkeley/San Francisco and had made it just in time to welcome him into the world.
I expected a red-faced, screaming baby with a squished face to be wheeled into the hallway-- after all, don't most babies come out something like that? Not this one. He was so... tiny. So... quiet! His arms and legs were all swaddled up in a snug little baby blanket; only his head was peeking out from underneath a little knitted cap. And as my mother, sister, and I simultaneously burst into joyful tears, he simply stared at us in silent wonder. My mom described it to me later as a wave of overwhelming emotion, an outpour of love that could only manifest itself in tears-- all for this one baby.

I looked at my mother and wondered: what must it have been like to go through all of this for three children? To go through such pain for our sake? To be overwhelmed with love at first sight for us? To help us learn to walk and to speak? To let us make mistakes and fall and scrape our knees? To let us grow up and fly off to college or different countries? To willingly allow us to walk away with pieces of her heart? To let us go, we who were once her little ones?
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This year I feel like I've gotten a taste of parenthood.
Let me explain. I spent a year serving the Lord through the Epic Movement in Davis. And when the school year was over, I left. I left my "babies" behind-- all the students I had invested in, the women I had discipled and mentored, all of it. And I had to trust that God's plan for them was always bigger and better than... well, me. That in letting them go, in saying goodbye, I would be allowing them to walk on their own and to walk by faith even more. In letting go, I was giving them the freedom to fail, the environment to grow, and the chance to trust.
And a similar thing happened with Summer Project this year. It was the first time I'd ever staffed a project, worked behind the scenes, and entrusted leadership into the hands of students. You see, for Stateside Summer Projects, staff only stick around for 4 weeks. We pass on leadership positions to every student that we leave behind-- like project director, bible study leader, and community service chair-- and entrust them to run their own project, that the gospel of Christ would be proclaimed by this next generation to the next generation. In previous years, as a student on project, I remember feeling stunned that I was entrusted with a leadership role, but excited by the prospect that God would use me somehow-- it was strangely empowering.
In spite of the fact that I had experienced that kind of empowerment on project and learned so much from the experience, I found myself so hesitant to leave my students this summer. It wasn't because I didn't trust that these 15 students would do an amazing job on their own for the last 2 1/2 more weeks of project. It was simply because of the "what if's." What if this goes wrong or that? How can I set them up in such a way that it's smooth sailing? And underlying those questions, this one simple sentiment: I don't want them to know what it feels like to fail-- I want them to succeed. I want to take care of things for them, to protect them.

And then I realized that it wasn't my job. It's not my job to make sure they never fail. It's not my job to guarantee smooth sailing and zero conflicts for all of them. All I can do is invest in them, love on them, give some advice, and point them towards Christ. They call it a walk with the Lord for a reason, don't they? It's not a smooth ride. It requires putting one foot in front of the other by faith, and sometimes falling down and screwing up in the process. But if you never have the chance to walk on your own, you never have the chance to pick yourself back up when you fail and to trust that He is good regardless. Just a thought.
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So I'm thinking about my mom. And I'm thinking about this year and letting go. I'm thinking about project. And I'm thinking about my new, adorable little nephew. And I know that I can't shelter him completely from the brokenness of this world, the heartache he'll encounter and experience, loneliness or pain-- as much as I want to. I know that in some ways I will have to let him go. And while I can't save him from all of those things, I can point him to our Saviour who heals the brokenness, who can handle our heartache, and who walks with us through loneliness and pain. And I pray that those things give him the chance to trust that our God is good and that He is a God who saves.
