After years of loving, holding, comforting, teaching, playing, training, giving, worrying and caring we took our child, who is one no longer, to a strange place full of strange people then drove away and left him there, watching him wave good-bye in the rear view mirror as we pointed our car towards home.   

We drive home immersed in empty silence in a car that just a few hours ago was packed full of our son.  I walk into my house and his bedroom door is closed, the room dark and quiet.  No clothes piled on the floor, no rumpled blankets on the bed, no email and cell phone competing for attention, no music blaring from the stereo speakers or from one of the several guitars that once lined the walls, no crazy auburn curls emerging from all that chaos with a random joke, smile or hug.  

It is eerily silent here and I feel immensely sad and lonely for this one who has brought so much joy to my days.  There are others here in my home that I love just as much but they can not take his place.  Not the easy, happy place that he always resides in.  They can not fill the vacant space that his leaving has made inside of me because they each have a different spot in my heart. 

So the formation begins with a parent’s persistent love and training, shaping and influencing through the years, spinning by as swiftly as the potter’s wheel. We give our imperfect best to mold goodness, character, and purpose until the time when we finally take our hands off, when we must let go and see what becomes of this life we were once immersed in.

As time marches forward and the story continues to be written, I trust that the wonder of seeing David’s life and purpose unfold will fill my very being with a greater joy, replacing all the emptiness my heart feels today. And even in this conflicting sadness, I thank God for the privilege of being His willing and humble assistant through these fleeting years.