welcome home
I'm writing to you from the quiet of my house. Yesterday, all three of my kids started school, so today is quiet and peaceful. Nobody is asking me for snacks every two seconds. Or brawling over spots on the couch. Or rolling on the floor in a sisterly wrestling match that never ends well.
I have no problem admitting that it's nice to have a little space for myself and some room to think, but what’s also true is that I miss my girls. And I worry about them. Especially after my youngest, Margot, had a hard time last night after her first day of kindergarten.
Yesterday she got off the school bus in a good mood. We went home and had popsicles and a dance party, celebrating a successful first day of school with her sisters. But then as the afternoon went on, she got more tired. And sad. She insisted she wouldn’t go back to school the next day. She told me she wanted to “cancel school” and stay home with me instead.
“I’ll miss you too much, Mama.”
Oof. Those six little words pack quite a punch.
Today I can’t help but feel a new sort of empathy with my Heavenly Parents. How did they ever decide to send all of us—their beloved children whom They adore—to a place where we would struggle and feel so alone? A place where it is all too easy to forget where we came from and why we’re here? I mean, when you think about it, sending a kid off to kindergarten is a piece of cake compared to sending your children off on a mortal journey.
I don’t know how They did it; I don’t know how They continue to do it every day. It makes me think about how Their hearts must ache when we cry or when we worry or when we beg and plead to “cancel school” and just come home.
Last night, I put Margot on my lap and snuggled her close. I dried her tears and told her how much I love her. Then I whispered a truth in her ear that I hope she always remembers: sometimes trying new things is hard. But it’s okay if it’s hard because she can do hard things.
Because she has Jesus.
And as I rocked her back and forth, I promised that I would be there for her at the end of every school day, waiting at the bus stop with a grin on my face and a hug meant just for her, welcoming her home.
My friend, I hope you know how loved you are. I hope you know that you are never forgotten. I hope you know that you really can do hard things because our Heavenly Parents didn’t leave us here alone—They sent Their Son.
To walk with us. Cry with us. Work with us.
They sent Him here to do this life with us.
He is the reason They felt confident sending us off on our individual journeys: They knew we’d never be walking alone. They already know the ending of this story, and it’s a good one. So trust in that even when the days are long and you just want to quit. Trust that the plan is bigger than any of our problems. Trust that He is greater than any struggle we will ever face.
He’s not waiting for us at the finish line; He’s not sitting at the bus stop. He’s with us here and now.
Welcoming us home.
