When my youngest son was in the NICU seven years ago, I remember singing Psalm 121 over him repeatedly. It was one of the numerous psalms I had committed to memory which felt particularly applicable when the moments felt tenuous and hope felt at the end of my fingertips at best. We sang it in church just a few days ago, and I bent over to whisper in Seth’s ear that I’ve been singing him that song since long before he could remember.
A few seats away, my oldest son – who now bends over to hug me – sang it too. And it was not lost on me that I shouldn’t stop singing it over my children, even when they are full grown.
The Lord shall preserve you from all evil;
He shall preserve your soul.
The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in
From this time forth, and even forevermore.
Tomorrow my oldest son is signing his first lease for a home base that I am not cultivating. We have raised him to leave, to fly, to take dominion, to seek where the Lord wants to take him and follow Him there. From the moment he left my womb, he began to move away from me. But not before becoming one of my very favorite people, one of the closest things to my heart on this earth. Perhaps everyone has a special niche for their firstborn. Perhaps every loss-mama has a particular connection with the child who lived through the darkness holding their hand. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the only one of my living children who reminds me of myself. Or it’s quite possible that this is what it will feel like every time one of my hatchlings wings away from the nest. (Check back with me in a decade.)
For now, I continue to learn new things in motherhood. I am reminded all over again that I have not figured everything out. I don’t have the answers, and simply have more questions with every milestone.
The little old ladies at the grocery store were right. It goes too fast.
I hear him singing in his bedroom right above mine. He’s packing boxes. Joyfully. Moving on to his next adventure.
I suppose if I asked him “Gabriel David, who are you?” that he would still know the answer. “Beloved of God Who is my strength.” I still see it, even though I don’t ask him that around the coffee table every morning anymore. But now I use those words to remind myself too. I’m beloved of Him too. And He is my strength too. He has to be.
I will lift up my eyes to the hills—
From whence comes my help?
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth.
The days of begging God to fill the rooms of my home with the laughter of children are behind me. But now are the days of begging Him to sustain my joy while the rooms begin to empty.
A new season of motherhood.
And thankfully it’s the Lord who will preserve their going out and their coming in.
From this time forth and forevermore.