How painfully hard it is to watch as the momma bird nudged her little babies out of the nest. They desperately try to cling to the wiry branches that had once been meticulously placed there by their parents. It was their home… all they ever knew. They were carefully cared for while they nestled in the twig-lined tree house yet a whole wide world awaited them beyond their little bungalow suspended between two limbs.
But it was time for her babies to soar. It was what they were created for.
It’s ironic, you know? You raise them up to let them go. I know it’s how it’s supposed to be but the silence can be deafening.
I loved every minute of having my children at home. Even the difficult times. They were safe in our little bungalow made with cinderblock walls and ceramic tile floor. It was a place where laughter echoed through each room and joy was in the air. It was where we did our best to instill faith for the uncertain days they were certain to face. It was in our home where we challenged them to stand strong, taught them right from wrong and held them in our laps as we gathered to watch our favorite family television show.
But things were changing.
I had been a homeschool mom. Eleven years of book fairs, planning curriculum, organizing field trips, teaching at our local homeschool co-op and best of all…treasured time with my boys. It all came to a screeching halt and I was hurled like a discus into a new season of life.
It’s ironic but the empty nest was the goal. Why did I not realize that? What would I have done differently if I did?
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