Jumping Off Into a New Future

Our family is jumping off into a new future. In many ways we are unprepared. While eager to see how the changes play out in our lives, there's an abiding hesitancy that is hard to push down. Change is uncomfortable, unwieldy. To a certain extent, none of us wanted to move into the new, the untried. Yet, I know it will be good for each of us in the end. For now, we feel discombobulated!

Last week, John and I became empty nesters. We loaded the car full to the brim with belongings and moved our youngest, Sean, into a tiny Purdue University dorm room. My Facebook feed, as usual, knew exactly what was going on, and inundated me with images of magazine-worthy dorm rooms, sentimental articles, and lists of what to bring. As if the emotions weren't already tender, I had to wade through the detritus of on-line advice and eloquent parental good-byes (one woman lined a whole hallway with her son's childhood toys saying good-bye).

When we took Bryce to Purdue, he ushered us out of the room as soon as the last item hit the floor. Perhaps it was because we had his 8 and 10-year-old brothers in tow. That transition was painless. Bryce was eager to go. We still had responsibilities at home. Thankfully, Purdue isn't far away (as my sister pointed out, since she was a 20-hour drive away from her college kids). Plus, Bryce had a girlfriend back home, so I drove to Purdue way too often to bring him home for weekend visits.

This time is different. Sean is our last to leave. I have always called him "my sweetness and light." Sure, he was busy with friends, school, activities, and work during his final year at home, but he moved in and out of our lives daily. Now, the house is far too quiet. My role is done. My identity is blurred.

I'd love to think this might jump-start me back into writing consistently. Somehow, I doubt it will. Neither noise nor time keeps me from the writing. I'd love to find a new activity. In a Facebook group, a woman asked for short story suggestions as she had just taken up a post leading a book club in an assisted living facility. Now that sounds perfect!

Perhaps I need to get a job. We will have expenses we were not anticipating and there's the Purdue bill, as well. Somehow, I doubt anyone will hire someone who has been out of the workforce for 18 years. My gig was good, even if it was unpaid, often had lousy hours, and sometimes felt thankless.

Of course, there's a freedom now, too. The first night, John and I window-shopped at a flea market. I've been wanting a vintage sewing box to store my now-minimized sewing supplies. Then, we popped into a bakery, hoping for a strawberry pie. Alas, they only had strawberry-rhubarb (too tart for me). Finally, we ate out for dinner. It was better than going home to the now-quiet-house.

We can make more effort to get away for a weekend. Perhaps we'll take that trip to Mackinac Island. Even if it is just away to our old standbys (Nashville, IN; Rockville, IN for the Covered Bridge Festival; or even closer towns), it will be good to travel and spend time in the couple identity we have reclaimed. I have a few friends I've wanted to visit or invite. The possibilities are endless, really. I should cling to that when loneliness and quiet threaten to overwhelm.

So far, all of this is focused on Sean, John, and me. But, Trevor is at his own crossroads. I try not to divulge much because his story is his own and sometimes isn't as tidy as people like to hear (or I like to tell). We continue to pray fervently for God to use him in a mighty way. At the end of July, we moved Trevor into a halfway house in Lafayette, so our younger two are living in sister cities. 

He has been on a long and challenging road this past year (one we have traveled both from a distance and alongside). Not a single day is assured. He told us once that he has skirted death at least ten different times. We try hard to fight the urge to protect him from his testimony. God has a plan and He is the only One capable of getting Trevor where he needs to go. God's plans are always for our good and His glory.

So, we are each heading off in new directions. We step into the unknown timidly, but with the assurance that God walks with us. An empty nest. A college education. A chance to transition into a life of sobriety, maturity, and purpose. 

My Wheaton College class selected a verse of scripture that I still know and embrace. I may be using it out of context, but I cling to this promise nonetheless:

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11 - NIV)