I hate to be controversial. Or offend anyone with this post.

But I just cannot understand why everyone makes such a “big deal” about sending their “babies” off to Kindergarten.

I mean really.

Why all the tears?

And nostalgia?

And sentimentality?

It’s really NO. BIG. DEAL.

Because if you think about it. Nothing huge is taking place. It’s really rather small.

Teeny tiny. If you ask me.

You are JUST launching the little tiny baby that miraculously grew in your womb for nine months and that
you rocked for their first whole year in the middle of the night and that you nursed for two years (if you’re crazy like me) and that you watched go from sitting to crawling to walking and talking and socializing and joking and loving right before your eyes…

into the big bad world of school.

Big whoopee. Nothing scary or sad about that. 

Yeah, it’s true. They might get hurt and you won’t be there to comfort them.
Sure they might get lost walking in.
Sure they might not be treated not like the one and only prince(ss) of the teacher’s heart but one of the many, many princes(ses).

But what’s the worry?
What’s the concern?

They’ll be fine.
They’re just growing up.
And beginning their life outside your protection.

Ohhhhh. Who am I kidding?

Someone grab me a Kleenex.

I can’t see the screen through all these tears.

My first little baby starts school next week. 

And speaking of my baby, I’m crying like one at the thought of this.  ;)

…

It’s kind of funny. If I didn’t know that I don’t like worrying. I might actually think I enjoyed it. Because if I counted the number of things I worry about on a daily basis. The list would be longer than the amount of times I think about chocolate in one day. (THIS IS APPROXIMATELY 3Xs/hour for those of you who do not know about my love of sweets. :)

And recently, my worry has been centered around the launch of my oldest little guy into the beginning of his academic career. Of course, there is joy with this launch too. But I find my mind whirling with thoughts of concern more than the latter.

Why the worry, you may ask?

Well, I feel so responsible for him.

For his safety.

His joy.

His well-being.

I mean. He is mine after all.

And no one else’s. So isn’t that a part of my motherly duties??

To love him. And worry for him. ;)

Isn’t that the silent and subconscious vow I took over him the night he was born as they first laid him in my arms?

Isn’t that what being a mother is all about?

I promise to love you and worry for you till death do us part?

Does this sound AWFULLY RIDICULOUS to you?

Good. Because it does to me too.

So terribly ridiculous. But so incredibly true.

So I think I will just have to start worrying about what I can do to stop this awful pattern. ;) 

….

As I was cleaning the house yesterday, I ran across the scripture, “The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him.” Lamentations 3:25

I read this. And started thinking about God’s goodness. And why I made a conscious choice to put my hope in Him years ago.

For one, when I get stuck in my own head. My own thoughts. Oh, the places I go. (But not in a good Dr. Seuss kind of way.)

I have discovered that my level of joy in life is inversely related to my level of worry. 

When my worry increases, my joy decreases.

But my level of joy is directly proportionate to my level of trust in God. 

When my trust increases, my joy increases too.

Did you get that? 

Worry and joy are antonyms of one another.

Worry robs me of joy.

Yet, strangely. And stupidly. I return to worry as if it were an old friend. As if it has been good to me. As if I think that if I worry, I might somehow feel relieved.

But never once has it happened. Never once has worry brought me relief in my almost 31 years.

I seem to easily forget that handing things over to God is always better than keeping them to myself. 

I seem to forget that the most loving thing I can do, is to put my trust in God for those I love. Rather than worrying for them.

It does so much more for them.

…

It takes me back almost four years ago to a huge, pregnant, whale of a Quin who was crying in a bedroom at her in-law’s house.

You see, I was four months pregnant with Paxton. And Christian was 2. And we were set to leave him for nine days as we gallivanted over Italy.

And I was so scared.

And so worried.

I was begging Guy to cancel the trip. (With some threatening mixed in. ;)

I just could not bare the thought of something happening to him while I was overseas.

My lack of control. 

My lack of power. 

It left me so desperate.

And I remember in that moment, Joe said one of the most helpful thoughts he’s ever said in our entire relationship.

It went something like this:

“I know you feel like Christian is yours. And the best way to keep him safe is to be with him. And not let him out of your sight.

But you are forgetting something very important.

You are no more in control of his safety or well-being when he is laying next to you in this bed than you are if you were somewhere in outer space.

Ultimately, he is not yours to protect. He is God’s. And God lets you take care of him. But he is God’s more than yours. And I promise that while you are Italy, God will not leave his side.

And not to knock you down off your high horse, but God does a much better job of protecting him than you ever could.”

And suddenly, the comfort of knowing someone loves him more than me overtook me. And the next morning I was able to peacefully leave him.

(++Although we did make a vow to never go to Europe again without our babies due to the amount of tears I shed over missing him.)

…

So for all you parents caught up in worry of letting go. Or worry about something else…

Just remember, when you let go of their little hand. (Or whatever concern you are clenching tightly.)

God is there to pick it up. 

Every little moment of their day.

He’s got it in the bag. (Or in their case. In their cute little backpack.)

But maybe even more importantly.

He’s got your hand too. And he could care less if it’s holding a wet Kleenex.