But this summer has been different. Erin turned 18, Lindsay turned 21. Both young adults. No "Summer Challenge" poster needed. They have made their own challenges. Lindsay works 40 hours a week being responsible for overseeing 30-40 third through sixth graders during summer day camp, going various places throughout Southern California. She loves the challenge, one that I think I would run from! Erin decided her challenge would be to go on a missions trip for 7 weeks of her summer. Two of those weeks were spent in a hot and humid Florida Teen Missions Boot Camp being pushed beyond her limits and her comfort zone. The rest of her missions trip has been spent playing sports with kids in Bulgaria. Communication has been intermittent and brief. No cell phone, no email, just the good old fashioned hand-written letter, each of which we have treasured and saved.
Tim and I have continued on, even though we look at each other often and think there seems to be something missing. How come it's just the two of us? We had a high school reunion, spent time with both of our parents, had friends visit from out of state, been to the beach a few times, and even went to a summer league volleyball game that our daughters no longer play in.
I have found myself a bit melancholy about this different kind of summer. I've read, studied and prayed more than I usually have time to do. A small little book that I enjoyed reading was Henri Nouwen's "Out of Solitude". In it Nouwen says, "Joy and sadness kiss each other at every moment" of our lives. I have felt that way so much this summer. Such joy to see my children being used where they are and taking challenges. And yet such sorrow that I cannot be near them (especially Erin) and experience these challenges together with them. Sorrow that our relationships are changing, not in an unhealthy way, just changing. Nouwen says, "When you touch the hand of a returning friend, you already know that he will have to leave again. When you are moved by the quiet vastness of a sun-covered ocean, you miss the friend who cannot see the same. Joy and sadness are born at the same time, both arising from such deep places in your heart that you can't find words to capture your complex emotions." Yes, complex emotions indeed. My friends assure me it's just the "empty-nest" syndrome. I agree, but it doesn't make it any easier sometimes. It's natural, it's not out of the ordinary, just a part of life a healthy family needs to go through.
But expectations play a part in this too. My expectations are that my daughters continue to grow into healthy, active adults who have a contribution to make to society and to God's kingdom. But what I'm unclear about is what my role is now in making that happen. When they were younger, my role was more defined. But now the lines have gotten blurry, and each girl needs something different. I guess that is what this "empty-nest" season is about, figuring out our new roles. Henri Nouwen says it best when he said, "The paradox of expectation indeed is that those who believe in tomorrow can better live today, that those who expect joy to come out of sadness can discover the beginnings of a new life in the center of the old, that those who look forward to the returning Lord can discover Him already in their midst..Expectation brings joy to the center of our sadness and the loved one to the heart of our longings...Just as the love of a mother for her daughter can grow while she is waiting for her return, and just as lovers can rediscover each other during long periods of absence, so also our intimate relationship with God can become deeper and more mature while we wait patiently in expectation of His return."
