the good hard
what’s that thing you’ve experienced or are experiencing that is both good and hard?
let’s call it the GOOD HARD.
We just took our oldest to college and the whole process has been the GOOD HARD. The graduation celebrations. The Amazon orders for his dorm. Watching him give gratitude hugs. Seeing him play ball with his siblings at our neighborhood park this summer. The lasts of some things for a while: sitting together at church. Family dinner around the table. Waking him up. Telling him to get his laundry out. Asking him to pick up a gallon of milk.
The GOOD HARD of packing up what he needed to take with him. Packing up what will go in a keepsake box. Packing away my tears during moving week because the way I’m wired, logistics dominated.
The GOOD HARD often, if not always, includes some sort of goodbyes.
Elijah said goodbye to his siblings and we flew to Louisiana. Ben and I would take Labor Day weekend to move him to Louisiana Tech University in Ruston, Louisiana, where he will major in business.
You might not know this, but ALL of Ben’s family now live in the very college town Elijah was going.
This is also the town where Ben and I were living when Elijah was born.
We were doing college ministry here at a local church and with the BCM at Louisiana Tech.
It was here where our some of our best friends, Ben and Lindsey Lee, met as college students at Tech and got married. As a college student, we invited Lindsey over for dinner one night when Elijah was just months old and he cried the whole time! Ben and Lindsey have been doing ministry with us ever since!
Let’s not get Ben and Lindsey Lee confused with Lee and Lindsey Pilgreen - Ben’s brother and sister-in-law who have been a close part of Elijah’s life as they lived near us in Alabama and California, and are now just on the other side of town from him.
Yes, it’s very GOOD.
Because of all the planning between the 3 of us, we got Elijah moved him seamlessly and survived the “great Walmart run.” The first night he was in the dorm and we were minutes away in an airbnb, I jolted from my sleep.
“Ben, he doesn’t have a coffee cup,” I said loudly in the middle of the night. “He’s got the Keurig and we got him pods, but he’s got no cup.”
I added it to my mental list of things to do before we went back home. We had one more time in the dorm to do my motherly finals.
Motherly finals are those last minute words and actions that require carved out space and patience from all involved.
I needed to secure the picture with extra command strips. Put extra toothpaste and deodorant under his sink. Leave him with 5 brown bags with a note from each of us and a sharable treat for him to open the next 5 days.
We said our goodbyes and left our son at college. We did it. He was doing it. We had been with him on the daily for over 18 years, watching him grow up, figure things out, make mistakes, and wonder who he’ll become.
It changed in that goodbye exchange.
We got home and it was so good to catch up with our other three. I’m lighter, in some ways. I know Elijah is where he needs to be. I just don’t know the specifics. He’s just there. Snap. Something in my throat. I’ve got no more logistics dominating me. There isn’t enough. I can’t fully picture there. There is blurry. I don’t like blurry. There isn’t where I’m at. I’m here. Here is good - it’s where the rest of us are. I can open the kid’s windows here on this warm evening. I can’t open his. I kissed these three goodnight. I can’t kiss him.
I can’t see him everyday. He’s not walking into the kitchen after school or work. His hoodie isn’t by the door nor is sitting at the table to my right. I don’t know if he’s getting enough rest or enough veggies or enough hugs.
I laid on my bed and looked eastward.
“I’m sad.” Only Ben heard me.
That thing in my throat was a stopper that got pushed up and out. My heart and mind are in two places now. All 6 of us aren’t under one roof.
Yes, it’s HARD.
And it’s right. It’s best. It’s necessary. It’s good. It’s hard.
So I had a GOOD HARD cry that helped me grieve and give thanks.
Because we didn’t raise him to stay. We raised him to go. And the 18 years of parenting leads to moments like this.
Queen Elizabeth II said, grief is the price we pay for love.
So love wholeheartedly. Pour yourself out and into others. Let Christ be what fills you and holds you and sustains you. Whatever GOOD HARD comes your way, you’re not releasing things into space or fate. With God, you’re releasing them into His good Fatherly hands.
Father, You are so good to me. You’ve had Elijah in Your hands every single day of his life. You’ve NEVER ONCE taken your eyes off of him. You’ve been with him in all his moves, all his schools, all his baseball moments, in every bedroom, on those hard nights to get rest, on those days he had lost purpose or his way, in those seasons of joy and those seasons of loneliness. I can’t thank You enough that he’s always been in Your hands. Thank You that I get to be his mom. Thank you for those early years of life together here in Ruston and I surrender these next 4 or so years he’ll be in Ruston without me. Help him know I’m always here for him - loving him, praying daily for him, smiling about him. But more than anything, help Elijah to love you more, Jesus. Amen.
A prayer I wrote at church in Ruston the weekend we moved Elijah into college.
I’m happy to report that we’re all good! Life is not slow here in the city. Elijah is making friends. And making veggie omelettes.
