I’m packing up two sons for college this fall. Although not really, because they haven’t started packing. Just I have, in my mind. Wondering if we have extra long twin blankets, or power strips, or plastic bins of the size that might squeeze into the crevices called dorm closets.
I want to be prepared—not just with plastic bins, but with my heart. Life moves quickly when two of your sons are 19 and 18, those ages precariously balanced on the precipice between teenager and adult. They sometimes slide down one side, other times the opposite. And I’m finding myself looking to the LORD more often, waiting and watching for direction in this season of parenting.
I’m out back behind the shed, sitting on a pile of dirt. I did a snake check before I sat, not that there ever are snakes but there was one, once, in my garage, and if I was him this back corner of the yard is where I’d take a morning nap. And I don’t want to be the one to wake him up.
My doctor’s office is purple. Bright purple. The receptionist’s hair is turquoise, or sometimes lime green.