My boy went to camp today. Hume Lake. Four hours away. I told Facebbok that I was 90% happy for him and 10% jealous. My long time friend suggested that that number probably wasn’t accurate. He was right. It’s probably about 70-30. I was trying not to sound like too big of a dirt bag. Maybe even 60-40, if truth be told.
I stood in the parking lot with a bunch of other mamas. We made jokes about things we could do to embarrass our children. Running down the street after the caravan screaming goodbye like a wild maniac, anyone?. Oh, the mere thought was enough to bring me joy for at least a year.
I saw ukuleles, red sequined cowboy hats, miniature rocking horses, and the cutest black and white polka dot suitcase. It all seemed perfectly normal. After the packing up of luggage, the physicals, the check in, the potty reminder, and the circle of prayer, there was a mad dash for the caravan of vehicles by 40 ish teens. Each car was appropriately labeled with the use of window paint, in numerical order. My favorite was car number two which said DOS. All the other cars had regular numerical numbers. This car was apparently special. It was bilingual.
There was a bit more waiting after the cars were filled up. To say there was energy would be an understatement. I was almost teary, not because my first born would be leaving the nest for the very first time. Not because he would not be sleeping under our roof for six whole nights. No. It was for a very different reason.
While last minute details were being wrapped up, the car in front of me was giving a Carly Rae Jepsen concert. Multiple limbs were flying out of windows while notes that have never been heard by the human ear were being sung, no wait, shouted with no regard for quality control. The car was shaking on its axels and it closely resembled a bobble head. Then is where the tears fought to make their debut.
When do we as adults stop dancing? More importantly, why? Part of me so desperately wanted to be in that car yelling out the window in plastic devices to amplify my already insanely loud voice. Excited because I was going to get Sonic and not even care that it was in Fresno. To spend a week playing, and shouting, and learning, and dancing. Why do we ever stop that? Because the truth is that I think most of us do.
Should it matter if our day to day grows up a bit? The fact is that I can bust out Call Me Maybe like no other and it may not be as cute as those teens but I can promise you that I will have just as much fun.
I turned to my friend and asked, “Why don’t women’s retreats look like this?”
I was met with shrugged shoulders and another chimed in, “I wanna ride in your car.”
Exactly.
“Moments, this is all we have.
How many moments have I been sleeping right through?
Someone wake me up.
You have got to figure out a way to stay fully awake.
Time is blurring by.
How do we stop living like life is an emergency?
How do we start believing that life can only be carried in the hands of the unhurried?”
~Ann Voskamp
Such memories of my own youth enveloped me as I stood there. I can barely grasp that some 20 plus years have passed. I waited in my own caravan one day long ago, while my own youth pastor through his hands to the air and exclaimed as he often did, “makin memories”. He was right. They are memories. Some of the best.
I watched my son go and in very even though it would be fun I don’t really want to permanently scar you through this experience like fashion I subtly waved goodbye as car number eight made its way amongst the cheering and yelling and honking…out onto the road and out of view.
My heart surprisingly was not one bit sad for him leaving. Because I know what opportunity awaits him and the prayer in my heart is that he takes every advantage of this mountain top experience that he has been blessed with. My heart smiles at the circle of life that I watch happen before my eyes. He has zero idea that he is about to make memories that will last him a lifetime, but I know and I cherish them for him before they even are made. I pray that they are abundant.
My head and heart are spinning and I take my one year old baby to leave. As I am backing out, I see the stroller that I absentmindedly left in the parking lot. I throw the car into park and get out to collect my belongings and hopefully my brain.
I am so resolved to live big. Whether my days entail caravans of camp going teens, or mountains full of filthy clothes. May I always remember.
Smile.
Twirl.
Abandon.
Be grateful.
See Jesus.
See good.
Show mercy.
Show grace.
Dance.
Shout.
and love with a healthy dose of Call Me Maybe thrown right in.
This mamas heart does miss my man child, a whole lot. But more than missing him, I am so happy for him. I am not going to spend this week staying busy to hurry his return. No. I am going to spend this week living to the fullest. Just like he will be doing, atop a mountain with hundreds of others.
“So count the ways He loves a thousand more and never stop, so that when you wake in the morning you can’t help but raise your hands to the heavens.” ~Ann Voskamp
I have a toddler to chase, a husband to love, some of my best girls to have a patio dinner with, lockers to give a fresh coat of spray paint, chore charts to make, client shoots to wrap up, a closet to organize, mommy daughter dates, soccer camp, night swims, Bible reading, Pinterest drooling, running, dishes, and plenty of upcoming dirty diapers.
“This is how you spend your one life well. Receiving each moment for what it really is. Holy. Ordinary. Amazing Grace. A Gift.” ~Ann Voskamp
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