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The rooms are almost empty. A hollowness rings down the hallways.

It’s like the heart of the house is gone, moved on. And this shell waits, longs for a new family to occupy this space with love and laughter.

And some days I feel almost empty, too. Like a part of me is no more.

A seed dies and gets buried before it can be born again into new life.

We die to selfishness so we can better love.

Jesus died on the cross that we might be made new in Him and live forever.

Seems there is always death before rebirth…

In letting go of what has been, I clear the way for what is becoming.

And perhaps that is why I mourn some mornings.

When I wake before dawn and the house is still and it’s just me and Jesus meeting in the quiet place. Like I have done for so many years. Rising while still dark and the house silent in sleep.

Only now there are no little blond heads nestled on pillows, still dreaming. No Breakfast and Bibles in an attempt to train three exuberant males into men of God.

Trusting always that He who began the good work in mine will faithfully continue until complete.

I always told them I was raising them to be Christian gentlemen, not barbarians.

One day, Second Oldest quipped, “No, we be barbarians, Mom!”

And how I had laughed and reminded him it was his turn to recite the scripture verse.

All these memories napping in my bosom that once nursed my baby boys.

No more racing to the corner to catch the school bus. The bus stop where a pair of boots on a toddler boy for an entire school year — rain, snow or shining heat — made for fun discussion among us young moms.

No more baths with all three rub a dub dub in the tub, and army men lined up and down the sides like sentries guarding a river valley.

No more tucking in with bedtime rituals that always included prayers, and stories and I love yous hugged tight around my neck.

No more checking on them in the middle of the night, quietly room by room, sometimes slipping in to lay a hand on and pray.

No more.

And my mother’s heart, like my womb, feels a bit empty.

Not empty of all the love, certainly. Never that!

But devoid of the daily doing for little ones. And the pleasure {though sometimes exhausting and frustrating} of serving tiny hearts.

In the twinkling of an eye those years, with their sometimes endlessly long days, have vanished. And I stand here, holding the hand of the dearest man I have ever in all my life known, my husband of nearly a year, and our eyes behold the Lord in all these things.

Knowing full well that He has walked with me in all these rooms through every moment during this passage of time.

To everything there is a season and a purpose under heaven.

Intellectually I understand. Kids grow up and into their own lives. All right and good.

As a part of my life empties out, a new part of my life has me twirling cartwheels as I ponder what lies ahead!

A grand second half adventure dreamed with a man who adores me. Who I totally and devotedly love.

Heading off into the wild blue yonder, not sure where we will wind up. My heart skips a beat with the thrill of it all.

And traveling this road called empty nest does indeed get easier with time.

Last August when #2 moved to Hawaii I cried and cried and was sad for weeks thinking that all three of my babies were grown.

I am making progress, but my heart also tarries in yesterday.

And in those moments when I cast a glance backwards, I let myself linger for a little while, trusting that God is in control as He helps me navigate this new passageway.

Youngest Son, just returned from two weeks in Hawaii, quick as a wink is back to his routine of working long hours and spending evenings with his sweet girlfriend. Home only to sleep and shower most days.

Other two far away out West, new lives up and running.

And I whisper to the Lord, in a voice only He can hear, from my mother’s heart to His great Father heart…

“I miss them, Lord.”

And He pulls me a little closer, kisses the top of my head and says He understands. That He misses me like that whenever I choose to go far from Him or let myself get so busy I don’t spend much time with Him.

And I thank Him for letting me see inside His heart, helping me better understand how He must feel, convicting me in the gentlest of ways yet encouraging me to come a little closer and sit a little longer.

He, who orchestrated this time in my life, is ushering me through the transition. And it’s not like I sit crying in the corner each day, melodramatically lamenting the passage of time which is inevitable and expected.

But it is still a transition, a change, and change can be daunting.

Less so when we remember that Jesus stands right next to us with arms outstretched.

As He holds me a moment more, and I press into Him and exhale, He reminds me that the story isn’t over.

This chapter has ended but there are so many more waiting to be written.

These moments have passed but countless more loom on the horizon, to be measured by how much they take my breath away with His goodness and grace.

And I am humbly reminded that I must hold all loosely and be grateful for every moment entrusted to my care. To live life fully and joyfully and thankfully no matter what season it is. No matter where I may go.

Giving thanks for the darling I wake up to each morning. Such a tremendous blessing brought into my life at just the right moment.

And I remember that in trusting God with all the little details, He colors in the big picture of my life one day at a time.

Filling the emptiness with new things, people, places. New opportunities to reach others for Him. New service. New words to write.

With so much love to share.

Love that can light the way for the next weary traveler who will pass this way where I have been and I can say, Let Jesus carry you the rest of the way when you feel too weepy to keep walking.

And I will comfort her with the comfort I have received, having grown a bit through the process.  All of life is full of lessons in the moments.

And while my life is full, Jesus keeps pouring Himself into the emptiness I feel, with Dearest Husband’s love and companionship running over, and with a new adventure waiting.

And He will cause me to fill up once again…

~sheila