What No One Tells You About Sending Your Kid to College

She calls them "mom days."

Open slots in her calendar when she doesn't have to be at work. These rare hours amid our waning days of summer when we can plan a Starbucks run or a dorm shopping trip before college orientation slams my heart into my throat.

She has claimed these days for the two of us. Not for her friends, not for her boyfriend.

For me.

She still loves her momma.

And honestly? I need these days more than she does. Because in just a few weeks, my husband and I are going to drive her to campus, help her assemble her loft bed and set up her new laptop, hug her goodbye, and then somehow drive ourselves home without falling apart completely.

I've talked to dozens of friends about this transition from high school graduation to campus move-in, and I've heard the full gamut of emotions and advice.

"You'll love having time to yourself!"

"You'll be so proud of her, you won't even miss her!"

"It'll be hard at first, but then you'll see her blossoming and you won't even want her to come home!"

I appreciate the encouragement, I really do. But what a load of crap.

She is my treasure. Those of you who've been reading my ramblings since my girls were babies know how very much I love my children. Yes, they've driven me to rage or excessive chocolate consumption a time or two, and not every day of every season was peanut butter sundaes and campfire songs. Raising kids is hard—it demands every inch of your selflessness, and then it takes a mile more.

But it has seriously been the joy of my life to carry these precious daughters in my arms, on loan from God. To watch them take their first steps, their first wobbly bike rides, their first sleepaway camp adventures and AP exams. It's nothing short of miraculous, getting to nurture little humans into the adults God designed them to be all along.

And adults are meant to fly.

That's the part that makes me want to ugly cry in the Target dorm section and also makes my heart swell with the kind of pride that could power a small city.

My friend Anne Watson, who co-hosts our empty nest podcast with me, helped me reframe this whole experience when the tears started betraying my mascara on a daily basis. Rather than focusing on the impending goodbye, she said, I should meditate on this truth:

"I have raised a successful child, and this college departure is her stepping into her success."

Let that sink in for a minute.

This isn't loss—it's victory. This isn't failure—it's completion. We're not losing our children; we're launching them into the adventure God has been preparing them for their entire lives.

If I muster enough courage to look beneath the surface—past the pile of extra-long sheets and desk supplies waiting to get packed in the trunk, beyond the "last" family movie night and final swimming break of the summer—I can see that saying goodbye is actually what I want. For her and for me.

It means we did our job. It means she's ready. It means God's plan is unfolding exactly as it should.

And there's no better place to be than in the center of His will, even when it requires us to let go.

I'm reminded of another parent who endured the ultimate heartache of letting his child go—and that turned out to be the greatest gift the world has ever received.

"He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?" (Romans 8:32)

If God could release His beloved Son for our good, surely we can trust Him with our beloved children, too. The same love that motivated that sacrifice is the love that guides our children's next steps.

What about you, friend? Are you relinquishing a child to college or some other major milestone this fall? Maybe you've already walked this path and can remind those of us in the thick of it that we're going to be more than okay.

Because here's what I'm holding onto during these final "mom days": Our kids are ready for whatever God has for them next. Whether that's college or marriage, career changes or cross-country moves, graduate school or their own families—whatever He's calling them to step into is exactly where they need to be. And we get the incredible privilege of cheering them on from the sidelines, trusting that the same God who equipped us to raise them will continue to guide their steps – and ours.

The "mom days" won't last forever. But the legacy we've built together? The foundation of love and faith and intentional choices we've been crafting one day at a time?

That's eternal.

And it's flying with her wherever she goes.

Much love,
Becky