Moments with Kym:
What I Don’t Know?

I’m going to write what I don’t know. And this is it.

My daughter leaves the end of next month for a university four states away, and I’m not sure how to live the only life I’ve known for 18 years. I’m not sure yet how to embrace this change — because it is inevitably approaching — and how to trust the new and unknown path set before me.

I’m not sure how to be transformed into a renewed way of life. How to trust that my only child will be safe, that she will call and text, make wise decisions, and I’m not sure how to be okay with not knowing when she’ll be in every night.
Oh, I know I will be o-k-a-y. I know I’ll figure it out; I always do. It’s the newness I’m thinking of. The new life, the quiet house. Even the absence of her friends staying the night, dropping off surprises. Leaving an “OC Bound” poster on our front door after my daughter was officially accepted to Oklahoma Christian University. (Don’t look up the distance. It’s an 11-hour drive to Edmond.)

Streamers from that poster flowed down my front glass door, and I stood and stared at it back in September, unaware of what I would feel even more deeply in June.

Heartache. Excitement. Anticipation. The unknown. Asking God, “Now what?” as well as “What, now?”

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Jeremiah 29:11

Through this, I know my prayers will strengthen. They will be in earnest, more intentional than they’ve ever been. Prayers for her safety. For her roommate.

For her to please. Pick. Up. Your. Room.

Prayers for her social life, and for the right people to enter her life. For finding her people. For her professors. That she continues exercising. That she continues pursuing God outside of the classroom.

There are many who have gone before me on this path who have said I will be fine. Some, with a slight lilt in their soft laughter, knowing something I don’t yet know.

Maybe you know someone who has been told that recently, or perhaps you are that person. For many of us, this is our today. For many of you, this was your yesterday, and you remember this feeling. For more, this is your tomorrow. For even some, who stare at their newborns and toddlers, you’re unable to envision this will be your life one day.
We all lived those years.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.”

Deuteronomy 31:6

I’m going to write what I don’t know. And this is it.

I am not sure whether this is a lesson in letting go, letting God, or whether it’s a reminder of simply trusting God’s plan for new beginnings. We know this was God’s plan even before His creation of our Earth, long before Jenna was born, and long before she was conceived.

Simply trust. Simply, trust.

Jenna fell in love with OC after attending its Honors Summer Academy program the summer after her freshman year at Prattville Christian Academy. And after attending the same program the following year, she said, “This is where I belong.”

But, it’s in Oklahoma, I would say.

Mama, she’d respond, with the first syllable emphasized in a way that made her point. And in a way that only a 16-year-old could have made.

We began to plan. And pray. And prepare hearts for the distance and for the new lives. We researched Oklahoma, without emphasizing any part of the state. I follow OC and Edmond on social media. I’m mentally preparing care packages. I’m hoping she’ll be home for Mother’s Day – prepared she might not make it.

I’m learning to trust and learning to let her fly. I’m trusting her decisions, and that God will follow her every day, be there for all situations, and continue working through her spirit as He has for eternity.
I’m going to write what I don’t know. And this is it.