“Mom, I’m going to move in with Grandma.”
The words surprised me. My daughter was finished with her internship, which included living with other interns and attending Bible College. I thought she’d be coming home.
Even though I was surprised, and a little hurt, her explanation made sense. Our house is too small. There was very little privacy because people had to walk through her room to get to another room in the house. At her Grandma’s, she has a room where she can shut the door and no one has to walk through. It’s quiet, and she can come and go as she pleases without worrying about waking someone up.
I knew the decision she made was a good one. She’s getting older and needs to live her own life. But I still cried. I cried over the fact that other interns were going home to their parents and my daughter wasn’t. I cried over the fact that she’s not a little girl anymore. I grieved because we’ve prayed for a bigger house, yet we’re still waiting.
The day came for her to move into her Grandma’s. I walked up the concrete steps with red paint peeling off them, through the front door I’ve walked through so many times before, into her new home. In my arms I carried my daughter’s things to a bedroom in a house where I didn’t live. In the midst of all this, I clearly heard God say, she doesn’t belong to anyone but me.
She may be my daughter, but she belongs to the Lord. He is the one she needs to follow, not me. I know that Jesus is with her, and will take care of her. I’m learning to let go of my own agenda, and know that His is better.
Isn’t that something we all have to do?