My family is in an expectant mode these days, as our second son goes through the college application process and awaits responses from schools.   His process is particularly complex, as he is required to undergo auditions in several cities in addition to the usual written applications.   Another layer of complexity is added by the option of taking a semester or a year off between high school and college to work in the music world.    As our son prepares for all things new, I am filled with the sense that I have had this dream before, felt these feelings, thought these thoughts.    It occurs to me that launching a child feels a lot like pregnancy.   Our family is traveling through thirty-eight weeks in reverse.

Last fall, the start of senior year, was the excited but nauseous stage, as our son’s new life outside of our home became tangible.    He and others said things like, “Next Thanksgiving you’ll be coming back from college for the holiday.”    The nausea enters when we consider how strong the competition is for entry into these schools.   It seems that other applicants and their parents must be doing more, or doing it better.     It’s not the Sartre-esque nausea of despair and meaningless, thank goodness; only the kind of nausea that comes with anxious nerves.   But in a lot of households despair can and does set in, and this is something I watch for very closely as a clinician and as a friend.   

Then there is the over-busy and not-enough-time-to-process phase.   My son is fully engaged in his high school life while filling out forms, sending out music DVDs, and doing auditions, which requires him to work efficiently every day in order to keep up.   Being seventeen is great, but who has the time?  In the midst of all of this, our family is feeling sentimental.   Our son has wondered aloud how many more family dinners we will have together before he goes away.   He is also being very purposeful about spending quality time with his high school friends.   I find myself stealing moments to sit with the photo albums chronicling his childhood.   Perhaps it’s a good thing there isn’t much time to process all of this, because it would be a shame to bathe in sentiment and forget that the best is yet to come.

Next comes the assessment and waiting period.   My husband and I talk about whether we have done all that we can do for our son.   Have we taught him all of the skills he will need, and have we imparted all of the wisdom we can?   Have we listened enough?   Have we helped him to be secure in his faith?   Have we given him enough material resources, but not so much that we spoil him?   It has been especially challenging to allow him to make his own choices and to let him live with those choices.   At some point, when all of the applications and auditions are completed, and the last few high school events play out, we will wait.   No one is particularly good at waiting, or comfortable with it.   Dan Allender, in his book “ Cry of the Soul”, suggests that waiting reminds people of their mortality, which can be a frightening prospect.   The discipline of waiting is a wise investment for teens, parents, and people of all ages, because waiting is closely tied to Sabbath rest.   Having done all that we can do, we watch and learn as God completes the work.   

Soon we will be informed of decisions from colleges, and our son will then decide on his direction for September and beyond.   He wrote a song called “Riptide”, which he performed at his brother’s wedding last July.   The song is applicable to weddings, or to any major life event, as it likens love, and a major life change, to a riptide.    Even after all of the anxious moments, preparation, and waiting, the actual anticipated change feels like a birth, a riptide, like being swept forward into something new, propelled by a force much greater than oneself, a force that is, to borrow from C.S. Lewis, not safe, but good.    As our family travels through thirty-eight weeks in reverse, we look forward to celebrating together in the Riptide.