On Saturday, my middle daughter graduates from high
school.
I write these words more to convince myself than to inform
others because the reality of this event seems elusive. It’s hard to wrap my head (and heart) around
the fact that come the end of summer, another spot at the table will be empty,
another bed will stay perfectly made, the laundry load will decrease, and my
prayer load will increase. In other
words, it seems impossible that Camille will be in college.
I named my girl after the bright beauty of a flower, not the
howl of a hurricane (though, at times, both were fitting—just ask the nursery
volunteer specifically assigned only to her each Sunday morning), but from the
moment she was born, she has loved to be with people and wanted to be connected
and engaged.
God filled her with a desire to dance, and if she hears
music, she has to move. From the time
she could toddle, she was twirling to whatever tune was playing. She danced in
her car seat. She danced in the dressing
room. She danced in the grocery
aisle. She danced at home. She danced at church. She danced in the yard. She danced in the street, so, finally, her
parents signed her up for “real” dance class where, each week, with a huge
smile and happy eyes, she danced across the studio floor and onto the recital
stage. But I’ll mostly remember the day she danced on the bleachers.
She was five or six, and the Newsboys were in concert at
Cypress Gardens. She was captivated by the sights and sounds (and the spinning
drummer), but she came most alive when the band began to play “It Is You.” Standing on top of the bleachers, swaying to
the rhythm, with her small hands and little face raised to the sky, she sweetly
but boldly sang, “It is You, we adore.
It is You, praises are for. Only
You, the heavens declare, it is You. It
is You.”
By God’s grace, she’s still singing and dancing to that same
theme as she dons her cap and gown and turns her tassel on Saturday, and, by
His unceasing grace, that refrain will repeat over and over in her affections
and actions as she packs her car, moves into the dorm, dines at the cafeteria, dashes
to class, and embraces the coming years of coffee-fueled study sessions, late
night donut runs, long research papers, Navs Bible studies, intramural sports,
and lots of fun with friends—both old and new.
I can’t say I’m ready to let her go. I will miss her sleepy smiles in the mornings
and her strong hugs at night. I will
miss her laugh and her sparkle. I will
miss her asking about my day and answering questions about hers. I will miss watching her swim, study, play
tennis, read books, cheer for friends, listen to music, chat with her younger
sister, and dance. I will miss our movie nights and beach days. I will miss her
enjoyment of coffee and excitement over brownies. I will just miss her. But I wouldn’t want her to miss out on a
moment of what’s ahead. Her favorite
Bible verse has always been Ephesians 2:10—“For
we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works that God has
prepared in advance for us to do.” As
good as my plans for her may be, they can never compare to the great adventure
God has already arranged, so, though my tears may fall, my heart is full.
God made something special when He fashioned you, my precious
Camille, so go and grow. Stay bright. Be bold. Keep smiling. Never stop dancing.
And know that your momma loves you dearly.
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