Why It's Dangerous to Say Your Kids Are Your Life

This is my first morning, you guys. My first morning waking up as an empty nester. After a 60-hour road trip from Montana to Texas and back, our son is settled at the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor. Our daughter and son-in-law are settled at Montana State University. Our house is strangely quiet and free of size 11 tennis shoes consuming every square inch of my kitchen floor. Tackling the kitchen first, I started putting away all the traveling paraphernalia the car had vomited from the night before. That's when I saw the Band-Aid on the floor – the one that had been wrapped around my son's toe because he took a layer of skin off climbing a tree before he left for college.

Only a mom who misses her boy this much could get choked up over a nasty Band-Aid on the floor.

My first instinct was to despair. With both kids gone, was my life over? It felt like it for a second.

Except I remembered that the kids aren't my life. They are precious, for sure. Being a part of all their activity has filled my days, and their personalities have been a joy. But they are not my life.

"I am...the life," Jesus says (John 14:6 NIV).

As I threw away that disgusting Band-Aid, I talked to Jesus. Over the last 40 years, I have made Jesus the focus of my days. Kids were gone, yes, but he was still there.

"What meaningful activity would you like me to do today, Lord?" I prayed.

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