Mothering an adult child is a task of far greater difficulty
than mothering an infant, toddler or child. It takes
tremendous finesse to back slowly away as time goes
on and to let them be the adult God has been preparing
them to be.

I remember when my now 19 year old son was about 8.
One day he was mowing the grass with the riding mower
when he suddenly ran into the house, came up to where I was
standing in the middle of the kitchen, leaned into me and
burst into tears. "Mommy, I'm so sorry," he sobbed. I
didn't know or care what he had done, he was already
forgiven and as far as I was concerned the issue was over
except for the comforting. His little heart was breaking
and so was mine...and I didn't even know what had
occured. Finally he was able to settle down enough to
tell me what had happened. "I ran over the hose by mistake
and chopped it in half."

Oh, I miss those days with him. The days when a mommy
could make everything all better so easily. The days when
deciding between chocolate or vanilla ice cream was the
dilemma of the hour. Yet, I look at him, so tall, so strong,
so deep in his relationship with Christ, so determined to
do what is right and I glory in today.

We are still adjusting in our relationship to one another.
Now he goes to his wise father and his wise Father more
than to me. It is right. It is good. But when I think of that
little eight year old boy with kissing cheeks leaning against
me and sobbing heartbrokenly, it causes me to have to go into
a quiet corner and weep a little weep. These are the good
new days, but the good old days are worth a nod of
remembrance from time to time.