I was pregnant at my college graduation ceremony. I knew I wasn’t ready, but our son Kaleb arrived and completely rocked our world—in the most wonderful way possible.
We were young and naïve. Careers weren’t established, bills weren’t managed, and we barely knew how to live independently. Yet, ready or not, we were thrust into parenthood.
Suddenly, our lives were consumed by diapers, spit-up, tiny hiccups, and a joy so exhausting it made every sleepless night worth it. We jumped in with both feet, and when our second and third children arrived, it felt as natural as breathing. By the time Annalyn, our youngest, was born, Jon and I felt like seasoned pros at labor, delivery, and infancy. Parenting had become comfortable, even routine.
But life has a way of reminding us that nothing stays the same. The other night, Ella, our middle child, attended her first semi-formal dance. We shopped for dresses and shoes, ordered a boutonniere, practiced hairstyles, and got ready for a magical evening. Yet, as Ella rode off with her date and Jon and I dropped Kaleb and Annalyn at the movie theater, I realized I wasn’t completely prepared for this stage of life.
A strange emptiness settled over me as we walked into a restaurant for a spontaneous date night—an unplanned moment that only existed because our kids were living lives of their own. Jon sat across from me and said something that caught me off guard: “My entire adult life, I’ve been a father. Now I’m not sure who I am without them.”
I scrolled through the photos I had taken earlier—the young woman my little girl was becoming, delicately pinning a boutonniere on her date’s suit jacket—and I was struck by the realization that those endless, sleepless nights had led to this very moment.
We laughed, we shared stories of our early, chaotic years, and we enjoyed our impromptu date. But beneath the joy was the bittersweet understanding of exactly where we were in life. We had raised independent children, and soon, they would need us less than ever.
Just two weeks later, Annalyn completed elementary school, and Kaleb finished middle school. Out of nowhere, our babies had grown up, and suddenly, I felt unprepared for the next chapter.
Of course, I know this shouldn’t be a shock. Life moves forward, and fifteen years had been quietly building to this point. Yet somehow, I was blindsided by the speed at which it all passed. I had longed for independence, and now, I wished I could press pause. The days that once felt endless had compressed into a blur of years. The screaming, sleepless babies had become funny, intelligent, brave young people.
My students are mostly high school seniors, and I call them young adults—young ADULTS. And that hit me hard: my son is practicing spring football with students who will sit in my classroom next year. If I blink, he’ll be walking across a stage in a cap and gown, and his sweet sisters will follow right behind him.
“Slow down,” I tell myself. “You’re fast-forwarding.” And I know I am. I need to slow down. Life constantly teaches—and re-teaches—this lesson. I chase dreams, work goals, and church responsibilities, always feeling like everything must happen now. But while careers and opportunities will wait, these fleeting years with my children will not. They grow up before I am ready.
And isn’t that just their way? Arriving, thriving, and moving forward before we’ve caught up. These little boundary pushers stretch us beyond what we thought possible and fill our hearts with boundless love and pride.
Ready or not, here we grow.
