There’s a strange ache that settles into a mother’s heart when her children grow up. It’s not grief exactly—there’s too much beauty in watching them stretch into their own skin—but it is a letting go. A sacred unraveling.

Our oldest son has been married for a few years now, and he and his wife recently sold their first home—what they once thought would be their forever home—to relocate closer to his job. It was an unplanned shift, one that came with its fair share of stress, sacrifice, and sadness. Letting go of the life they had envisioned wasn’t easy. As a mother, I felt the weight of that disruption right along with them. But I also know that what feels like detours are often the very roads God uses to lead us into something greater. This may not have been part of their original plan—but I believe it’s part of His. There is purpose in this pivot.

Our daughter is in her first year of law school, full of dreams and determination. She’s balancing a heavy academic load while planning her wedding for May. Watching her navigate this busy season with grace, grit, and a deeply rooted faith makes my heart swell with pride—and sometimes ache with concern. She’s still our little girl, even as she prepares to become someone’s wife.

To give some insight into our relationship, I came into my husband’s life when his daughter was just six years old. I had the privilege of watching her grow into the incredible woman she is today—strong, beautiful, and godly. The foundation of faith and love her father and his parents laid early on gave me something solid to help build upon. It has been one of the greatest blessings of my life to walk beside her as she grew, and to now stand witness as she steps into her own marriage and future with the same strength and devotion she was raised with.

Our middle son is also stepping into unfamiliar territory—learning how to co-parent with his girlfriend, a single mother. And more than that, he’s learning to become a role model to her young son. That’s not something easily taught—it’s a calling that requires patience, humility, and deep love. It’s also a role he watched my husband embrace when he was not much older than our son is now. The way my husband stepped into fatherhood and helped raise my boys left an imprint on our son’s heart. And now, I see that same tenderness, strength, and quiet determination blooming in him. He’s figuring it out as he goes, leaning into love and responsibility with a maturity that humbles and inspires me.

Each of them, in their own way, is facing a new chapter. New responsibilities. New joys. New fears.

And here I am—still their mother, but no longer the one steering the ship. Now, I pray from the shoreline.

The mom in me wants to swoop in, to remove the obstacles and silence the storms. But I know—deep down—that God is using these seasons to shape them. The stress and anxiety they feel? It’s not wasted. It’s soil. Soil where roots grow deep, where faith is tested, and where God proves Himself faithful again and again.

Letting go is not the same as stepping back. I am still here—always here—but my presence is quieter now. A steady undercurrent of prayer. A gentle reminder that home is not a place, but a people. A covering. A whisper of love in the chaos.

I trust that the same God who met me in my hardest seasons will meet them too. That He will guard their hearts, guide their steps, and grow them into people of grace and strength.

To every parent out there navigating this strange in-between season—you are not alone. We don’t stop being mothers or fathers when they grow up. We just become different kinds of anchors. And sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is pray.

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”
—Philippians 1:6