I searched the internet for a comparable book to the book we read to him the night before his first day of Kindergarten.
No one has authored the book “The Night Before High School.”
As I flipped through our ten year old copy of “The Night Before Kindergarten,” I smile cried because of how much things have changed yet stayed the same over the past nine years.
My thoughts about tomorrow are not “will he be able to find someone to help tie his shoe or find his way back to his classroom if he gets lost in that elementary school.” Instead, my mind is racing about things such as keeping up his GPA and hormonal girls chasing him.
Nine years later, I’m fully confident that if he indeed gets lost in that giant high school that he is fully capable of figuring out how to get where he needs to be without my help.
My hopes for “first days” have changed a bit over the years.
My hopes for tomorrow are not as much that I have created a memorable moment or established some important traditions for him, but more importantly that I will be fully present in those moments and traditions with him, and that he will be launched with words of Life that he can boldly take into the world as he goes.
Sure, I hope we remember to measure his height in the morning. He’s growing an inch a week it seems right now. This was a tradition I had full intention of continuing over the years. I think we’ve done it three of his ten first days of school. In the morning hustle and bustle of first days to eat breakfast, brush teeth (well he says he does this every morning), tie shoes (thank you Jesus kids do actually learn to do this themselves), and somehow snap a picture before we leave, the measuring of bodies just didn’t make the cut of essentials to get out of the door on time on the first day of school.
I’ve learned to say the phrase “good enough” in life.
Three out of ten is “good enough.” “Good enough” has freed me of all of those ridiculous expectations I set over the years for myself as a mother. When I feel the stress rising and the pressure to measure up to standards that only matter here on Earth, I ask the Holy Spirit to shower my mother’s soul with the phrase “good enough.”
From having all the homework done to packing healthy lunches, “good enough.”
I honestly don’t remember the last lunch I packed for him. A part of me wishes I had known it would be the last one and I might have savored making that “last lunch” a little bit more. “Oh well. Good enough.”
He’s been making his own lunch for years now. Praise the King. For a while, I double checked it but even released that unnecessary pressure from myself. “Good enough.”
I remember his anticipation for carrying that first Spiderman lunch box. That box was picked out months in advance in preparation for his “big day.” Tonight I made a mad dash before dinner to grab bread for lunches and remembered as I passed by the lunch boxes that he had told me weeks ago that his lunch box had ripped and he would need a new one for this year.
I snatched the most boring looking one I could find and knew with confidence that it perfect….or at least that it was “good enough.”
One thing hasn’t changed. I still sneak notes in those lunches from time to time. He gives me an eye roll, but that’s not stopping me. The older I get the more I understand the gift of family and how valuable that gift is in a world where so many do not have a family to call their own.
I won’t walk you to the door of your classroom tomorrow son, but by golly be careful when you open up that new lunch box tomorrow if you don’t want your buddies to see that note from momma.
The Night Before High School.
Deep breath. Here we go.
You got this champ. You got this momma.
We made it through preschool, elementary school, middle school. Last big “first day” while under this roof of ours we call “home.”
There is a world out there that needs you, son, to be the bright light that you are to everyone you meet. Maybe you won’t be holding their hands like you did in Kindergarten, but keep making people feel loved and important when the world around them and the Spirit of this world tells them something different.
May the words spoken over you on those lunch notes be breathed into the lives of those that surround you on your first day of High School.