The first time I saw those double lines forming, I was living in Edinburgh, Scotland. Joy—mixed with wonder—overcame me in that moment. A secret only I knew. A message I longed to receive. A treasure I wanted to savor. Yet I could only contain myself for about one minute before I burst into our tiny living room, exclaiming to my husband, “I think I’m pregnant!”

I knew at that moment: This is such a privilege.

Six years later, I was a mom of two, longing to be a mom of three. After struggling to get pregnant the second time and miscarrying a child in between, I saw those double lines forming again.

That time, I knew with a deeper knowing: This is such a privilege.

Now, that child is a young woman of 18 years, graduating from high school this month. She’s following her older sister and brother right out of the nest. I’m left with a different sense of wonder as I watch her try on her cap and gown—where did the time go?

All the years of brushing teeth and bedtime stories. Soccer practices and violin recitals. Finishing homework and doing chores. Dinnertime devotions and morning prayers. Days that once felt so long and exhausting now seem to have collided all together. I’m left with the shocking sense that somehow the time has flown by. I was just putting her in her crib for a nap, and now I’m buying a comforter for her dorm room.

Scaffolding of a Soul

Graduation is a time of grief and gratitude. Raising children is a gift we keep unwrapping, year after year, as we get new glimpses into who they’re becoming. At graduation, we celebrate with joy and excitement, while anticipating the loss that accompanies their increasing independence.

I find the grief meets me in unexpected corners of my day. A few months ago, I picked up a favorite poetry book and stumbled on Emily Dickinson’s “The Props Assist the House”: 

The Props assist the House
Until the House is built
And then the Props withdraw
And adequate, erect,
The House support itself
And cease to recollect
The Augur and the Carpenter –
Just such a retrospect
Hath the perfected Life –
A Past of Plank and Nail
And slowness – then the scaffolds drop
Affirming it a Soul –

I read the words, and then read them again. Tears filled my eyes.

Motherhood is the privilege of being a prop, a support, a help—surrounding a soul with scaffolding that one day will be removed. Much will be forgotten. Our memories only retain a highlight reel of a shared life—corn mazes, hay rides, pirate parades, sunny days at the beach, snuggles at bedtime, goodnights to the moon, late-night conversations, and Sunday morning car rides to church. Eighteen years is a collection of 6,570 days that blur together in retrospect.

Raising children is a gift we keep unwrapping, year after year, as we get new glimpses into who they’re becoming.

So much of what we do as mothers is forgotten (even to ourselves). My daughter asked me the other day if I remembered a sickness she had when she was younger. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I was glad she remembered that I was there.

It might be tempting to think of scaffolding as unimportant, a waste of good resources. And some view motherhood as something that traps rather than builds. But it’d be wrong to conclude that just because something is difficult, takes time, or looks unpleasant on the outside, it’s a waste.

Pearls hide their beauty in unsightly oysters, and diamonds form deep in the earth under immense pressure and heat. Some days—many days—are long and hard and full of exhaustion. However, these mundane moments shift sacred when we understand the immense responsibility of raising an eternal being for an eternal destination.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, we surround our child with scaffolding, supporting her so that one day, the scaffolding drops and the house supports itself, built ultimately by the true Carpenter, with plank and nail, affirming it a soul. What a privilege to have a front-row seat as the Carpenter does his work. What an honor to be a part of the building process. What a joy to see God’s work as a soul formed in love is raised in love.

What a remarkable privilege to be a tool in the Master Carpenter’s hand as he builds a soul.

Empty Nest

People keep asking me, “How are you feeling about the empty nest?” To be honest, I have no idea. Graduation is a sneaky thief. All the celebrations and special events distract me from the truth that she’s leaving. Her friends still come by, her clothes are still all over her floor, and the sound of her music still fills the air. My house is alive with her presence.

Mundane moments shift sacred when we understand the immense responsibility of raising an eternal being for an eternal destination.

But I’ve done this twice before. I know with a deeper knowing. The morning will come. We’ll load up her bags. She’ll make her bed. We’ll drive the familiar road to my alma mater and help her unpack all her things. We’ll talk with new roommates and take pictures. We’ll give hugs and say goodbye.

And then, we’ll get in the car. Just my husband and me. I’m sure there will be tears.

The scaffolding drops. I become lesser and he becomes greater. The Carpenter continues his work.

And I know I’ll know, deep in my soul, with all the 25 years of motherhood in me: This is such a privilege.