My oldest son turned eighteen today, and it has me thinking about the fact that some things just take time. There is so much in life that we want to rush. We have ideas, dreams, and visions, and we want to see their fruition. We think the time from conception to maturity should be quick, and so we often give up on the dreams and ideas that bubble up from our hearts.
When my first baby was a colicky mess, all I wanted was for him to grow up. Even this moment, facing the sad fact that he is leaving in two days, I would not return to those days where I felt such confusion and despair. I didn't know how to help him or myself. I didn't know how to be a mother, though I desperately wanted to know how to be the best one on earth.
There are some lessons that only time can teach. Motherhood is one of those lessons; it's something you never stop learning. But time has also taught me that some things can't ever be rushed. It took eighteen years for my son to grow from an entirely dependent being to one who is ready to leave the house. We expect it to take eighteen years plus for a child to grow from conception to maturity. But what about our ideas and dreams and plans? How long do we give them to grow?
