Today you leave the constant shelter of your mother's arms to enter the great world beyond your own apartment door. Today you begin the next chapter of your life, your education outside our home.
I see that my tears surprise you. I am mourning the end your beloved babyhood. I stand watching these past five years as they round the distant bend and roll out of sight like a train that bears a friend away. Today at the big red doors, we stand between your babyhood and your childhood. I know, Little Man, you've been a long while no more a baby. But try to understand your mother. The lines between infancy, toddlerhood, and pre-school were vague. Gradual changes. But now, all in one clear-skyed day, you become a Kindergartener. Somewhere between the embroidered burp cloths and the Lego airplanes, my preemie baby turned into a school boy. Until today you stayed with me every day. Today and hereafter you will leave me every morning to learn lessons that I cannot teach you here at home. 
As I watch you shoulder your black backpack all around the apartment, I know that you are ready. You are hungry to learn German, to find friends, to learn about your world, to become part of a community of children. I can't find a hint of fear in you, and you know how I have probed! Neither do I fear. You are in a safe place, in caring hands. In that God has given me confidence. I am happy for you. But still it hurts for me to leave you there. I ache to be always near you. I don't want to miss one moment of your delightful company. I hardly have before. I want to follow your inquisitive mind, to hear your new words the first times they are spoken. I want to see you be brave, wise, kind, and respectful. I know your strength and your conviction, and I thank God for giving them to you. Tough Guy, it's time to fly, and you are going to soar! Your mother believes in you.
Peanut, while you get out the new blue shoes we bought a bit large for you to grow into, I see my baby again. You fasten the velcro, pulling it tighter than intended so the straps hang over the sides, and I wonder if we are doing the right thing. You are still so young, so little. Still so recognizable from your baby photos. And so trusting, so hopeful. Baby-Son, bigger boys will push you down. Your hopes will be unfulfilled. Your trust broken. Your own falls, failures, and fears from which I have daily shielded you are going to define your days now. You will make wrong choices. You are going to crash. You will turn your head and call for me, breathing in to cry. I won't be there, Lovey. Breathe that cry right out, talk to God in your heart, and take off again. You always raise your eyebrows so cutely when you blink back tears. Blink them hard for me, Bud.
Kiddo, I want to stay beside you to monitor your safety, to read your thoughts, and to whisper little suggestions in your ear. But I'm not going to stay. Instead I'll pray to the One who sends His Spirit to stay with you and do exactly that.
Son, by sending you to Kindergarten here in Germany, we lay a unique burden on you. This is an exclusive opportunity, but I will not deny that it is also a peculiar challenge. I see the searching stare on your face when your teacher talks to you. It mirrors an expression my own face knows well. I understand. I feel the confusion with you. When our choice to follow Christ all the way to Germany affects you in ways like this, I always double check the map. Caleb, going to this very Kindergarten in this country is part of the flawless, spectacular plan God has drawn up for your life. While you are within those big red doors, He will always be right beside you. He will bless you, test you, build you, and use you - all to bring Himself glory. God's got a new little light in another corner of His globe. Let it shine, Bud. Let it shine!Love always,
Mommy
