A little more than thirty-three years ago our nest consisted of two humans and a canine. And then another precious little human appeared in our nest. We adapted and loved and nurtured and taught and raised that little person up in the ways he should go. About four years after that another little human graced our nest with her presence. And we adapted and loved and nurtured and taught and raised that little person up in the ways she should go. Others joined us in our safe and warm little nest for a little while or longer. And we sheltered and helped and supported and shared a little of our hearts with each of them before they ventured out again.

For all of these years our nest was never empty, until now. The little human who first appeared in our nest has become the last to leave, big and strong and mature, ready to make his own way in the world, his lovely bride by his side. As we helped them move over the weekend I began to ponder life in an empty nest, and found I wasn’t as excited about the prospect as I first thought I would be.

Part of living in the sandwich is caring for and taking care of your extended family, and feeling needed and important and loved in the process. How does that continue to work in their absence, when the sandwich is no more?

Our youngest left first and now lives on the other side of a continent; but we still talk with her almost daily as she shares the challenges of raising her own family and asks questions about so many different things that are new to her but facts of life for us.

Our oldest left last and now lives just a short drive away. Will we still talk with him daily? Will he call with questions about new challenges they face? Will he ask us over just to share a meal or fix something around the house? Will I still get to be a Dad every once in a while?

Many years ago, as he reached college age, I wrote a little poem, blank verse, about his leaving the nest. Now that time has finally come:

There he goes!  Made it out of the bedroom, now he’s down the hall.

Watch him turn the corner, Oops!  The carpet got him but that’s okay.

His first solo steps, and he wasted no time!

Traveled half the house on the very first try.

“How far can I go Daddy?”  “We’ll see.”

Lord, thank you for giving us a son.

“Wow Daddy, a shiny new tricycle, blue with silver fenders!”

“Here we go Son, put your feet right here, now push one, then the other.”

There he goes!  Made it down the drive.

“How far can I go, Daddy?”  “We’ll see.”

Lord, please protect our son.

“Hey Daddy, a bicycle with training wheels!  Thanks!”

“Here we go Son, just like your trike, but you need to balance.

Don’t worry, I’m holding on to the seat.  You can do it.”

“Okay Daddy, let go now.  I can do it!

How far can I go, Daddy?”  “We’ll see.”

Lord, please keep him safe.

“Daddy, these training wheels are really noisy!”

“Well let’s take them off, Son.  Now you steer and balance together.

Feel how it stays up, and turns if you lean?”

“Its tricky Daddy, but I can do it!”  “Lets try again.”

“How far can I go, Daddy?”  “Son, we’ll see.”

Lord, please comfort him when he falls.

“Gee Dad, this mountain bike is great!  Thanks!”

“Do you need some help Son?  Those gears are kind of tough to handle.

Feel each click of the shift, pick the right gear to get you up the hill.”

“I feel it Dad, sometimes it’s hard to pedal, sometimes easy.”  “That’s right, Son.”

“How far can I go, Dad?”  “We’ll see Son, we’ll see.”

Lord, please give him strength for the mountains he’ll climb.

“Hey Dad, Drivers’ Ed is a lot of fun!

But I didn’t know there was so much to learn about driving.”

“Lots of rules Son, but they come with the territory.

Remember, take care of the car, mind the rules, and be sensible.”

“How far can I go, Dad?”  “We’ll see Son, we’ll see.”

Lord, please show him the way, and give him faith.

“Car’s all loaded Dad; I’m ready to go.”

“Got everything you need, Son?”  “I think so.”

“What about…”  “Hang on to it for me, would you please?”

“Sure Son, remember to call, and write!”  “Thanks Dad, I promise I will!”

“How far will you be going, Son?”  “We’ll see Dad, we’ll see.”

Lord, walk with him every mile.

Hugs all around, then Mom and Dad retreat to the front room, 

and part the curtains a bit.

He backs down the drive, pauses, and signs “I love you” through the glass.

Holding each other, they mouth the words back, then wave as he pulls away.

Brake lights at the street corner…moist eyes in the front room.

She searches his face, “Will he be okay?”  His strained whisper, “We’ll see…”

Lord, we entrust him to you, and thank you for the privilege.