Amongst my three children, I’ve witnessed six commencement ceremonies—each one unique and still somehow similar to all the others (and my own).
The robes and tassels.
The diplomas and degrees.
The pomp and circumstance.
And the celebratory nature of it all.
My kids’ achievements range from graduating high school a year early to having a master’s degree conferred. I’ll never forget the look of delight on their faces when receiving the congratulatory handshake or their ear-to-ear grins in photos afterwards.
Though we were celebrating their achievements, these moments were incredibly important for me, too. The actual ceremonies—as they unfolded in time and space—proved helpful to me, as a mother, in recognizing the adults my children have become.
New Perspective
Though we drove to each of the ceremonies as a family, our graduates quickly scurried off to find their classmates and were seated with them—not us. This was more than a logistical convenience, sparing each student from wending their way forward from various parts of the auditorium: seating the graduates away from their families also depicts the inward reality that they’re shifting into a life season that often results in their not living under our roof any longer.
As I scanned the rows to find my child among all the other identically dressed graduates, I was mindful that my “view” on their lives would now be from a greater distance.
At the appropriate time, after the salutations and speeches, they rose to walk toward the stage, anticipating their moment. When their names were called—first, middle, and last—they stepped forward confidently to receive their handshake and diploma. Seconds later, as they stepped down off the dais, walking back toward their seat, I realized they were different now.
That brief moment on the stage during which they’d been handed what might seem to be merely a piece of paper signified a momentous change: they were now graduates. And my role in that portion of their education, however small or large it might have been, was now also complete.
After the ceremony and the formal recessional, my husband and I sought our graduate. Despite having prearranged a meeting place, we were pressed and jostled by the throngs of other parents searching for their own graduates, making finding one another difficult. The challenge mirrored my fears about the next chapter in our lives: Would this new stage mean emotional distance or disconnection? Would we ever again enjoy the same closeness as we had before? Would the future that lay beyond this milestone of achievement and adulthood be good?
As eager as I was to fold them into a congratulatory embrace, it was the deliberate act of releasing them from my arms that was most significant for me. What my body did by “letting go” I realized my heart needed to do as well.
We’ve all experienced similar significant shifts in life. Whether prompted by a rite of passage like graduation or marriage, or issuing from a geographical or professional move, adapting to change can be difficult because it requires us to surrender what we’ve grown accustomed to and venture forth into territory unknown.
New Terrain
Standing at the edge of the emotional frontier ushered in by graduation required more faith than I’d anticipated. I’d expected the thrill of the moment. And I’d even predicted some tears as the chapter closed. But fearful uncertainty of the future pressed me closer to God.
He doesn’t issue any promise that the quality of our relationships will be the same (let alone better) after such milestones. Nor does He provide a map for the new terrain on which we embark. It might not feel like the Promised Land. The uncertainty can be disquieting to our hearts. What God does give, however, is the assurance of His presence with us (and with our graduates). As we cross over into this new domain, we can trust that—no matter what lies ahead—He will neither “leave. . . nor forsake” us (Deuteronomy 31:8).
May the assurance of His presence quiet the distress that often surfaces in our hearts and minds during seasons of change. As we release our grip on what we’ve known (and treasured) in previous seasons and open our hands to the next, let’s be comforted by the knowledge that He is always near.
—Written by Kirsten Holmberg. Used by permission from the author.
