The feeling of empty is emaciating.
Our home used to echo with constant little feet traffic. Loud music camps in full decibel. The pantry revolves like a carousel. Laughter and tears flow like rain.
Nika and Bianca now both live in Manhattan.
Their tiny but sassy apartment seems at times like a distant shore. When kids leave home, they seem trekked to another galaxy. FaceTime never does justice to real conversation. They're too near yet so far.
Thus, I am caught with a profundity: why go through all the trouble of raising little ones when a sure day of release is a heave away?
There is no cognitive resolution to this.
The mystery gets untangled only through the proper lens of my Heavenly Father.
There really is no empty nest.
I was never granted the option to own my kids. They are God's.
What I was called to do was to build a lovely nest and prioritize utmost nurture with one given purpose:
To release them on eagle's wings to build their own in order to usher the echo of constant little feet traffic. Loud music camping in full decibel. The pantry revolving like a carousel. Laughter and tears flowing like rain.
The feeling of empty suddenly makes sense.