What a life you and daddy have given me! How can I ever begin to thank you for the love and strength and grace you’ve taught in word and deed? And how can I ever thank you for introducing me to Jesus in such a way that I choose to make Him my own?
As much as I seem to have it all together, I don’t. Actually, I’m sorta scared, Momma. Not the kind where my knees knock and my heart trembles, but the kind where I’m nervous and excited and cautious – all heaped into one. Even though leaving my family so that I can attend bible college two states away is going to be real hard, I’m looking forward to discovering what the big city has to offer a girl like me… the museums and concerts and theatrical plays and restaurants. Even though folks talk up this “culture” stuff, I sure don’t think any single thing can compare to the beauty of the countryside where I’ve done my growing up.
We shall see!
Momma, I am not upstairs. I left already. I’m sorry… but I know you’ll understand. Tears and sadness at the train depot is not the sort of family image I want to take with me. All of us crying and blubbering in this summer heat is not going to get me through to Christmas break.
Forgive me, please?
Last night and the fun we had with Uncle Joel and Aunt Margaret and the cousins, that’s what will hold me over until I can come back home. Remember how hard little brother laughed when daddy read that James Herriot story about Cedric the farting Boxer dog? And how much popcorn we all ate? And how little Maggie still had the hiccups when I turned out her bedroom light? That’s the good stuff, Momma.
You don’t have to fret because Laura’s daddy already gave her permission to borrow his rig and give me a ride. She’ll meet me at the end of the driveway, down by the mailboxes. I packed a couple extra cinnamon rolls and a thermos of coffee so we’ll have breakfast at the depot. She promised to wait with me until the train comes.
I reckon daylight is creeping through the trees right about now. Wipe your eyes on your apron real quick and go look out the screen door off the back porch. Go on.
See that quilt hanging there on the line? I made that for you… so you’ll know that even while I’m gone to college, my heart is always home, here with you and the family, in our wild woods.
P.S. Momma! I know what you are about to do! You go and tell daddy first so that he doesn’t worry. When the train rounds the bend up near Jefferson’s Corner, I’ll look up to where our property boundary meets the ridgeline sky and I’ll see you riding bareback, with your long black hair flying wild, as you chase the train, like we’ve done so many times together. I’ll wave, but you won’t see me. And if you cry, I’ll never know.
Thanks, Momma, for everything – but especially for showing me that even when I set out on a race that seems near impossible, all I’ve got to do is take the first step and then trust God to make straight the path He has set before me.