Transitions... they kind of feel like a relay race.

So. Many. Emotions.

It seems like Tom and I have been riding the wave for a while now. We have been privileged as empty nesters to have a front row seat to all the happenings in our kids' lives these past few years, and it has been an incredible thing to watch.

We have witnessed their growth and maturity. We have seen some of them become parents, themselves. They have established homes and careers. They have committed their lives to the Lord and to His service. It can be quite a humbling thing for Mom and Dad to experience. It is also pure joy, and yet, somehow, also... if being completely honest... a little bitter-sweet.

I remember Tom's words vivdly the day he came home from a Longshot Men's Retreat a couple of years ago. He loves those opportunities for fellowship and spiritual growth, especially when our son Mark is able to attend as well. It's called "Longshot" because one of the activities provided is time in some competitive target shooting at a nearby gun range.

When I asked how he had enjoyed the retreat, Tom said it was great, and then he said those words, "Well, I'm not the top shot anymore. Somebody beat me. It was Mark." I could tell that he was a little disappointed. After all, he had always been a great shot. He still is, but now there was someone just a bit better. Then Tom said this: "If anybody was going to better me though, I'm really glad it was my son."

You see, Tom is the one who taught Mark to shoot. Mark's skill began at Tom's knee. Then they were side by side, and ultimately, Mark began to move out front.

It reminds me of a relay race. When we're young, we wait in the wings, champing at the bit to grow up and make our own way. We're eager to buy make-up and heels, to drive a car, move away to college... have that freedom. Then the transition comes, and ready for it or not, comes also all the responsibilities. We grab that baton and run with it as fast and hard as we can.

Those middle legs are hard. We've got to keep our focus. Face forward, head into the wind. Stride steady. Our life exists of almost nothing outside those two white lines that define our existence. We are paying bills, raising children, advancing careers, volunteering as coaches, serving on committees at church. It's all pretty much a blur, but we keep running because that is what is needed, and there are little ones waiting in the wings watching... learning... hoping to follow in our footsteps, so we must run our race well.

This place... the middle leg is where our kids are now. Tom and I have finished our leg. The race is not done, but there is nothing left for us to do between those two lines. That realization can be a little bitter-sweet. It's hard to step out of the lead, but it is impossible for a relay race to be won without it.

Our job now is to cheer from the sidelines. We know the thirst, the exhaustion, the burning in their lungs. We too have felt the blisters, the fatigue, the muscle cramps. We are intimately familiar because we've been there. So we cheer them on. We encourage them with everything we've got. We pray. My goodness, how we pray! We do whatever we can to lighten the load, to help their steps fly.

And as we watch, we thank God for this place and this time; and for the privilege, joy, and blessing of being a parent, for it is truly a beautiful thing to see them run.