Growing Up, Growing Out

Most parents want things for their kids that they didn't have growing up, and I'm no different. This sentiment goes awry all the time with parents who overindulge and seldom say no, all in the name of somehow recapturing the desires of their own youth. It's a slippery slope, and I'm trying not to lose my footing as I pursue the endless opportunities that beckon my kids and, equally important, me.

The thing I most missed from my childhood was exposure to the bigger world. I'm thankful my parents did a good job of protecting me, because there's a lot in the world that kids just don't need to be exposed to. But I do wonder how my childhood—and my adulthood—would have been different if I had realized there was a world beyond northeastern Colorado and southwestern Oklahoma. Is it possible my lack of a homecoming date wouldn't have seemed quite so earth-shattering?

Besides a few trips to Mexico, a dash across the Canadian border, and a Caribbean cruise with my grandparents when I was 14, I've never been outside of the United States. I'm hoping my empty-nest years will take care of this, but for now, it's one of my major regrets. It's not just the adventure and sightseeing I crave, but the perspective that comes from seeing the world differently. And seeing it alongside different people. It's a perspective I want my kids to have.

Since it's not likely this family of six is going to do much globetrotting in the years ahead, missions trips seem like our best opportunity to get outside of ourselves, see how God is at work in different people in different places, and offer ourselves up to be changed by Him in ways we never would at home. We go to an extremely missions-minded church, and they start 'em young. Braden is just four years away from being able to go on a short-term mission trip to Mexico, and he and his sisters will have different opportunities throughout middle school and high school. And just maybe, I'll get to go with them a time or two.

In the meantime, I'm trying to find ways to prepare them for such big leaps. How do you get a kid who still gets his milk poured and delivered to his spot at the table—with a straw no less—used to being away from home and trusting in God and his survival instincts instead of his parents? Summer camp! We recently took the plunge and signed Braden up for five whole nights away from home. It's Eagle Lake, a camp run by The Navigators, and I've been writing about it for 14 years, waiting for the day I could send one of my own offspring. The day has come, or at least it will in June. Thinking my 8-year-old couldn't possibly do this alone, I tried to find a friend to go with him. When this didn't work out, I prepared to launch into a lengthy description of the enormity of such an event. I began by asking, "Do you think you'd be OK going by yourself, without mom or dad or anyone you know, for FIVE WHOLE DAYS, to a place you've never been?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. "I'll be fine." He ran off and my homily went unheard.

And with that, my son took his first step toward growing up, leaving home, and exploring the bigger world. I don't know when I've been so proud. I don't know when I've felt so old.