The Farm Wife Sagas

This week has been a struggle to sit down and write, not because I didn’t want to, but because I’ve been abundantly busy and fulfilled. It’s been one of those rare weeks where every moment felt full, even the messy ones.

This was the first year VJ truly understood Halloween, and oh, how much fun (and a little chaos) it was watching her decide what costume she wanted to wear to which event, how she wanted her hair fixed, and what color eyeshadow “matched her princess dress best.” Or how her yellow hair, as she calls it, looked better with her pumpkin dress than being a princess on Halloween night. I swear we changed costumes more than a few times, but honestly, I didn’t mind. Watching her little personality bloom made my mama heart light up in the best way.

At one point, she stood in front of the mirror, hair curled, lipstick slightly crooked, grinning from ear to ear, and I felt my throat tighten. My baby isn’t a baby anymore. Somewhere between trick-or-treating and costume changes, she’s become this tiny, beautiful mix of Colton and me. She’s strong-willed, opinionated, full of energy, but she’s also gentle and kind.

And that’s when it hit me. She’s growing up right before my eyes, and I’m learning how to let her. There’s a strange mix of pride and ache that comes with realizing she’s starting to do things for herself, picking out her own clothes, making her own friends, choosing what makes her happy. It’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking all at once.

I’ve said before that my biggest prayer for VJ is that she grows up to be a kind person. But lately, I’ve realized that part of that prayer means I have to give her space to learn how to be that person. To make her own choices, even if they’re not the ones I’d make. To stumble a little. To grow.

Motherhood has a way of showing you that love isn’t about control; it’s about guidance. It’s standing close enough to catch them when they fall but far enough to let them try. It’s watching their independence form piece by piece, sometimes through sass and sometimes through sweetness, and realizing that’s exactly how they find their strength.

Does she have her flaws? Of course. Do I? Definitely. But I’m starting to see that the same God who gave her that fiery little spirit also gave me the grace to nurture it, not tame it.

There’s a special kind of heartbreak that comes with watching your child grow. When they walk into a room without needing your hand, when they have opinions of their own, when they start becoming exactly who God made them to be. And while part of me wants to scoop her up and hold her close forever, the other part knows that love looks a lot like letting go.

So this week, instead of trying to freeze time, I’m learning to be still and savor it. To thank God for the privilege of watching her grow into kindness, confidence, and courage. Into everything He’s called her to be.

Because maybe the greatest gift of motherhood isn’t keeping them little, but celebrating every moment they grow a little more into who they’re meant to be.

So if you’re in the trenches of letting your little or big ones make their own decisions, no matter how small, know that you’re not alone. I’m right there with you and struggling just as much. But also know that a little independence is good and beneficial. It’s shaping them, teaching them, and preparing them for all the good things God has ahead.

“There are two lasting bequests we can give our children: one is roots, the other is wings.”

— Hodding Carter