I started crying before we even made it through the double doors. It might have been the functionality of his school: the student monitors stationed around the circle drive, the teachers on walkie-talkies organizing drop-off, the parents swinging briskly through the car line as if the world weren’t ending.  How did everyone else know what they were doing? Greg and I trudged up the front walk, our tiny baby son between us, very unready to let him go.

Toby was brilliant. None of the order and rush of the school bothered him. He said, “I’m so excited!” It felt strange. Three months ago he still cried when I dropped him at preschool. Today he was confident– a small, sweet, sparkly-eyed boy with his stuffed Dalmatian Samson peeking out of his backpack. He held my hand and for the first time, I knew he was doing it for my sake and not his own.

All of the kids and parents had to wait in the gym before the bell rang. I fake-smiled at the other moms, though I really wanted to watch the whole scene from a private room where I could noisy cry by myself. All I could think about was Toby’s new cargo shorts and how much he looked like Greg in them. “Don’t help me pull up my shorts,” he said while getting dressed this morning. “You have to do it yourself when you are in Kindergarten.” And he could.

He could also walk into his classroom without clinging to my shin, hang up his Lightning McQueen backpack on the hook labeled “Toby,” and find his own friends to sit with at a table. And all of that, though I’ve been working toward those goals for five years, made me inconsolably sad.

I didn’t want him to howl and lock his arms around my neck when it was time for me to go, but his total competence shattered the view I have of him, that pink-cheeked newborn swaddled up like a pea pod. I’m excited that he is growing into the man I always wanted him to be. He is everything I hoped for him and more. It’s just happening so much faster than I thought it would.

But I’m so proud of him. My dear sweet baby boy.

My favorite part of this new blog design is the tag line: “Find a destination, run fast.” The only problem is me not having a destination.

I spend a lot of time writing about my boys. This blog may become the longest book ever written, and if the climax is Toby and Charlie’s passage into adulthood I’m gonna go ahead and delete myself from your Google reader to spare you the ennui. Being a mom is the purest part of me, the easiest cause to wholly pledge myself, but I want to give more to my kids than devotion. I want my boys to see meaning beyond themselves. I will have to show them in my own life.

Recently I met with some girlfriends to talk about our purposes. We are over the cusp of thirty, and bubbling with energy and passion. If we blink once we will be forty, ten years spent on something. What will it be? Micro-managing our kids? Jogging the saddle bags off our thighs? Twitter? We decided to figure out God’s plan before we are blinded by our own busyness.

After our meeting, the mystery of my purpose itched around in my brain, clouded by all my failed ventures. You know how there are people that can touch anything and have success? I’m the opposite. I can throw myself head first into something and ferociously tank it. I’m not an awesome runner despite years of dedicated training. I’m not a good salesperson, marketer, or administrator. I liked my blog so I went all the way and bought my own domain just as my traffic plunged downtown. I’m like Abe Lincoln, but without the final redemption of being President.  

I dreamed out some really fun destinies, but they all required a great turn of fate and conveniently culminated with my own personal success.

Do you remember Andi Hawkins? They are building a theme park in Orlando based on her best-selling fantasy novels. Weren’t the characters so engaging?! I heard she is donating all of the profits to World Vision. Isn’t she a complete inspiration? Or…Can you believe Andi Hawkins was the first woman to ever win a marathon while pushing a baby jogger? She is on the cover of Runner’s World eating whey protein brownies with her two super-happy kids. Isn’t she such an awesome role model for healthy motherhood? I’m following her on Twitter…

Dreaming made me feel bad for how little I have actually achieved. There are so many things I haven’t started–things I haven’t finished. My under-performance slumped over my shoulders like regret.

“God what do you have for me to do?” A thought came to me. I stared at the mirror wondering if I would be satisfied with my life if I were just a wingman. What if I were made to support others– never destined for greatness, for fame, for glory? What if it were just me and my big mouth speaking life into my friends as we walk unceremoniously toward heaven?  Would I look back in ten years unashamed?

I got excited. I thought of all the people around me, and the joy I feel enoucarging them, praying for them. God’s breath filled the space I carved for my own glory and I welled over with peace.

What better purpose could I teach my boys? Toby and Charlie, I want to see you move mountains, but don’t be deceived. There is nothing unsatisfying in the sky God opens for you. It might look plain before you take off, but when His wind lifts your wings you won’t even care if it makes you invisible.