The Wind Is Reading My Book

Earlier this week, my sister brought her six children to watch my son’s baseball game. The children were mildly interested in seeing their cousin play ball, but they were more excited about discovering the bleachers. They climbed up the metal seats, walked across them like balance beams, and then took flying leaps onto the grass.

My goddaughter—who is 8—had brought a book to read, and she left it sitting on the bleachers. In between climbing and leaping, she noticed that a breeze was turning the pages.

“Mommy,” she said to her mother with a smile, “the wind is reading my book.”

And so it was, flipping through the book, turning the pages faster than a little girl who’s eager to discover the next part of the story.

The wind is reading my book.

That’s how I feel about my parenting life these days, that time is flying and the plot is unfolding, and I’m just along for the ride. Sometimes the pages are turning so quickly that I can barely see what’s happening—it’s that fast. Springtime always brings that somehow, but especially this year it seems to be speeding by.

This week, our eighth grader finished middle school and gets ready to head off to high school. Somehow, suddenly, unbelievably, my husband and I will have two high schoolers. We are talking about college and driving and summer jobs and all kinds of new territory.

It’s all exciting and daunting and wonderful, and I’m so, so grateful to be part of their stories. But the pages are turning so quickly that I can barely keep up with each new chapter. They blow past in the wind, and I catch snatches of the story—just enough to know the joys and challenges and follow along with the plot.

And what a story it is.

Yesterday I sat at our eighth grader’s ceremony in his homeroom, listening as his teacher spoke about each of the students. She had asked them to answer questions reflecting on their middle school experience and looking ahead to the future. The answers were so raw and real and powerful, students thanking their parents for immigrating to the United States so they could have a good education, students saying that middle school has helped them figure out who they are, students sharing plans to be computer scientists and veterinarians, students with memories and hopes and dreams.

I sat at the ceremony listening and watching with my eyes full of tears—so proud of our son, and so grateful to be his mother. I don’t want to stop time. I want the pages to continue to turn. I am excited to know the next part of the story and the next and the next. I know there will be twists and turns and ups and downs, and I’m here for all of it.

The wind might be reading my book, making those pages flip past so quickly, but I know who the author is. And I’m thankful to have a front-row seat and know he’s with us as these beautiful days and years speed by.

Photo by Kindel Media

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