The season for “letting-go hugs”

A quote from DaySpring contributing writer Barb Roose that reads,

When I wrapped my oldest child in my arms, I attempted to direct every iota of love, hugs and care into the embrace, since it would be almost three months before I saw her again at bootcamp graduation.

While she began to wiggle away, I held on tighter. When the nurse laid her in my arms eighteen years ago, no one told me how hard that final hug would be. It’s the “I’m letting you go” hug, and rarely are we ready for it.

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As my daughter scooted toward the airport security line, the weight of her body lingered in my arms. That letting-go hug didn’t last nearly long enough. As the tears streamed down my face, I begged God for a do-over.

One more hug. I’m not ready!

My girl was headed off to Beast Barracks at the United States Military Academy, and for some reason, I believed she needed one more hug from me to fortify herself for the journey ahead.

Yet, I was the one who needed one more letting-go hug.  My daughter was stretching toward her future, and thanks to West Point and Delta Airlines, her wish was granted. But there I stood with empty arms, wondering how to love as I had loved for eighteen years, but from a distance.

We don’t put much thought into letting go of those that we love. We devote our energy to keeping them close, tucking them in, and wrapping them as tight as we can.

Letting go? Well, that rhymes with the word “no,” so it can’t possibly be a good thing.

Whether you’re a mother, grandma, auntie or friend, we’re built to love hard. We show up as relational glue. Our DNA is embedded with what I’m calling “togetherness proteins” to keep friendships and families close and strong.

Letting go sounds like madness, right? How do we let go of the very people that we’re hardwired to cling to, nurture and protect? It seems irresponsible. It feels—well, unloving.

Yet, there’s a point at which letting go is the most loving thing we can do.  

My sweet girl hopped on a plane and headed off to West Point that day. I drove home and cried for ten hours straight. Four years later, our family sat in a stadium to watch my girl cross the stage to graduate from West Point and commission as an officer.

If you’re wondering what it means to let go, it looks like releasing your intention to steer, direct or govern the direction or decisions in their lives. (Of course, we’re referring to other adults.) Letting go is a form of surrender that recognizes there is a God over their lives… and that God isn’t us. We shift our mindset and place them into God’s capable hands.

Instead of panicking, we’re praying.

Instead of directing, we’re praying they seek God’s direction.

Letting go is a process, so be gentle with yourself. One hug in an airport didn’t lead to letting go. For me, this process included long, tear-filled runs through my neighborhood. (I’m not a runner.) I cried out to God for a month until I’d finally reached a place where I was willing to trust Him with my child’s life. It was a willingness to trust that God knew from the first day my girl rested in my arms that one day I would need to let her go.

In His infinite wisdom, God shows us the blessing of letting go long before we perceive it. He programmed seasons of clinging and release into the rhythm of life on earth. We witness trees bud, leaves grow, and then, they release. Like clockwork, it happens. Even more importantly, the letting go needs to happen.

While it’s always sad to know the leaves will fall, we accept it and celebrate with pumpkin spice everything. Resisting letting go is resisting God’s divinely ordered rhythm. We let go to make room for what comes next.

King Solomon’s ancient wisdom in Ecclesiastes 3:4 and 6 captures the spiritual angle of clinging and letting go that defines our existential journeys. I appreciate how the late Eugene Peterson paraphrased these excerpts of Solomon’s words in this chapter:

A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to embrace and another to part,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,

I can almost hear some of your sighs, dear friends. For some of us, your letting-go hugs will happen at graduations, at weddings, moving into college dorms this fall, or handing over the car keys for the first time. Cry those tears, dear friends. Celebrate.

Most of all, make that letting-go hug count. The only way to miss the moment is to not let go. Give them that gift, so that room can be made for what comes next.

A black and white portrait of DaySpring contributing author Barb Roose.

Barb Roose is a speaker and author who is passionate about teaching women to live beautifully strong and courageous so that they experience God’s great adventure of faith and purpose for their lives. She’s a proud empty-nest mom of three, and prefers to eat dessert first. Find her work at https://barbroose.com.