This weekend we are reaching a new milestone in our parenting journey: the halfway point. On Sunday our oldest son, David, will turn 9 years old which means he will be halfway to the age of 18…which means that he will officially be halfway to adulthood.

Mic drop.

Somehow I blinked and nine years flew by. I swear to you it was just yesterday that I was sitting on my living room couch at 42 weeks pregnant with David, re-reading my worn out copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting and writing out my (extremely detailed) birth plan. I felt very ready, and very in control (Aren’t new mothers precious?!).

But then David was born. I realized very quickly how very unready and utterly not in control I actually was. Literally nothing about his birth went according to my plan, and I was introduced to perhaps the most important first lesson of parenting: Letting Go.

As parents we are continually forced to let go–to let go of our own plans for our children, to let go of the life we think they should live, to let go of our own control so that they can become who they were meant to be. In this way, I think children are the ultimate tools of sanctification. Every time I see how little I control in my kids’ lives, I am reminded that God ultimately has a unique plan for each of us–and the quicker I can get out of the way and trust Him, the better.

Because what an amazing plan He has!

I look at David and I can see the beginnings of this plan in new ways every day. For instance, when I see David’s intense knowledge of Pokémon I wonder at how his singular focus and depth of knowledge will serve him in his future career. When I see his friends who are kind and silly and spunky just like him, I have hope for the types of relationships he will build throughout his life. When I see him stick up for a child that is getting picked on, I have confidence that he will be an ally as he gets older. When I see his perpetually messy-like-a-hurricane-just-passed-through-it room, I just pray for a wife for him who is blind to messes and/or the most patient woman in the world.

This halfway point is a strange place to be in. To me, it feels like we’re still just getting started. We’re still figuring it out, one learned lesson after another. In fact, if these 18 years of child-rearing were a single hill of a roller coaster, right now I’m still ker-plunking our way to the top of the initial summit. The days are long *ker-plunk*, the days are long *ker-plunk*, the days are long *ker-plunk*.

But now, at 9 years in, I’m at the crest of the hill. I can see what lies ahead, and it looks like it’s going to be a wild ride!

And just like the roller coaster, I have a feeling that these next nine years are going to fly by much faster than the first nine. The distances, as far as time is concerned, are equal. But I know better than to trust something as fleeting as time.

I am quite certain that I will blink again and we’ll be at the bottom of the roller coaster hill. I fully anticipate that these next nine years will evaporate before my very eyes. The downhill rush of the next nine years will probably bring our biggest joys and our biggest challenges–which is both thrilling and terrifying. But I’m ready for it, because we’ve got a good driver (the best, in fact).

In the end, I’m just a passenger. I’m along for the ride, not driving this crazy train. I can buckle us all in and hold on tight, but we’re going down the hill no matter what I do. So, from now until the ride comes to a complete stop, I’m going to trust the One who’s driving us. I know that this will require me to let go–but isn’t the roller coaster more thrilling when you release the bar and throw your hands in the air?

Now that we’re here at the crest of the hill–halfway there–I look forward to what is to come. The future is promising, and I can’t wait to go on this ride with my favorite nine year old in the world.

Happy birthday, David!