Today my firstborn son is forty. You know, that measure of time that the Children of Israel wandered in the desert. The length of King David's reign, and also that of Solomon. It mirrors the number of days Jesus fasted in the wilderness, and the pelting rain pummeled the ark. 

 

The truth is, parenting Lukas ended abruptly when we left him in California and moved across the country. He was just shy of twenty, and we never so much as bought him shoes after that. Lukas figured out his career, which is going gang busters lately, and his volunteer path which is vibrant. He clocks more hours in church many Sundays than his father who is on the payroll. Plus as Lukas pointed out when he was the tech guy back in high school if the minister doesn't show up you can make do, but if the sound engineer doesn't you might as well all go home. 

 

Today I feel tenderness around what it means to transition from son/mother to friends. Certainly I long ago lost any credibility to offer advice. He gave us a virtual tour of his workplace, with its millions of feet of wires, screens on every vertical surface, and innumerable inputs, trying to dumb down the explanation of his expertise for my benefit. All that without the merest whiff of pomp. Which he would have every right to flaunt, considering I still am not sure how to remedy a tripped circuit breaker. His current project is in Ireland, and while I cannot articulate what it will do, it's a pretty sweet gig.

 

The celebration is in Colorado, and Lukas is hosting the party. He and his precious wife Amy invited their favorite people to join them in the mountains for hiking, good food, and ample laughter. They will pray over meals, and mean it. Gratitude, generosity, and service have been their offspring. God has been with them all these two score years, and the blessings of that partnership are evidenced by their lives and the people who love them. 

 

Like me.