When the alarm goes off these days, I often wake from the same dream — rushing to toast a bagel for my youngest child before school. But in that same instant, I realize I don’t have to toast the bagels anymore. My husband and I are now empty nesters, our child far away at university. In that moment, the panic of oversleeping quickly turns into a sigh that intersperses longing for her presence with gratitude for the blessings in her life.

I don’t jump out of bed but lie there breathing, repeating to myself, “This is the day that the Lord has made; I will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Every day is a gift from God, and this season, more than any, has reminded me of His goodness. Some days I feel like a scratched record stuck on loop. But God is faithful. And, like Moses reminding Israel of God’s faithfulness, I remind myself multiple times a day.

I always knew empty nesting would be hard — my identity had been wrapped up in being a mother for most of my life. After stopping work to stay home, my schedule revolved around drop-offs, PTA meetings, sports, and a million other things that keep mothers insanely busy. As the children grew, I began looking for ways to utilize talents that had been dormant for years, wanting to define an identity shaped by motherhood while sharpening skills I knew were deep within me.

The days after moving our child into college were hard. The house was unbearably silent. We missed the pile of sneakers at the garage door and the scattered snack bowls. Everything was clean and orderly, and going upstairs was heartwrenching. I found myself drinking from her Stanley cup and using her lip balm — reminders of her presence. She was my little shadow, and the shadow had grown up.

Still, the days rolled on, and we practiced gratitude. We discovered new rhythms: unloading the dishwasher, running to the gym, weekend movies — all part of establishing routines not tied to the school calendar. Meeting new friends and having space for long conversations became part of new rhythms. The profound quiet wasn’t the enemy. I was learning to embrace a different pace that hadn’t existed in over two decades. The constant urgency was gone, and while initially jarring, it felt good to lean into this rhythm. I am discovering space for rest and reflection.

Healthy birds fly the nest, caring friends remind me. There is a bittersweet nature to raising children —you’re proud of who they’ve become while you grieve their departure, grateful yet sad. Every hair tie, tidy bed, and missed moment of not buying mini ice cream cones at Trader Joe’s brings a gulp to my throat.

But when the phone buzzes with texts about new friends, successful classes, or finding community at church, my heart fills with joy. I praise our good God who gives us strength to hold both extremes of emotion, who allows us to be sad while reminding us of bright moments.

Parenting refines us, drawing us closer to God if we allow it. It teaches us to surrender, give up control, and trust. When that chapter ends and a new one begins, we can grieve but continue stepping forward in faith, trusting that He is the author of all that is good.

I don’t toast the bagel every morning anymore, but I do empty the ice maker now. Our ice addict is no longer around. Still, hearing cubes fall into my cup brings a smile, knowing she’s probably doing the same thing on the other side of the country.

Listen to today’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast!