The Grief of an Empty Nest

For more than twenty years, Joe Savage's house was

full of noise. Four kids will do that. There were carpools and

there was always somebody needing something. It wore her

out plenty of days and it was also her whole life. Then came

the morning she'd known was coming and still wasn't ready

for. The kids were grown and gone and the house was empty

except for her. She poured a cup of coffee and stood in her own

kitchen and something rose up in her that she didn't expect.

We'll come back to what it was, but first,

welcome to Daily Devotions for Busy Lives. I'm Bart Leger.

Catherine and I first felt this at the dinner table. For years,

we set that table for five. Then one night, it was two plates and

a whole lot of table left over. We sat down and ate and neither

one of us said much. I kept catching myself listening for

somebody to come through the door. Nobody did. I've spent a

career across the table from people in every kind of loss you

can name and I still wasn't ready for what a table for two

would do to me. The empty nest is one of the more disappointing

transitions in adult life. The house feels different in a way

it hasn't in 20 years. You walk past a bedroom that's made up

and stays made up all The rhythm you built your whole life around,

practices and the late-night talks in the kitchen isn't there

anymore. And here's what makes it confusing. You're proud of

your kids, and you wanted this. You worked 20 years for exactly

this outcome, and you missed them anyway. Both of these are

true at the same time, and most people have no idea what to do

with that. So you stand around in a house with more room than

you know what to do with. their last one just left. Psalm 127,

3-5

Let's start there, because that's where the grief is coming

from. Nobody mourns something that meant little to them. The

ache in that kitchen is the evidence of what those 20 years

meant. Then, stay with the picture David gives us. Arrows

in a warrior's hands. An arrow is built to leave the quiver.

Every part of it, the weight and the sharpened point, is shaped

for the moment of release. A warrior who never fires one has

a nice collection and an unfinished job. The releasing

was always the reason for the making. So, the empty house is

what the work looks like when it succeeds. That's a strange

sentence to hear while you're standing in the kitchen crying.

And it's still true. You launched them. And the launching

was the assignment God handed you the day they were born.

Here's the part people get wrong on the way to that.

cancel the grief over it. Every good ending has a loss buried in

it somewhere. Jesus wept at Lazarus' tomb, and he was

minutes away from raising the man. He knew that, and he cried

anyway. So you can believe every word of Psalm 127 and still

stand in a made-up bedroom and cry. All right. Both of those

belong to the same faith. Give the grief its time. Don't rush

yourself through it. And don't let anybody suggest that being

proud of your kid means you're finished missing them. It was

grief. Jill felt the ache of it as she stood there, missing the

carpools and the ordinary racket she used to wish away. She let

the tears come instead of talking herself out of them.

What she learned from it and what she'd tell any parent

standing in the same empty kitchen... Is that this kind of

grief is normal. And it won't feel this way forever. You

raised them to go. Now you get to grieve, and then you get to

wonder what God has next. Look at what Jill did in that kitchen.

She let the tears come. She never argued herself out of them

or lectured herself about being grateful. And what she'd tell

you is the part that you need most today. That this grief is

normal, and it won't feel this way forever. When it has done

its work, and you'll know when, you can start asking God what He

plans to do with all that space. Here's today's challenge. Go

stand in one of those empty rooms today long enough to feel

it. Don't fix it, and don't turn into an office this week. Say

something like this out loud while you're in there. God, I

did what You gave me to do. Thank You for every year of it.

Then, send your kid one line with nothing attached to it that

they have to answer. Just tell them that You love them. Father,

thank You for every child You have loaned to the parents

listening right now. Thank You for the noise and for every year

of the work, for the ones standing in a house that got

still on them. Meet them where they are, and let them cry

without any shame in it. Remind them that the going was always

the goal, and watch over the ones who drove away tonight.

When the grieving has done its work, show these parents what

You have for them next. In Jesus' name, amen. This podcast

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dailydevotionsforbusylives.com you so much. And thanks for

joining me on Daily Devotions for Busy Lives. Remember, the

arrow was always built to fly, and you're allowed to miss it

while it does. Give the grief its time, and let God show you

what comes next. Come back next time for more encouragement to

help you live grounded in God's truth. Until then, God bless,

and have a great day.