My daughter is graduating from high school on June 15th this year (2026). It feels surreal to me; she is our fourth-born, and her graduation means the school runs are done. I have been going to/from school since 1991. That’s a lot of years.
When the to/from school cycle began, our family had just moved to Montpellier, France, for language school. It was just my husband, me, our five-year-old son Tom, and our nine-month-old daughter Amanda. Number three, Stephen, and four, Andreya, weren’t even a twinkle in our eyes at the time. We lived in a two-room apartment on the ground floor of an apartment building.
The beginning of 36 years
Our front door faced the street. It was a no-frills place, but we didn’t mind. We were only there to learn French, widely spoken across much of Africa, where we were (and still are) missionaries.
It was winter when we arrived (January 1991), and it was cold for us, being Floridian/Africans. Snow was something unusual, but it provided hours of enjoyment for Tom. I remember not long after arriving, Jamie took him outside and taught him how to make snowballs. The inevitable snowball fight ensued, of course.
Once we had settled, we enrolled Tom at a local school. I tried to be strong as I left him every morning, and I hurried to get him after school. He didn’t know any French when he began, but was speaking when we left nine months later.
Little did I know our daily walks to and from school in France marked the beginning of 36 years of school runs.
Now that the school runs are over
I never thought I would miss the back-and-forth during those years, but now I do. During many of those rides, I learned who their best friends were and weren’t, who their favorite teachers were, and whether my lunches were better than the other kids’ lunches (this was important).
Now that the school runs are over, I am revisiting some of my sweetest schooltime moments with my kids.
With my firstborn son, I remember him holding my hand tight as we walked to school in France. He was the bravest five-year-old, and I miss his little hand.
With my second, a daughter, I remember her kindergarten teacher saying she was the epitome of “the joy of living.” And so she is to this day.
With number three, a son, I remember picking him up from after-school swimming practice. He was ravenous but always thankful for the food that was at home. He is still a foodie.
Now with number four, I remember her being upset that I left her on her first day of kindergarten. “You should have stayed with me” plays over and over in my mind.
What have I learned?
What have I learned? So much. Perhaps the greatest lesson hasn’t been anything I have taught them, but what they have taught me: faith, patience, hope, and so much love that has only grown as our family has grown. There was always, and is always, enough love for them all.
I can only imagine how God must feel when He gazes on us, His children. What I have experienced pales in comparison to the love He has for us. It’s my prayer that I’ve been able to mirror at least a little of that love to the children He entrusted to me.
It’s been a privilege to raise our children and see them grow. I don’t regret a moment, even the hard ones. And I’m thankful for God’s grace.
But I do remember…
Children are a gift from God; they are his reward.
Psalm 127:3 (TLB)
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