I wasn’t ready for this morning to be the last time I drove one of my kids to school. Hannah is our youngest and it’s her last day of the year. She will be driving herself next year. There is simply nothing more bittersweet than growing kids. So much joy and pride and anticipation mingled with an ache that our time together is limited. And I couldn’t ask for a sweeter youngest girl.

I prayed my usual drive-to-school prayer for her. It’s a prayer my girls have heard each time I’ve had the privilege of dropping them off in the morning—the car growing increasingly quiet with each passing year. I’ve been the persistent widow, asking the Lord for the same things every single day:

• That they would know they are unconditionally loved and that will never change.

• That there’s nothing they can do to make Jesus or their parents love them any more or any less.

• That their identity would not be in grades or the team or the role in the play.

• That their identity would not be in their friendships or what their teachers think or the opinion of their peers.

• That they would know their God delights in them.

• That they would be a light, an encouragement to students and teachers alike.

• That they would be moved by the Spirit and work hard because of the gifts and resources God has given them.

• That they would shine brightly and be safe at school, if God would allow, and that they would be ready for whatever comes that day.

• That God would be glorified and they would work from rest because they are his. And nothing can ever change that.

The Lord has been so faithful to my four girls. They’ve gone to school on three continents and in every kind of school under the sun. They’ve traversed a lot, transitioned a lot. And, by God’s grace alone, they’ve tasted of his kindness and presence and care.

I may no longer be with them en route to school each day. But God is. He always is. And he is trustworthy.