I have one more month until Josh graduates. (!)
One of my college piano friends lives in my current ward. On Easter Sunday, Josh, sporting a dashing pink suit, played cello with our ward choir (it helps that the choir director pays him gas money to come to choir) (and by choir director, I of course mean David.) After his performance, my friend and I were talking about Josh and his plans. I said, "I realized recently that I was two months older than Josh is now when I met you for the first time."
We both just kind of looked at each other, because of course, that isn't really possible.
And yet it is. When I was two months older than Josh is now, I left my home and traveled up to the wilds of Utah County and the practice rooms of the Harris Fine Arts Center. When I was two months older than Josh is now, I first laid my eyes on the man who would become my husband, and met some of the people who would become my dearest friends in the world. I threw myself into college life, into practicing, into trying to make myself into a person I would like more when I looked at myself in the mirror. It was one of the best years of my life.
I'm so worried that Josh won't know how to wake up to his alarm clock. And that he will forget to do laundry. Or his homework. Maybe I need to be praying instead that I can let him grow up and have faith that he will figure things out.
