I'm sitting in row 7 on a plane bound for New York. Next to me sit my wife and my youngest daughter, now a young woman of almost 17 years of age. We are bound for the Big Apple to explore and visit colleges specializing in art and film, a passion that has grown in her throughout her high school education, and now stands as her career path of choice as she enters the world of adults. While flying, she's working on editing a short film she is producing, and I'm amazed at her vision and leadership and in awe of her creativity and heart.

Earlier today we heard from our middle daughter, deep in the throes of her college education, her mind whirring and spinning with all the possibilities. She is alive in a way we have longed to see grow in her, and the experience and exposure she is getting seems to be worth every penny we are scraping together to pay the tuition bill. Right now, as part of a class trip, she is on an overseas trip to explore the decades-old landscape of a political and ethnic conflict that now tenderizes her soul. 

Our oldest child, our son, texted me earlier today asking if he needed a Form 1099 "or some other paperwork" for his taxes. Now launched and living in Texas, he's contributing to a Roth IRA and needed some advice. How in the world does my little boy have a Roth?! How has it come to be that he now lives independently of us and makes three times the salary I made at his age? 

I have been a father for 22 years now. Every season of this journey has required a different part of me, a different aspect of what it means to father these children. At times, it has been full of delight. At others, full of worry or anger or fear. At other times, I have spent the nights praying and wondering what these little creatures will become, only to wake in the morning astounded at what goodness and wisdom already flows from their mouths. Fathering has been the hardest and best journey I have ever endeavored to take.

And now, within a year, they will all be gone. Yes, I will still be their father, but the nature of our relationship will change once again. A friend recently reflected to me that if our youngest does indeed go to college in New York, all of our kids will live other states. In that moment, a flush of pride and sadness ran simultaneously through me, excited for the lives they will be living, and sad for the loss of the old days...the days we ran through the sprinklers, jumped on the trampoline, hiked the high country trail, and snuggled on the couch. Even sad for the days when I had to ask them to clean the dishes and pick up their socks. 

If anything, this season of fathering is inviting me to a deep reflection on what is, what was, and what will be. Time is both a lovely gift and a horrible guest. Its presence at times feels generous and voluminous, and at other times it feels like a shooting star across the night sky, there in one moment but gone the next. How might God's invitation to presence awaken your fathering to the reality of the moment in order to cherish all the glory right before you, right now. The season will indeed shift. You know this.

What will you do with the time you have?

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Chris Bruno, Co-Founder, CEO, and Visionary