Lately I’ve been noticing how many things in my life are quietly becoming “lasts.”
The last baby.
The last time I may ever carry life inside me.
Maybe the last year at a school that has held so many of my boys’ memories.
None of these changes are dramatic on the outside. Life keeps moving. Meals still need to be made. Laundry still piles up. But inside, it feels like multiple chapters are closing at the same time.
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The boys’ school has been such a gift. They’ve made real friendships. They’ve learned biblical truths and how to live them out in everyday life. Sometimes they come home and tell me things they’re learning, and I think, I didn’t even understand that at their age. Their education is rich and full of substance. They’re learning things like cursive and history and Scripture in a way that feels deep and meaningful.
And it hurts to think about walking away from that.
Especially for one of my boys who feels everything intensely. Routine matters so much to him. Stability matters. He has a close friend there. Any ripple in our schedule can feel like a wave for him, and I worry about what this change will do to his heart.
So my husband and I go back and forth.
Are we doing the right thing?
Are we doing the best thing for them?
Are we choosing out of convenience, or out of conviction?
Are we listening to God, or just trying to make things easier?
Public school isn’t really an option for us here, and even if it were, much of what’s taught doesn’t align with what we believe or want for our kids. So we look at homeschooling and charters and all the different paths, and each one carries its own weight.
There are good reasons to stay.
There are good reasons to leave.
And in the middle of all of it is this quiet grief over the idea that a season that has shaped our family so much might be coming to an end.
At the same time, there’s the question of being done having babies.
When the kids are sick and I’m running on fumes, it feels easy to say, We’re done. I can’t do this again. I’m already stretched thin. I wake up some days feeling like I’ve already lived a full day before breakfast.
But then I hold a baby, and there’s this ache. The wonder of who they’ll be. What they’ll look like. How God might shape another little life through our family. There’s joy in the unknown. There’s beauty in the possibility.
And there’s fear too. Pregnancy is hard on me as a type 1 diabetic. It’s physically demanding. It’s emotionally heavy. It takes a toll on the whole family.
So I find myself grieving something I’m also choosing.
Grieving the possibility of never feeling life grow inside me again. Grieving the version of myself that was always open to “maybe one more.” Grieving while also knowing that for our family, in this season, being done may be the wisest and most faithful choice.
I’ve talked to women who say they never really felt completely done. They just made a decision and trusted God with the rest. Maybe that’s what this is.
Maybe faith in this season looks less like certainty and more like obedience with tears in your eyes.
I don’t have a clean conclusion. I just know this: my life right now is full of endings that matter. And it’s okay that my heart needs time to catch up to the decisions we’re making.
Maybe this is what it looks like to trust God not just with open doors, but with the ones we gently close.
