Today I dropped off my son at his first-ever Vacation Bible School. I have fond memories of going to Vacation Bible School (VBS) when I was growing up. A week of "summer camp" if you will at church, where I learned new songs, did fun crafts, and heard bible stories in new and exciting ways that regular every-week church just couldn't match. Chris was too young to attend VBS last year at our church.
We have been in our new home in Green Cove Springs for about three weeks now. I met a very nice lady who recommended the VBS at a particular church which is not too far from me. So, I registered him. I was excited. I wanted him to have the same kind of fun that I had, and to learn about the God my family worships, around whom our lives are centered.
And yet, when I walked him into the large worship center of this unfamiliar church, surrounded by a sea of unknown faces, I was hit by a panic attack. He was fine. He was looking around at all the decorations and checking out the other kids, while my knees started to shake and I wanted to bolt. We found his section, introduced him to his teacher, and I said goodbye. He sat right down in an empty seat, and started staring up at the screen which was projecting images of happy, singing children having a wonderful time. He didn't look back.
Tears started to well up in my eyes as I walked back to my car. I had to sit in the parking lot for a few minutes to regain my composure. "Why on earth are you crying?" I asked myself. "Chris has been in full-time care for over two years. He's got this."
I'm sure I'll be crying when I drop him off for his first day of kindergarten next year, but I really didn't think I'd be blubbering like a baby for VBS.
My boy is so brave. I'm glad he is, because if he had my temperament, he would have been clinging to me in fright, crying and screaming. That's what I would have done if my mommy had dropped me off in a strange place, with unknown faces, by myself when I was 4.