My son starts preschool tomorrow and I can't figure out how it happened. When did he zip from a tiny, squirming newborn to an energetic, mischievous 3-year-old with a killer smile?

We spent the weekend fitting in last-minute fun at a local amusement park and shopping for school supplies and clothing. The new sneakers did the trick. As he modeled them for his dad while pulling his Spider-Man backpack-on-wheels behind him, he seemed to realize that he was stepping into a new role.

Within minutes, he had settled on the sofa with a notebook to begin practicing his letters.
He wanted to know how much longer he'd have to wait until he could go to school. I responded to his question with a mixture of excitement and grief.

As I shepherd him into a new phase of life, I know I'll be thrilled to experience the
journey with him. Yet our special times together won't ever be quite the same. I'll be
sharing him with his preschool comrades and before you know it, the world.

I went through these same emotions when my daughter enrolled in preschool. She begins first  grade on Tuesday (which is also hard for me to believe!). Each time I look into my son's eyes, however, I find myself uttering an extra prayer of thanks.

He was born with a mass on his heart that doctors suspected was a tumor. They thought it could be an indication of a serious condition that would wreak havoc not only with his
heart, but also with his other organs.  Biopsies are rarely performed on infants, so rather
than confirm their suspicions, they decided to closely monitor the mass.
In recent weeks, I've read stories about youths who suffer from the disease several doctors were certain my son had. One young man died when tumors invaded his brain, and another struggles to survive with a bearable quality of life.

When my son visited his cardiologist in June for an annual check-up, she said the mass that had once been in a particular section of his heart was no longer visible. It had
deteriorated, as tumors sometimes do, she concluded.

Some would say my son dodged a bullet. I know that God worked a miracle.

I am humbly reminded of it each time I hear about children whose illnesses keep them
captive or claim their lives.  I remember to utter yet another prayer of gratitude when my
son flashes that Colgate smile and asks me to marry him.

So when I deliver him tomorrow into the hands of his preschool teachers, I may shed tears for the time that is now gone. But I'll never look back with regret.

I am thankful that his future will be filled with ABCs, numbers, colors, music and new
friendships. I pray that it also will include a fearless exploration of who he is and how
he can live out God's purpose for his life.