Coming of age

My eldest daughter is an adult today, according to provincial definition. Eighteen is old enough to vote, to drink, to buy lottery tickets, and to get a tattoo. In and of themselves, none of those activities are signs of any sort of maturity. As her mother, though I know that she still has some growing up to do, I'm pleased to say that in her race to adulthood, she's turned out to be pretty level-headed. And what more can anyone ask for their child?

What really floors me is that I'm the parent of an adult. My little sweetheart is now a big sweetheart. Where did those eighteen years go?

Chances are, I won't have the opportunity to sing our evening blessing over her tonight, as she and some friends are heading to a pub on Whyte Ave. But I mean the words of that blessing as strongly as ever, perhaps more strongly as she embarks into the unknowns of being an adult:

May the Lord bless you and watch over you, 

May the Lord make his/her face shine upon you and be gracious to you, 

May the Lord look kindly on you, and give you peace. 

Shalom, shalom, shalom,  

shalom, shalom, shalom.