A ship in port is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.

— Grace Murray Hopper, “Mothers of Invention”

It is that wonderful time of year when the kids are yearning to set sail beyond the harbors we parents and educators have been building for the last 18 years.

For the little sailors it is the long sunlit days and the warm breezes that urge them to race outside and play rather than practice their penmanship or times tables. They dawdle and daydream and fix their gazes beyond classroom walls, where scooters and neighborhood softball games and the melody of the ice cream truck vie for their attentions — once fixed on teachers and classmates.

Sit still? Are you kidding? There is new speed in their steps, greater volume to their voices and a trail of miscast jackets that mark their wakes. Pick up after yourself? Be on time? There is little looking back; only a deep, undeniable longing to venture beyond the confines of the harbor that is school and home, end-of-the-year music programs and sports banquets.

For the older sailors it is subtly the same. There are drive-in movies to watch, late-night text messages to send and a bed in which to languish. There are concerts at the Gorge and Mariner games and hot fries and frozen mochas — all of which sound a lot more appealing than finishing up research technology papers or turning in trigonometry finals.

For high school seniors there is college dorm information to collect. Summer jobs to secure. Boot camp start dates to ponder.

This is as it should be. Some of these sailors — who have provided continuity to my work days, challenged my understanding of the open seas, given voice to some of their sacred thoughts and generously shared their hearts — will sail away, rarely if ever to return to my port. This is because there are other ports of call to visit. Other captains to apprentice under. Other continents to explore and storms to weather.

I cannot help but notice this element of sadness that seeps into this happy heart of mine as I anticipate the upcoming graduation celebration. These feelings are complex and far reaching. I must adjust to the sorrow of saying good-bye to a wonderful group of young people to which I have become attached. And as I watch them ready for their various different voyages I must re-evaluate, to some degree, my own sense of contentment. I must define my own vision of opportunity and what roles I play as I continue to create a life with my husband and children. I must balance all this against the intrigue and the glory of a fresh new beginning to adult life that high school students are given.

Steeped in the excitement is sure to be a mixture of sorrow and doubt and uncertainty at these bon voyage moments. Did I contribute in small yet positive ways to their lives? Did my efforts, made on their behalf, do justice to their inherent value as human beings? Will they be okay as they move past the breakwaters?

With these questions I turn to the greatest of all the captains, the master of the seas and the creator of life’s best marinas, for He alone stands strong and steady against the test of time and the storms of the sea. He alone offers assurances and actively responds to those currents that flow below the cyclic tides.

This is what I do as a Christian woman each and every time something noteworthy or weighty crosses my wake. I turn to God and He becomes a companion to my hopes and worries, my cheers and my fears. He listens to my passion without misinterpretation or neglect. I am not silly or overemotional to Him. I am who He made me to be and I believe He is pleased with my dialogue.

Do I hear a voice answering back? No. But I know He listens, for He promises in the Bible that He will never leave nor forsake me. He will giveme energy and vision. He will provide joy when it hurts to say, “So long!”

If we are willing to live and think deeply, we can rejoice that there is depth in the seas and many a port to visit during our lifetimes. And because we have gone to Him first, there will be abundance that comes only from Him, packaged in surprising ways.

Freelance writer Joan Bay Klope’s e-mail address is jbklope@hotmail.com.