My kids are almost 12 (Victoria), almost 9 (Matt), and almost 6 (Luke). To say “almost” is my way
of standing still in their childhood a little longer holding onto these pockets
of time with a vise like “mommy” grip. But Time, or more specifically change, has
lately seemed like some sneaky middle school bully following me down the hallway.
Everything is wonderful and I am oblivious until the unseen foot trips me and –
WHAM!
I’m suddenly face down, trying to catch my breath, books splayed,
wondering “what the heck just happened?!”
Lest you think I am permanently scarred
from Middle School or paranoid (although I did teach Middle School English at
one time which can lead to both scarring and paranoia) let me explain. Sitting on the couch going through Victoria’s
old scrapbook baby albums everything is wonderful. Her album is full with
pictures, dates, stats, and details all highlighted with stickers and glitter
pen. Being our first kid, I went big time on her scrapbook (at least as big
time as a non-crafter can go). So, there I sit fully immersed in Baby Victoria
World, tracing each picture with my fingers – on this page. One year old,
Victoria taking a bath chubby sausage legs dangling. Victoria 2 year olds
cherubic cheeks laughing with her daddy.
Victoria 3 years old her eyes dancing as she twirls around---when WHAM! Time, in the form of the almost 12
year old Victoria, plops down next to me.
The pudgy sausage legs have lengthened into something long and
colt-like, a woman’s face has begun to angle itself from underneath her round
cheeks, and her green eyes hold a little more knowledge than I am comfortable
with. I am bewildered. She is beautiful. And I can’t breathe. Somewhere I think
I hear Time laughing.
But this can’t be
how God wants us to view His gift of time. Time is not a way to beat ourselves
up with what we had or bully ourselves over regret. Nor are we meant to freeze
each moment like a page in a scrapbook highlighted in glitter pen static and
disconnected from the wonderful reality sitting right next to you.
God has blessed me
with Memory and Time. He wants me to cherish
what He has given me but be able to let it go …or I won’t be able to embrace
what He is giving me right now or what He has for me next if I am just willing
to follow.
It is good to let go. Right? I look at
my girl and realize I have already let go of the baby, will someday let go of
the girl, and eventually let go of the woman as she skips out onto whatever God
has planned for her. Will I appreciate
this present moment with more gratitude knowing it must be set down? It is good
to let go. I don’t mean abandonment – it is my privilege, my right, my duty to
walk through every turn with her from poor grades and bad boy friends to hurt
relationships and career problems. To know I have less and less to do with
whether or not she will be hurt or loved, whether she will fly true or sink. To
simply love my children with gratitude and humility knowing I will let them go…
Last summer we went camping around
Beaver’s Bend State Park in Oklahoma. My beloved husband Erik wanted to do more
fishing with the boys and Victoria wanted to swim. I really didn't want to do either but decided
“girl time” might be more fun and less serious. (Fishing is serious business at
our house). Erik found a reservoir area on the lake with fast water and lots of
fishing on one side of the road and a rather scraggly beach on the other side.
It was already late summer night but still warm and light.
So Victoria and I head to what turned out to
be a gently sloping drop of rocky scrub and small trees ending in about 5 feet
of pebbly beach. Victoria is nimble like
a mountain goat and already in the water by the time I slip and slide around
pine trees to get to her. The water is
shallow and smooth occasionally rippling from the wake of distant passing water
skiers. Victoria seems to know I really don’t want to swim and is content to
just hang out with mom. I am immediately grateful for her nature.
We sit with the slowly cooling water
lapping at our legs. Victoria absentmindedly sorts the stones and rocks all
around us into piles, tossing them here or there in some secret organization of
her own making. I feel the pressure to
seize a “teachable mom moment”. I ask her questions I’m not really sure I want
answered - questions about bullies, changes in her body, what she believes. I
am so ridiculously glad when her answers are simple and positive:
"There are some
mean kids, Mom, but no real bullies. I have good friends."
She picks up a large flat rock shot
through with color.
"I really like
the way God made me mom."
She weighs the rock in both hands before
answering the last one.
"God is good mom;
I know He is with me."
She tosses the rock aside with a fluid
motion and it skips three times across the water.
“Victoria! Did you see that? It skipped three times.” I laugh
delightedly at her new found skill and the smile that slides across her
face. Suddenly, she is an expert on
rocks and purposefully begins to search the knee deep water for the perfect
specimen. I dig in to help.
“No Mom. Pick the flat ones that look like pancakes. See?”. She
stands up and releases a small oval of stone. It skips once, twice.
“See. Like this one Mom. And flick your wrist out like this.” The
next rock floats out touching once, twice, three times before gently dropping
into the water.
We keep testing which ones go further, which ones sink. It is late
and getting darker but I’m not ready to go. I want to stand still in the water
next to her just a little longer.
I pick up one more stone.
“What about this one Victoria?”
“Mom it is perfect!” She smiles enthusiastically. “You can make it
hop like four or five times. I know it!”
This one is perfect. It is
round and smooth on both sides. It seems meant to sit in my palm warm from the
water. It is beautiful. My fingers curl around it protectively without
thinking. I don’t want to let it go. This one is mine and it fits.
I look at Victoria. I can just see the future echo of the woman she
might become. Will she fly out straight touching down at just the right time or
drop into the depths? Will she be made smooth and rounded or become hardened
and sharp edged? Can I let her go?
I let the last stone fly.
“One- two-three-four skips Mom! SO COOL.”
Victoria hugs me hard. “Come
on Mom. Let’s go get the boys.”
She scrambles ahead of me.
“Mooom, come on!” She laughs impatiently.
“I’m right behind you sister-girl. I will follow.”
I hold her in my heart.
Thank you, God.
I will follow.
