Skipping Stones

            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.