That Time You Tried to Fly

For well over an hour we ran up and down the hill in the park behind our condo. We threw the frisbee to each other, collected pine needles and invented our own games. Your face glistened in the sun. It always does. You were born to live in the sun.

You walked your tightrope. A retaining wall 6 feet high. I warned you. I always warn you. Be careful. Walk slow. Don't fall.

I make you more scared than you need to be. I don't mean to. I weigh the options in my fear-bound mind and fear-less heart. Do I want you to see your first therapist because you are too scared or not scared enough? Do I want your prayers to be small and scared or bold and broken? How does one pick? I am constantly trying to dance this shaky, stretched-thin line of protecting you and pushing you out of the nest, begging you to be brave, hoping you will fly fearless.

You lost your footing. You gripped on for dear life to the top brick of cement. Eyes wide and terrified. And then, in an instant, you lost your grip. Screaming in sheer terror, you fell six feet down to the muddy ground below. You hit- back, head, body, soul- in a thud that left you breathless and writhing in pain.

I scooped you up as you screamed. My heart racing. My stomach churning. You told me how bad it hurt. How it hurt all over. Through your blood-curling screams and whimpers you whispered the hardest words I've ever heard and I've heard a lot.

"I never thought it would happen to me momma." And the worst "Did you try to catch me momma?"

One day you will love another person as deeply as I love you. And the first time they try to fly- and fail- your soul will be rattled and your bones will ache. You will know, in the back of your mind, that the moment was coming. But when it arrives, the innocent shock that inches its way over their broken face will paralyze your heart.

Did you try to catch me Momma?

It won't come out as an accusation, but a genuine question, a deep need they have to know whether you tried- tried with everything you had in you- to catch them. And you will tell them- of course, of course I tried to catch you...

but I couldn't.

And right there, in those words, you will face one of the hardest decisions you will ever have to make as they move forward:

Will you help them hide or help them fly?

Everything in me wants to wrap you up in bubble wrap so you can never break. And yet I want to see you soar. And if you are all wrapped up and protected from the world- you will never learn to leap and not look back. And I'm trying the best I can to dance this shaky, stretched-thin line of protecting you and pushing you out of the nest, begging you to be brave, hoping you will fly fearless...

So I will pick you up from preschool today. And when we get home, we will go back there, to the wall you fell off of yesterday. And I won't force you. But I will hold your hand and I will ask you to walk the long length of it with me, hand in hand. And no doubt you will be terrified and maybe you won't even take a single step today. But that's ok. We will go everyday until you can. And one day, you will walk the wall again without my hand.

Because if I have to choose a path to guide you down in this life it will not be the path of fear, wrapped up and protected, praying small, scared prayers.

I will try to catch you- but even when I can't (and that will be often)- I will beg you to be brave. I will beg you to fly fearless.

I will remind you of that one time you tried to fly and you crashed and burned. And I will remind you of what Dr. Stacy told you that day, "This will be the first of many falls in your life- but you are brave- so you can always get back up."

And then?

With trembling hands, against everything logical in my mind, against my own fears and desire for you to be perfectly protected and safe-

I will push you back out of the nest and watch you try all over again, because baby you weren't born to hide you were born to fly.

Grateful

I am grateful for so much. My kitchen window. A little girl who wants to dance with her daddy. Amazing, beyond gracious family. Life-giving friends. Wide open roads. Sunsets. Rainbows. Cupcakes. Boundless energy and reserved depth. A good cup of coffee. The way the sun hits the bookshelf in the morning. The Holy Spirit- which can't be captured in a picture- but is present in every moment. Every picture. Christ bringing light, joy, grace, peace, beauty. There are so many things for which I am grateful.

These are just a few. I am grateful for each of you, too.

May you be reminded of every good, beautiful and treasured blessing in your life today.

When Little Girls Hold Hands

Do you remember? Reaching out to grab her hand. Not being afraid of what anyone else thought. Not even being aware that anyone else existed. Just you and her. On an adventure. Planning an escape. Sneaking upstairs to eat chocolate and swap secrets. We held hands out of instinct. We looked both ways and crossed the street together. We held hands for comfort. We held hands out of love. We held sticky, played with, cried on hands with no shame or fear or insecurity. We were little girls. And we still knew how to love each other without hesitation. We reached out and grabbed the others hand because there was so much we wanted to share. The excitement. The not-knowing. The joy. The smiles. We knew these things were good, but they were better shared.

We weren't self-conscious yet. Wondering if we might look silly. Weak. Weird. Dependent. Wondering if the other hand was better than ours? Worse than ours? Prettier. Skinnier. Smarter. Or from a bigger house. We didn't know how to compare, measure, sum up or judge. We didn't even know to think of the other hands around us. Were we being exclusive? Should we try and make the rounds? Holding every little girl's hands? We did not yet operate out of guilt or obligation or even political correctness. We didn't see skin color or political parties or labels. We only knew the nudging of our hearts.

It felt best to reach out and grab her hand. Because life was way too good to walk alone.

And sometimes we broke free of each others hands for a moment. Because side by side, we felt brave.

Perhaps it was all those sticky finger embraces that gave us so much courage to break free and lead the way for a minute. Knowing she was by our side. Not yet condemning, bossy, mean or passive aggressive. Just our friend. Our cheerleader. Our confidant. Our person. The one we were unafraid to hold hands with on the play ground. We gave each other courage. Not psychotherapy or prayers. We didn't know how to do those yet. All we knew was our hands. We knew how to be present.  How to reach out to the other person in the most basic way.

Here's my hand. Take it. Wrap your fingers around mine. We will do this together.

We would scoot our chairs close. No sense of personal space. We, who shared beds and bathrooms and bathing suits and boys. We gave each other the best gifts we had. Ourselves. Long before we knew how to be guarded, we knew how to be girlfriends. We giggled, cried, dreamed impossible dreams, and then grabbed each others sticky fingers and ran off to explore.

And I watch her now. My little girl who holds the hands of others as if they were precious treasures. And I wonder-

When did I forget how to hold another girl's hand? And how do I get back there?

Back to the place where I just reach out and grab and hold- and give myself to another girl without fear or shame or expectations or guilt. Back to the place where joy ran free and I was compelled to share wonder and delight and mystery with the closest girl in sight. Back to that moment, when little girls hold hands, and the whole world is made simple and beautiful by the innocent touch of the unafraid. That's where I am trying to get back to. Life is good. But it's better shared.