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.

Lots of Ways to be a Momma

You rolled over, snuggled deep into my arms and told me, “Mom, I can’t wait to be a mom because I’m going to puff up my cheeks and let my kids poke the air out, just like you do.”

You said the hardest part is you just don’t know whether you want a boy and a girl or two girls or two boys or what.

You have always said that when you grow up all you want to be is a mommy and a grandma.

(And a songwriter- but we’ll talk about that gut-wrenching-non-paying job later; motherhood and songwriting have much in common).

And you are going to be the best momma in the world. I can’t wait to watch you love and nurture and lead. And I want to tell you a million times over what an amazing mom you will be.

But more than that, what I really want to tell you is this- there are lots of ways to be a momma.

You walk around with animals and pillows stuffed inside your tiny 4-year-old dresses and pretend you are growing a baby. Then you have the baby right there on your bed! You always have your babies a lot more gracefully than I had mine. You nurse your babies at your chest and ask me when you can have your own bra, because of course, your babies need to eat and you are worried you won’t be able to provide. You come to me, when I’ve had one too many cupcakes, rub my belly and ask me when you are getting a baby sister. You know that babies are formed deep within a girl’s body. It seems you’ve always known.

But what you don’t know is this- there are lots of ways to be a momma.

When I was 4-years-old I dreamed about starting my own Snoopy Sno Cone empire on the corner of the street where the nuns passed by on their way to the convent. I was convinced that nuns couldn’t turn me down and I would have a monopoly on the market.   I dreamed of writing newspapers, creating art and making money so I could buy more Scotch tape and Lisa Frank stickers to fuel my construction-paper-bound books. I pined for money; you pine for motherhood.

You dream of birth and babies. And you only dream of what you know- But momma’s get their babies ready for what they don’t know. So I need to tell you- there are lots of ways to be a momma.

Your babies may come from your body. But baby they may not. 

Your babies may be like your best friend. Brave, bold, beautiful, black. Not from her momma’s belly, but another momma’s belly. A mom who couldn’t care for her, a mom who left her on a doorstep to be found by another.

Your babies may sit in your Sunday school room, clinging to your legs and listening to your stories about Jesus. And you may teach them and lead them to grace and hope.

Your babies may glare at you over the crook of a book in a school library, acting as though they don’t care about you, the middle aged volunteer.  And you may practice tough love and enduring empathy.

Your babies may smell bad and look unruly as they stagger into the shelter or the rehab house looking for food or freedom. You may care for them as they come off their drugs or thaw out their frozen feet.

Your babies might be adult babies. Never able to care for themselves, never able to mature past the mind of a child. And you may dress them and feed them and love them well.

Your babies may be your neighbor’s babies. Your cousin’s babies. Your friend’s babies. And you may read to them, pray with them, inspire them, challenge them as they grow up, a constant force of light in their life.

Your babies may be the grown-ups next door. And as they check on you, their elderly neighbor, you may ask them about their jobs, listen as they figure out their careers and marriages, guide with the wisdom of your years.

One momma once said, “Surely the poorest of the poor and the lowest of the low can have the love and devotion of us few.” She reminded people that we can do no great things, only small things with great love. Some say she was the most devoted, loving mother in the world and she never had a single baby grow within her body! But talk to those she lived alongside of and they will tell you, Mother Teresa was their mother.

By definition a mother is a woman who raises or brings up a child. And many women have raised me up. They have raised up my spirit, mind, imagination, soul, courage, bravery, tenderness, compassion, faith and beauty. Many women have been mothers to me.

And I want you to be able to have your own babies with all my heart. I want to see your belly grow, your baby kick and tickle the inside of your rib cage, her hiccups keeping you up at night. I will always want your dreams to come true. And you dream of being a momma, so I pray you have all the babies you could ever want grow inside of your belly. But if not-

What I really want to tell you is this- No matter how they arrive at your door and in your heart You are going to be a beautiful momma because baby There are lots of ways to be a momma.