We let go of Mommy’s hand to enter pre-school.
We let go of Daddy’s hug to board the bus.
We let go of our beloved teacher’s smile
only to do it again next year because we must.
We let go of the hand of the principal
as she wishes us well on our way.
We let go of our first boss’s hand
who understands why we can’t stay.
We let go of the friend who moves away
or the paw of our beloved pet.
We let go of our great, great grandmother
who it seems we had hardly met.
We let go of the neighboring couple
who were never home anyway,
We let go of our causes, however just.
And, so reluctantly, the years that were promised us.
We let go, bit by little bit,
of our children, so full of fun.
We may let go way, way too soon
of a mother, father, brother, son.
Letting go is a way of life it seems,
that none can hope to avoid.
It’s a holding and releasing –
not to re-fill the vacant void.
But to pivot on our out-stretched hand
which holds fast, so high and strong,
To the bar which secures it surely
until we deftly swing along.
Strange to say, we were preparing
for a life of loss and sad goodbye,
As tiny children, on the monkey bars
of playgrounds far and wide.
Where Mommy took us,
and Daddy held us,
where teacher wrapped our blistered hands.
Where principal scolded us,
and boss emboldened us,
when the time came for grown up lands.
I’m so grateful for the happy hours
I spent swinging from bar to bar.
A blessed assurance that every hand-hold,
has its limit
and every pivot
invites my reaching
for exactly where You are.
Who do you think invented Snapchat?
“And God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come: I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. ” ~ Genesis 9:12-13
I get up every weekday morning with my high schooler who has to catch the bus at a ridiculouosly early hour for a kid who just turned 16. Make no mistake, there is not deep conversation, nor are there fond expressions of love and care. No. It’s more of a presence thing. A keep-you-company-while-you-try-to-force-down-some-breakfast thing. But the one thing I always do is say a prayer as the school bus pulls down the street. Because I know something about the world she is entering. There is risk there, and harm, and challenge and hardship. It is not a safe place for a kid who just turned 16.
Of course I may not be SEEN praying or supporting. I may not wave as I did when she was small. I must vanish into the background so I am not embarrassing to her. But this is the nice thing about prayer; it is fully effective, seen or unseen. I respect her wishes and generally stand on the porch and “look on” as she and the others board the bus.
But today I closed the front door and peered through the beveled glass as the bus pulled away. My view was a kaleidoscope of shades of black and red. It was dark and I couldn’t even make out the yellow of the bus. Only the tail lights were visible, and they were distorted alternately into a point and then a line. The line growing smaller and more faint as the bus descended the hill.
How I see but dimly, I thought. How nearly in the dark I am about what will come to her in this day. And yet I pray because there is One who knows perfectly. Who sees clearly, even what’s ahead for her. And this is the One who receives my prayers. Even launched into the dim, distorted, dark.
How pompous I am to think that any other prayer I offer is any more foresighted than these. And yet how grateful.