Promise me. Promise me when she leaves this house,she will find somebody wherever she goes that sees how special she is.
Promise me she will have friends. That she will be happy. That she will smile.
Promise me she won't need me. That she wont cry for me. That she wont be injured.
Promise me she will be as protected away from me as she is with me.
Promise me the world will see her the way I do. That they will see her beauty and her spirit.
Promise me she will not be harmed.
Promise me, promise me.
I know. I know, God. You can't.
But my heart is so tender. There is a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. There is her hand in mine- and it is so small. There is her head on my shoulder and her heart beating next to mine.
I've held her, Lord. I've held her every single day since she was born. I've kissed each booboo. I've wiped her tears. I've loved her through every sunrise to every sunset.
I have given her all of me. And it seems like it is ending...in some small way.
I won' be her everything anymore. And I won't be her best friend. And I wont be her only teacher.
I will be mommy. I will not be everything anymore.
Her world will grow larger with each day, with each new friend, with each lesson she is taught. And my place in it will shrink, just a little.
And this hurts, Lord.
But her is the thing I carry with me. The thing I know to be most true.
You love her infinitely more than ever could.
You treasure her too.
You see her for the precious creation she is.
You look at her with the eyes of a father and a Savior.
And you can go where I cannot.
So Lord, I cannot ask you to promise me she will never be hurt or never need me.
But I can ask that every step she takes, you take with her. That every experience she has you use for her good. That your hand is over her and protects her.
That your love for her goes where I cannot. This is all I ask.
She will cry. She will miss me. And she will long for her home and her family. Hold her tender heart.
She will be uncertain and unsure. Help her to be confident.
She will look out the window of her classroom, just as I look out the window of her room. And her eyes will fill. And she will feel lonely. Help her to be strong.
I trust you, Lord. I trust you with her heart the way I have trusted you with mine.
Walk with her Lord...beyond the schoolroom doors until I can hold her again.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Being a mother is what I was born to do. I know this in my heart. It's a deeply peaceful feeling- knowing your feet are on the path God crafted for you.
Peaceful. And difficult.
I stay home, something I give thanks for every single day. Even when it's hard. And even when I want to run away, I am thankful that I have seen my children's first steps. I have taught them their first words. I have kissed all of their booboos.
I don't know how else to parent, but by being THERE for it all. It is overwhelming to me to give up control over their everyday lives. To not make the choices for them. To not see to their physical and emotional needs at all times.
Some might call me a control freak. And they would be right. But I am also flying blind here with parenting, and to make sure I get it as right as I can, I have to see it all. I have to make all of the decisions. Does that make sense?
Lily is 5. She starts kindergarten in less than 2 weeks.
When you teach them to ride a bike.
And my heart is broken. I cannot think of it without a lump in my throat.
She is ready. Of this I have no doubt. She is brilliant and kind and makes friends with ease. Her heart is big. Her mind is sharp enough to grasp new concepts. She is ready.
But I am not.
Other than when I had Sam, I have never been apart from Lily for more than 5 hours. I need her like I need air and water. She is my best friend, my buddy, my sweet angel, and my great joy.
She is my world.
And now I have to entrust her to others, who by a random lottery, get the privilege of teaching her. Will they see how wonderful she is? Will they look at her face and her eyes and know how lucky they are to spend time with her? Will they recognize what a living, breathing miracle she is?How treasured? How much she has been cherished and prayed for?
I don't know. And what if they don't?
What if someone hurts her? What if her sweet sensitive feelings get hurt? What is she NEEDS me, or cries for me?
For those hours of the day, she is no longer fully mine.
I have let her go in small ways a million times. Play dates, preschool, sitters. I have kissed her and prayed she would be okay- that her own compass would guide her when I could not. It has.
But I am her mama. And I have held her, carried her, prayed over her and kissed her a million times. And I don't want that to end, even in this small way.
And it feels like it is- ending.
This is what nobody can ever ever prepare you for in motherhood. You can have all of the physical gear. You can be mentally ready. But every moment after the birth, you begin to let go.
When you lay them in their crib and walk away.
When you let go of their hands as they sit up the first time.
When you watch as they tumble while learning to walk.
When you teach them to ride a bike.
When you watch them jump off the side of the pool.
And when you watch as they run off in their shiny new shoes, with their pretty new backpack, into school and the rest of their life.
Every new begninning for a child is an ending for the mother.
A thousand small heartbreaks. A million tiny fissures in the planes of your heart. Hundreds of letting go's, millions of bittersweet smiles.
All of it in one sweet face. In two beautiful eyes. In an amazing, gorgeous, remarkable soul.