I am taking a break from my usual gig today to share a little bit of what has been in my thoughts. I hope you’ll stick around to read it. Thank you for letting me veer off of the normal DIY & decorating path to speak from the heart.
My son has had many question lately.
“Why did Uncle Tim go to heaven? I bet the first person he hung out with in heaven was great grandpa. Are there things for kids to play with in heaven? If I go to heaven who will tell me how to do things? Oh, wait. God will tell me what to do. When will Grammy and Papa go to heaven? I don’t want them to go.”
Then there is my six year old daughter who chimes in with, “When the majority of our family gets to heaven, Grady, it will be a big party, right mom?” {her words}
My husband and I recall questions that we had at that age. . . . in fact the same questions we had back then are still some of the questions we grapple with today. We differ in what we question, but that eagerness to find answers is the same.
“Can I take my training wheels off?” Grady asked as my husband and I sat down on our front porch.
Both exhausted from the day, we sort of looked at each other and without saying a word thought, “I am so not in the mood for this.” But his big blue eyes and smile have some serious negotiating power.
“Ok, daddy? We can take them off, right? Make sure you get the ranch from your tool box.” {not sure we ever want him to say wrench instead of ranch. It kills us every time}.
“Go straight, no turn. Don't stop. Put your foot down. Watch out for the tree.” All of this was being said in a calm, loving, encouraging way. My husband has a crazy reserve of calm to draw upon when it matters most. I do not.
Meanwhile, my son, in a very confident and clear manner was insisting, “Daddy, let go. . . daddy, let go.”
Those words sting a bit when you are a parent.
He let go.
Grady rode away all by himself within seconds of daddy letting go. He never looked back.
He found his balance.
But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted to go fast. He wanted to ride down a hill. He wanted to ride faster than his sister. Later, I asked him if he was scared. With huge proud eyes his high pitched voice blurted out, “Yah. But it was fun. I did it mama!”
I watched Grady that beautiful afternoon and thought about my own life. It's a constant effort to strive for balance. . . and at the same time wanting to feel more. To feel challenged. To feel energized. It’s that state of unrest that inevitably leads to a certain spark. A spark that keeps us wanting to discover what might be waiting around the next corner.
I haven't figured out all of the answers to his questions. I know that both of my kiddos will continue to challenge us every day with the questions they have about life, love, God, heaven, and what they will eat for snack every ten minutes. And that’s okay. In fact it is more than okay. They are continuously taking their training wheels off and traveling down a road where they don't have all of the answers.
Are you? Am I?
I have questioned more in the last nine months of my life than I ever have in the time I have been on this Earth. Loss can force you to do that even if you are not ready. I know one thing is for certain. Life is far too short not to take the training wheels off. I think we all hope to feel that slight wobble . . . . it lets us know that we can find balance on our own. We don't always have to rely on others. And that feels good. And if we are truly lucky, we are brave enough to push past the balance to a place that feels challenging and adventurous. If we waiver, hit a bump in the road or crash to the ground, we hope that there are loving hands around us to help us back on our feet.
And in the end, I know that there is ultimately one set of hands that will help us back up onto our bike and allow us to ride all the way home.
So until then, I try to live my life without training wheels and to push myself and face the unanswered questions head on. One beautiful day at a time.
Posts
