the hardest part
February 22, 2015 § 4 Comments
I think the longest minute is the one for which there is no control. Worries held captive by the frustration of helplessness. There is no peace for a mother whose child is in need, too far from the span of her reach to offer comfort.
When my husband called yesterday from a camping trip to caution a hurried return with our little girl, my mind danced between the details; an unkind imagination of worst fears. I measured the minutes and miles between us in what ifs without a face to gauge for clues. It is an impossible triage of care, calculating could be’s and hypothetical how to’s without a brow to sweep for temperatures or eyes to divulge discomfort.
Today will be a long day, one not unlike so many other unexceptional days lost under the weather. It is an expected experience as parents, we anticipate need and care as we tend to the wellbeing of children that will one day care for themselves and others in our absence. In last night’s fleeting fears I recognized something greater than the familiar worries of seasonal inconveniences, I was reminded of the inevitability that each exercise in helplessness seems an invaluable lesson in faith and hope that we can survive the impossibility of our hearts wandering outside the safety of our keep.
scribblechic 
We so want to be their infallible keepers and yet we’re only human and are not pulling the strings . . . I get it.
Such a humbling, universal vulnerability.
That’s the kind of faith I can hang on to.
The emotional language of parenting is at times terrifying for the exhilarating leap of faith.